Cafe Istanbul

The reason I don't like going to Cafe Istanbul on Lawrenceville Hwy in Decatur is simple:  I like restaurants that have ambiance, where the decor, the feel, the lighting, and the seating lead to a relaxing and peaceful feeling.  This place is completely the opposite of what I look for in a restaurant.  It's located on a busy highway here in Atlanta, with parking that's not always easily accessible.  Moreover, when we walked into the restaurant last night at 7:30 p.m, it was still light outside but cavernous and oppressive inside.  You can't see anything much except the open rooms with pillows lining the wall and tables positioned every few feet along in front the pillows.  Persian carpets covered most of the floor, and there were a few small groups huddled over their hookah pipes, puffing away while lounging on their backs.  The varied assortment and sizes of pillows bothered me; how long had it been since they had been thoroughly washed and cleaned?  How long, for that matter, had the floors been cleaned, and were the tables we leaned our elbows on in fact cleared of all ground in food and residual ashes?  I had my nice Falconnable white shorts on... was I going to have a big fat round spot on my bottom after smooshing myself onto the embroidered pillows? 

As for the food, we could neither read the menu nor understand the items.  With a little guidance, we ordered an array of foods from shish kebab to mezza plates to lamb stew to pizza.  The margarita was irritatingly sweet and large, a sure message that there wasn't much alcohol in it.  And that was a bit depressing, considering that we were going to pay for the 12 people we brought with us!  When the food was brought out, we were relieved as the adults in the party were slowly sinking into the several pillows we had positioned to prop us up while we sat Indian style or knees to our chests; gravity was at work, and arthritis was setting in.  I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get out of the position and I knew others weren't very comfortable, either.

The belly dancer was a big hit with the kids and the men in the party.  Nostalgia set in as I thought to the days of living in Hawaii and enjoying the Tahitian dancers at hula shows.  The little tambourines on her hands were fun, but our conversation was soon overwhelmed by the loud music and our attention diverted with the barely clad belly dancer.  How is it, my husband asked, that some Muslims wear berkahs while others fully accept these belly dancers? Hard to understand!

Finally, our dinners came out, but the various meats were really difficult to identify.  My mixed grill consisted of a longer dark tubular meat, a round disc like meat, a cube lighter colored meat, and thinner sliced square pieces of meat on rice with potato salad, red cabbage, and shredded carrots.  It all tasted pretty good, but it was definitely a bit dry and one type of meat from the other was definitely not identifiable.

With our ears ringing as we walked out of the restaurant, I was reminded that it's not so bad to go to restaurant like this if nothing more than to be able to appreciate the ones that I typically look for in my search for a great restaurant.  It will be a long time before I go back, and I hope by then, they'll have given everything a good scrub down.