"Let me tell you about a magical place called Arabian Nights Cafe. Here humble little chickpeas are converted into smooth and creamy hummus. Falafel come on your table crispy on the outside and some, like smooth and damp on the inside, burst with the taste of herbs and sesame seeds. The Shawarma consists of carefully marinated meat, warm with spices and light with taste. Soft pita, quickly heated on a grill, comes as a companion to your meal of the miracle. Rice, colored yellow and orange by the spices cooked in it, adds a whole new layer of excitement. This was once a small restaurant at the Academy and Jamboree, near a dollar tree. Tragically, one day it was found to be closed. The cries of pardon could be heard about the city, or at least in my own kitchen. Then a few weeks ago a miracle came up. A small shop front at the Academy and Flintridge was illuminated with the sign of the café. Beckoning Weary Drivers at the Academy, like an oasis on the horizon. The café is much humbler than it was. Paper plates and a smaller menu speak with these harder times. But the food has not lost magic. While sitting in the café, you can hear screams of joy from desperate seekers of delicious food. “We found you!” They look forward to coming to the tiny shop, warm flavors that welcome them and bring memories of the culinary delights they have in the past. The owner welcomes every new customer as an honorary guest. Except we are those who should be honored. A distant culture has come to our fair town in the mountains. Give us food that has seduced pallets as long as the sands have moved in the desert. No magic carpet is necessary to find this place, only a willingness to navigate the confusing parking of the Starbucks."
