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| - There's an old saying: "If you can't bring Mohammed to the mountain, then bring the mountain to Mohammed". If you substitute "Shawarma" and "Forest Hill" you get a good idea of what it takes to succeed in the restuarant business in this part of town.
Mashu Mashu opened about a year or two after I moved into the area, and judging from the crowds at lunch and dinner, it will remain long after I have left. It's a family place. Tables are overhwelmingly multi-generational, with the exception of a few middle-aged daters (and maybe one or two actual Daiters in the mix). Noisy, but in a fun, lively kind of way.
The space is neutral, the chairs comfy, the builder's beige walls set off by some of the ugliest restaurant art I've ever seen. Art work answers the long-asked question "what would happen If Pollock, Basquiat and Bubbles the chimp got together for a threesome at the vomitorium". Thankfully the food is much better.
Overrtaken by Zoomers and new moms at lunch, Mashu Mashu promises and delivers good value. In and out for about $10 and an hour of your time. you have a choice of grilled cubed meat, sliced rotisseried meat, falafel and a host of dips. Salads are always healthy and generously portioned; a shame that dressings tend to commerical sweetness.
The caesar is pedestrian, near-soupy unless you ask for half the regular amount of dressing. Greek salad fares better; a decent dusting of feta on a basic blend of iceberg, tomato and cucumber. A stray pepper or olive may land on your plate if you're lucky. The Mashu Mashu salad is better; it adds the crunch and temperature contrast of toasted nuts, and creamy goats cheese to overplayed designer greens.
Falafel is damn good. Crispy chickpea fritters are almost molten inside; sharp with cilantro, parsley, cumin and chili bite. Creamy tahini, airy hummus and crunchy veg both pickled and plain make for a superstuffed sammitch. A side of french fries is oddly among the best I've had in the city. Almost as golden as the falafel themselves, they're super-crunchy outside, sweet and puffy inside.
Mains are much less consistent. Chicken breast kabobs arrive moist and well-seasoned at one sitting, dry and cold the next. The portion is huge in any case. Ditto for Shawarma, which is either e-cumin-ical chicken thigh deliciousness, or prone to dryness and occasional bits of cartilage (with all due respect to other cultures, once I get a mouthful, or rubber-crunchy cartilage, I'm done eating for the evening). A trio of kafta sees three very large, very dry, very salty free-form sausages sharing the plate with properly-cooked basmati rice and fresh but uninspired broccoli, carrots and cauliflower. Vegetarians might enjoy the random items in the vegetarian plate, but other than a block of feta and smoky marinated eggplant, you're better off with a salad and a few dips of your own choice.
Service is generally pleasant, ranging from distracted to attentive. Water is refilled, but coffee requires repeated requests. For a shawarma joint, it's a rich, bottomless cup; fair competition for the multiplying chain coffee shops that dot the Village.
As part of the current wave of middle eastern restaurants, Mashu Mashu is middle of the road. The fact that the road in question winds through Forest Hill suggests that what corned beef and pastrami were to my forefathers, shawarma and falafel may be to my unborn children.
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