| rev:text
| - Some nights, when you're completely delirious after switching back and forth from every application in the Microsoft Office suite for 13 straight hours, you make some interesting decisions. Like deciding that, instead of driving straight home and making yourself a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, that now's the best time to head into west Phoenix to try someplace new to eat.
Which brings me to Baghdad.
The mini-shopping center that Baghdad Restaurant is in (which also includes a Jamaican restaurant *note to self*, a Mexican hair salon, and a Middle Eastern market called Babylon) is not going to convince you otherwise about your preconceived notions of west Phoenix. It's a fairly decrepit place. It doesn't feel 100% safe. Your only hint while driving down Camelback that Baghdad might be located here is the half-broken street sign with some Arabic on it. But I'm already here. I'm delirious. And starving.
I walk in.
It's a pretty small establishment. Nowhere near the fanciest place you'll ever walk into. Photographs of monuments around Baghdad hang on the wall. The TV tuned to an Iraqi satellite channel. The owner talking to his friends.
My eyes dart back and forth, looking for a menu. I don't see any. At the counter, though, I see one: a menu which photographically depicts each dish. However, everything is written in Arabic. I look for an English version, but I don't see any. When the owner asks me what I want to eat, I look at the menu and point.
"Oh, you want rice and chicken, yes?"
"Yes." [thought bubble] I could have said "I'd like rice & chicken" instead of just pointing as if I was mute. Anyway. [/thought bubble]
As he goes into the back to prepare the food, I watch Iraqi politicians yelling at each other in parliament on TV. As I debate in my head which specific issue they're yelling about at this instance, or whether their yelling is an umbrella, catch-all yell, the owner comes back with my to-go order. He apologizes that he didn't have enough rice since it was the end of the evening and so he gives me a discount. I was expecting one container of food in the plastic bag. But I see three. Odd. My total comes to $8-something.
I pay him and thank him and drive back across the I-17 to go home to eat. At my dining table, I open one container to see its full of white bean soup with a tomato base. I had no idea this even came with my order, but talk about a bonus. Taste? Excellent. Rich but not heavy. I then open a smaller container to see its full of salad - shredded romaine lettuce (bonus point for not being iceberg), slicked pickle spears, onions, lime wedges, tomatoes. Then the large container: kebab pieces of marinated grilled chicken over a bed of golden broth-cooked basmati rice. I wouldn't have even noticed that there was less rice than usual, because there was still quite a lot. And the rice was excellent - simple and plain yet really tasty - and went well with the chicken. I was completely full and very much satisfied by the end of my meal. What a value this little ramshackle restaurant on the sketchy west side gives you for your money. Maybe I should be delirious more often.
4 stars (for the food and the service).
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