Happy Birthday to ME!
Yes folks, it was Bun Boy’s birthday and we dined at the mysterious establishment I’ve been walking by for ELEVEN YEARS, wondering what the hell was inside.
Years ago, before I even knew it was a restaurant, I thought it was an Islamic mosque.
It is a stark white building with elaborate, gold arabic writing on it.
It could have been a Muslim Dating Service for all I knew.
A few years back, the name of the restaurant was added and the place also grew a Valet stand.
Moroccan restaurants are a whole lot of fun. Lots of drinking and sitting on the ground, eating with your hands. As well as watching scantilly-clad elderly women shake their tummies.
It’s like childhood. Tons ‘o’ fun.
My one prior experience with the food wasn’t exactly…epic.
But Dar Maghreb has changed my mind that bellys and booze are all Morrocco has to offer.
Germaphobes beware! Everyone will be using their hands and slobbering over everything. FYI.
Belly dancers are an interesting conundrum. They’re not strippers. But at first thought, men gaze upon those gyrating hips and boobs in face and must rethink the situation.
First, they are sitting with their girlfriends and parents. They must look upon this lady as if she were a work of art, to be admired here and there. In between bites of cous cous.
They must not gawk, mouth open. They must not look at breasts or crotch. Only face and occassionally the belly, if it’s being shoved (by force) in their face.
Do women even enjoy watching belly dancers?? (like the bored woman pictured above)
Are they entertainment for them, or just giggling annoyances.
Appetite suppressants, even.