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Breaking Up with Mr. Kebab

December 22, 2009

Sigh, I never got around to writing a post about how much I liked the place, but I’m here to say, Mr. Kebab, I shall never go to you again, spending lunches with a novel at your White Stripes-colored establishment. Well, that’s probably a lie, I will probably get too lazy to cross the street sometimes– but yeah, we’re over. I have ignored your sad microwaved potato wedges for far too long. I know, I know we all lionize our firsts, but I’ve moved on to better things, in terms of quickie shawarma joints– mainly Petra Palace, whose fries are crispy… and well… a host of other reasons, which I have conveniently enumerated:

1) Thick, just toasted pita bread— not the, “is this a tortilla?” shit, I’ve grown accustomed to.

2) Hummus. Hummus. Hummus.

3) Falafel. Falafel. Falafel. Falafel. Falafel. (side story: a friend of mine came by and the guys said, “You look familiar.” She answered, “Well, sometimes I come here with my friend.” They answered, “Oh, does your friend like falafel?” Ugh. I have become Falafel Girl. As much as I hate to be associated with a food most famous for Bill O’Reilly’s sexual/linguistic faux pas– which you can google for yourself, I’m not going to be responsible to linking you to that, if you don’t already know– it has not deterred me from going there entirely too often.)

Fact: When I was taking this picture, I felt like Rafiki holding up Simba off a cliff in The Lion King.

P.S. I cheated on you with Ankara Picnic when I felt like you were being too clingy, anyway.

On a thoroughly unrelated subject, you wouldn’t believe how many people come to this blog searching for “Koreans in animal hats.” Yeah, I get it– it’s funny, goofy– but really? Really?

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