Paul's Blog

Valentine’s dinner was spent at S & H Kebab House.

Expectations were high, as vague memories of kebabs and yogurt sauce from times long past re-entered our brains.

Reservations were … almost needed. We did have one, which enabled us to sit in what I’d refer to as a diner-style table’d room, containing four couples, a tiny baby, and a family of 8, 5 of which were small children.

A live human being played guitar to accompany his turkish lyrics. A tad loud, but he sounded good all around, singing songs of Istanbul, among others.

Our waiter, Sebastian, was very friendly and attentive, as much as he could be with a full room. He also spoke german so fluently as to enable me to place my order completely in german.

For appetizer we had Cacic, the cold, delicious yogurt sauce, along with soft, hot pita, and then I got a plate of Calamari, selfishly I ashamedly admit, to share with no one, since Christina doesn’t like things that once floated.

Both were delicious. The Calamari was not at all chewy, and its sauce was great.

For our entree’s, Christina got an order of Köfte Kebab, and I had a Döner Kebab.  Instead of in a half-loaf of bread, it was served over rice and salad. My first bite was a chili pepper, which was spicy. My second bite was accidental, and contained three grains of rice, and my entire dollop of freshly-added hot sauce. I wasn’t paying attention.

Out fades the guitar and singing. IN COMES A CYMBAL FROM HELL! BUT FROM ABOVE! IT’S A CD!

Out comes the Bellydancer, finger-cymbals a-crashing.

I’ve never seen the true appeal of bellydancing. I remember getting embarrassed and awkward if ever I saw bellydancing on television or in a movie.

This occasion was no different – I turned beet red.

Bellydancing is strange. Scantily-clad (if elegant!) females gyrating their hips rhythmically to music belongs somewhere dedicated, a belly-dancing venue, or show, for instance.

If I had been there TO SEE belly-dancing, smoking perhaps peach flavoured shisha out of a hookah, it’d have been different. Instead, I was there to have a romantic dinner with my wife, trying to ignore the crashing cymbals by my ear without seeming rude. It didn’t help that every time I did look “over” and our eyes met (another awkward thing, what AM I supposed to look at? The sparkling red bra? The exposed midriff? The slit in her dress?) she stopped dancing for everyone else, smiled, kept her gaze, and danced for ME.  I can say this comfortably, as she did the same thing to my wife.

Nothing to interrupt a professional at work and rip us out of the experience like a 3 year old falling headfirst off a chair onto the ground.

The nameless bellydancer (no intro, or for that matter, outro) ran over to comfort it until the parents got there.

Her placement was awkward. In order to watch her perform, everyone had to turn their heads 90 degrees, while the food gets cold.

I would have much prefered a Mariachi performance in the corner.

I didn’t witness it, but apparently she made a hasty exit after pretty much falling flat with the audience. I’ll maintain that a restaurant shouldn’t surprise you with semi-interactive performances.

I’ll dwell on the experience no longer.

The food was fantastic, my only gripe was the atmosphere that was far from relaxing. Oh, my chair was too low by about 2 inches.

The place IS byob, and we took advantage of that.

We’ll definitely return, but probably for lunch instead.

Food: 5/5 It was delicious and the portions were ample.

Atmosphere 2/5 (it has potential, and I have to come back for lunch)

Value: 4/5 More reasonably priced than the new German restaurant on South.

Staff: 5/5 Very pleasant, and genuinely interested in how we were doing.

I apologize that there are no pictures on this entry.

Paul