Restaurant review:
Rave by the river
Keep the six shooter within reach and beware the Blue Lesbian
Rave has come to town, settling in quiet luxury, biding its time like a cosmic ship with faulty wiring. It rocks in silence on the river bank, accessible to water, aerial and road traffic, sending coded signals for the initiates to gather, taking one last deep breath. The ritualistic launch was preceded by months of connecting cables under roof and flooring, of erecting columns with esoteric insignia, then it all came together, in a blizzard of SMS exchange. The exterior of the Nile Dragon boat is a mere camouflage. The coloured faces of Chinese dragons at the gates point you to the wrong spiritual dimension. Ignore them, bear left, stay with the balustrade, negotiate your entry with the taller-than-thou bouncers, and if you succeed, you'll be rewarded. The state-of-the-art warehouse at the top floor stands in factory room glory, savouring every moment of its dyslexic exhibitionism. Evolution-X is about to happen.
We find seats near a rectangular window at the farthest corner of the floating warehouse. The chairs at the high table are surprisingly comfortable, with lush velvet upholstery that mocks the roughness of the imitation cement slabs on the floor. Behind us is another seating section with couches and low tables, to which other characters have preceded us. We are not sure if they are the in-crowd or just in- significant, and for a crazy second, it matters. Not everyone here is an initiate, not at the opening night, not everyone grasps the secrets of the esoteric beat.
Across the metal coated columns with the cryptic scribbling near the top, the bar is long and space-age, with a puzzling piece on the right tip: a tiny phosphorescent aquarium which has no fish but attracts cartons of cigarettes into its energy field. Our eyes keep going back to it, trying to decipher its hidden meaning. There are no candles or mirrors around, no divisions of space to speak of, only high ceilings towering over a big metal box. At 11, the night is young and getting younger.
The waiters bring menus promising finger food and a bonanza of irresistibly-named drinks: Silk Panties, Rusty Nail and Hot Lips. The options include super-shooters, served in arrangements of six lab tubes. Quizzed about the contents of the drinks, the waiter produces a hand-written cheat sheet listing the ingredients. We ask, and forget, and ask again, tormenting his first-night-on-the-job appearance.
The Russian Lady (vodka softened by baileys) in the six shooter is almost transgender, fluffy with a masculine punch. The Mexican Banana (rum and banana liquor) is like a picnic on a lakeside, sweet and comforting and not going anywhere. The Tequila Sundown is fruity enough to please, but too soft-hearted to inspire. The appetisers are mostly convincing. The salmon rolls (rings of pastry and seaweed stuffed with fish, cucumber, carrots, and salmon) are fragile and colourful, like little metaphors with round faces. The shrimp cigars wriggle in surreptitious joy under their buttoned-up pastry coats. As the place fills up and the techno turns to acid, the service begins to frazzle. The Blue Lesbian loses her six shooter poise, along with any detectable trace of alcohol, making her mundane appearance in a regular glass. The Tequila Sundown holds her fruity own but is too inhibited to converse. The sushi platter is going through a fit of existential angst. First, it shows up in the form of unidentified fried objects, which the waiter (not the cool fellow with the cheat sheet) insists is the real item. Then the real item starts attacking us with unsolicited vengeance, twice on the table then four times on the bill (we only paid for two, the real one and the unidentified). This being the opening night, we take it all in our stride, shouting only intermittently at the waiters (who dressed like customers) and the customers (who dressed like waiters).
Evolution-X is at the first floor of Nile Dragon boat, just behind the Four Seasons in Giza. Tel: (012) 2183498, (010) 1091855. Ambiance: industrial chic. Service: train-as-you-go. Men, wear anything but the black shirts the waiters wear. Women, if you're not tattooed by now, have fun at your next cousin's wedding. Four drinks and four starters came to LE500 including a very small tip.
By
Nabil Shawkat
