| rev:text
| - I managed to beat the lunchtime crush of people heading to Haji Baba by about ten minutes. I had already placed my order. My plate of hummus and my yogurt soda was just arriving when I noticed the place was now packed, and a line of people was waiting for a table.
Two obviously out-of-town ladies sat at the table nearest me. They used loud, awed, slightly bemused voices that hinted they were from the Midwest and had never been "out West" before.
"... couldn't BELIEVE the TRAFFIC!" one was saying as they sat down. "We waited fifteen minutes on the street before we could even turn into the campus!" ASU was having their Student Load-In week; traffic was hellish anywhere near the university.
"It was no better when we unloaded Nicole's things," the other woman said. "We were right in the middle of carrying in everything, and a security guard stopped us an told us we couldn't --"
"Would you like something to drink?" the waiter asked, surprising them both.
They gave him their orders, after asking "what kind of pop" they had. Definitely Midwestern. The waiter walked away, and they continued staring at the menus as they assumed looks of deep confusion.
"What is ... shum ... shoe-marmy?"
"Shoe-arma? Shuh, warma?"
"What IS that?"
"I have no idea. But it comes in a sandwich."
"Like, on bread?"
"It says on a pita."
"Oh .... But isn't a pita a cracker?"
"What about ... baba gub .... Bana gaboosh?"
"Where?" The friend pointed at the other's menu. "Oh my. Bagga boo ... goosh? Excuse me? Sir?" I realized she was talking to me. "Do you know what this is?" She pointed at her menu.
"Baba gannouj," I said. I kind of enjoyed the look of fear that crossed their faces, as though I were uttering a phrase that would summon a lesser demon. "It's eggplant dip, kind of lemony. Kind of like hummus. You dip pita into it. It's great." As I spoke, I watched her eyes grow huge as she saw my glass of fizzy, thick white yogurt soda.
"I've never even HEARD of that!" the other woman said. "What's this fluffoofal?"
"Felafel," I said, and the fact that I avoided laughing then should earn me some kind of award. "They're fantastic here, lots of great spices ... have you had felafal before?"
They hadn't, of course, and I was at a loss to explain it. I decided the shwarma or the gyros were probably too "exotic," so I recommended the chicken kebab pitas. My koobideh plate arrived then, prompting another couple of baffled, wide-eyed stares. I told them to be sure and get a couple pieces of baklava for dessert, since it's better, fresher, and half the price of anywhere else nearby. They agreed, but I got the impression it was more due to the fact that they had heard of baklava before than my recommendation.
Judging by the yummy noises coming from their table as they ate, they enjoyed their kebabs.
I had to withhold a star, as much as I love Haji Baba, because it does not have the best shwarma I've found. It's very, very good ... but not the best.
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