Brunch, newspaper - then finish the miniseries. The three of us have decided to try the Egyptian restaurant in the hotel building - with a mixture of hope and charity, though probably not enough faith. They've opened recently and clearly put a lot of work into renovating the place. Now they've made a reduction of 40% to stimulate start-up, so we head in about seven o'clock.
In preparation, Maggi borrowed the menu last night. Until we intended to go we could hardly bring ourselves to ask to look at it. The restaurant is always underpopulated and overstaffed and we were unwilling to trigger such open desperation. Already as we sit using the wifi in the hotel's adjoining lounge we regularly see the empty tables and the young manager pacing the floor.
Mostly they serve chicken or fish, with rice or chips and salad. Well, probably better than an overly-ambitious menu, and there is much mention of Egyptian marinades. Wine menu very limited,so Maggi orders Cypriot sherry, which turns out not to be a euphemism for Commandaria, and she's pleased with it. There are only two beers on the menu, Carlsberg and Corona, which seems odd as Cyprus produces perfectly drinkable lagers. So Carlsberg it is. A promising start with warm pitas, complimentary baba ganoush, and enormous salads brought by the sweetly shy Romanian waitress. Then for our chickens. M's is in cream sauce and, perhaps predictably, the sauce is simply poured over the chicken. J's chicken is boneless, though he'snot too happy as the skin is neither absent nor crispy - and there is an unaccountably large amount of it. My half chicken is on the bone and the skin is crisp - but the centre isn't cooked. Can only assume that it was cooked frozen and the endpoint miscalculated. I probably should simply return it, but decide instead to take it upstairs uneaten and turn it into chicken soup. Otherwise I'd be waiting for ever and the outside is already well done. Coffee is complimentary and both manager and Maitre D hold the doors open as we leave. But, sadly, we're predicting failure. It's possible to eat so very much better in Cyprus for the same price.
The run-off election is today, and by the time we go down to dinner we are hearing car horns, presumably in celebration, although the polls may still be open. by the time we return the unofficial exit poll results are announcing an expected right wing Anastasiades victory. There's an electricity in the air on Cypriot election nights that I remember from my Quebec childhood, and if we hadn't been eating out it would have been tempting to go down to the water front. The car horns, and presumably the partying, go on well past midnight.
In preparation, Maggi borrowed the menu last night. Until we intended to go we could hardly bring ourselves to ask to look at it. The restaurant is always underpopulated and overstaffed and we were unwilling to trigger such open desperation. Already as we sit using the wifi in the hotel's adjoining lounge we regularly see the empty tables and the young manager pacing the floor.
Mostly they serve chicken or fish, with rice or chips and salad. Well, probably better than an overly-ambitious menu, and there is much mention of Egyptian marinades. Wine menu very limited,so Maggi orders Cypriot sherry, which turns out not to be a euphemism for Commandaria, and she's pleased with it. There are only two beers on the menu, Carlsberg and Corona, which seems odd as Cyprus produces perfectly drinkable lagers. So Carlsberg it is. A promising start with warm pitas, complimentary baba ganoush, and enormous salads brought by the sweetly shy Romanian waitress. Then for our chickens. M's is in cream sauce and, perhaps predictably, the sauce is simply poured over the chicken. J's chicken is boneless, though he'snot too happy as the skin is neither absent nor crispy - and there is an unaccountably large amount of it. My half chicken is on the bone and the skin is crisp - but the centre isn't cooked. Can only assume that it was cooked frozen and the endpoint miscalculated. I probably should simply return it, but decide instead to take it upstairs uneaten and turn it into chicken soup. Otherwise I'd be waiting for ever and the outside is already well done. Coffee is complimentary and both manager and Maitre D hold the doors open as we leave. But, sadly, we're predicting failure. It's possible to eat so very much better in Cyprus for the same price.
The run-off election is today, and by the time we go down to dinner we are hearing car horns, presumably in celebration, although the polls may still be open. by the time we return the unofficial exit poll results are announcing an expected right wing Anastasiades victory. There's an electricity in the air on Cypriot election nights that I remember from my Quebec childhood, and if we hadn't been eating out it would have been tempting to go down to the water front. The car horns, and presumably the partying, go on well past midnight.