Mahrous

If you're one of those people that despises the commercialization of the fuul industry, Mahrous may be the place for you. Tucked away in the innards of Garden City, a short jaunt from the Canadian embassy, and somewhere in between the Muslim Council and the Four Seasons lies this unassuming full stand. Its worldly possessions are but a cart, some pots and pans, an edra, a stove, and whatever foodstuffs are needed for the evening. Just don't let that fool you, because out of the edra comes one of the finest fuuls in all of Cairo.

My first experience with the place came after an unsuccessful hunt for an ahwa (cafe) showing the Cricket World Cup. Simon had graced Mahrous' street tables on previous occasions, so it was suggested that we head there to take care of some post-party munchies (we had left the party in search of cricket). As great of an idea as it was, neither of us were entirely sure how to navigate Garden City's seemingly impenetrable maze of rounded streets and spooky buildings. Luckily Mahrous is somewhat of a famed institution in those parts, so a couple of street sweepers were quickly able to point out where we needed to go.

I remember seeing lights. Lots of lights. There was a parking garage across the street and an apartment block to the left. It looked like the fuul stand had been given a tiny triangle of building to work with. Not to worry, as the place was hopping at three o'clock in the AM. We were greeted and seated by a friendly basha, who didn't seem fazed by the presence of two foreigners. Simon did the ordering as I had yet to become a fuul connoisseur.

Shortly thereafter, starters began arriving at our table: chips, gibna (cheese), onions, tahina, pickles, and bread. And then the main event. Two piping hot bowls of fuul eskandroni topped with omelettes were set down in front of us. After the customary bean mashing, I tore off a piece of bread and prepared myself for what was likely to be a fuul revolution. I was not disappointed. The first bite was incredible. It was like no other fuul I had ever had the honour of tasting. Whatever the proprietors were doing, they were doing it right.

I returned to Mahrous a number of times; whenever I needed a reminder of how delectable fuul could be or needed to break the monotony of the day-to-day fuul. Everyone I met that had any sort of interest in fuul was escorted there and encouraged to try what came to be known as "Glorious Fuul." But it wasn't just the fuul that kept bringing me back. There was something about the atmosphere. The street tables. The rich sitting next to the poor all enjoying Egypt's staple dish. The friendly service. You couldn't ask for a better place to eat fuul.