Adventures in Eating Out
Taliban Deep Cave Breakfast Review
2 Stars
This review was inspired by Uvebruce, specifically his recent work:
Deep in the bowels of his composition, you will find this lovely sentence.
“I’ve had less hostile breakfasts at a TALIBAN Deep Cave Breakfast Reunion wearing a pork-skin jumpsuit while carrying a placard that says, Muslims Suck.”
That got me thinking . . . and all those thoughts mushed together into the diarrhea you are about to skim through.
Enjoy.
Let me start by saying, I love Afghani food. Always have. Dates, melons, and other dried fruits? Can’t live without them. Kabuli Pulao? Extra raisins and hind shanks please!
I’m also the most open-minded person I’ve ever met. I practice a live and let live philosophy, except when it comes to mosquitoes, invasive Florida pythons, and Katherine Heigl. I pride myself on being able to break bread with people of all political persuasions.
So I was shocked and awed at the abhorrent treatment I received when I attended the Taliban Deep Cave Breakfast last Tuesday.
My experience began when the Taliban sent a valet to intercept me just outside the American embassy in Kabul. I have to say the car service was very prompt. Before I was even aware that I had ordered a ride, they had me bound, blindfolded, and wedged snug in the trunk next to three other prospective diners.
Upon entry to the cave I was less than thrilled with the décor. Poorly lit, dusty stone hallways, with very limited seating. The few tables they had were fully occupied, with grenades, assault rifles, American flags, and lighter fluid. Those style choices must appeal to some, because in every second hollow three of four men were making Tik Tok videos with copies of today’s newspaper and single-handed curved swords.
It just wasn’t to my taste.
I was eventually seated next to a large rock under a fluorescent light. Not where I would have chosen, but the maître d’ was a complete snob. He actually laughed when I requested a booth with cushions, or at least something close to the mouth of the cave so I could enjoy the breeze.
I was seated at 2:27am. The first time a server introduced themselves was 4:18am. Almost two hours. I am not exaggerating.
Instead of asking if I’d like something to drink, or even starting me off with some water, my waiter launches into a diatribe. He starts ranting on and on about all the charity work this eatery participates in, trying to encourage me to join their campaign to limit funding to women’s schools throughout the country. I get it: you care about your community. How about we start with a Sauvignon Blanc and some stuffed onions, and then work our way into asking for donations to help keep the Afghan people struggling?
Was I carrying a placard that said Muslims Suck? Sure, but on the back it said ‘At Ping Pong,’ and I was only holding it for a friend.
Was I wearing a pork-skin jumpsuit? Yes. Am I aware that pork products are faux pas in this part of the world? Also yes. In fairness, I was whisked away so suddenly that I didn’t have time to change. I’m immensely glad that I was dressed ‘inappropriately’, as sucking on my own bacon collar helped to tide me over during the long wait.
I could see and smell food being delivered to other guests. Guests that had arrived long after I did. Meanwhile I didn’t receive so much as a grain of rice.
After four hours I was finally able to get a water, but I didn’t particularly care for the way it was served to me. Instead of a chilled glass, or a pitcher with ice, they insisted on leaning my head back and sifting water into my mouth through a thin sheet. Sure I was thirsty, but if anything this was too much water.
The worst part? I never managed to find the bathrooms. The one time I decided to wander the halls in search of a water closet, I found nothing but room after room of fellow guests who looked like they were having almost as miserable a time as me. When I asked for directions, three irritable young men escorted me directly back to my rock under the flourescent light, securing me in place with ropes that were tighter around my waist, wrist, and ankles than I would have tied for myself.
As for the price? They literally took everything I had on me.
I hope the owners of the Taliban Deep Cave Breakfast read this and make a serious effort to hire some competent staff and maybe spruce the place up a little. So much potential being wasted IMHO.
Enjoyed yourself? Then read this, Stupid:
Check out the world of a Lyft driver from Eleni Stephanides:
