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Zerza

Sat., February 24, 2007

Stars align, planets turn, an asteroid angles to blindside earth: mere trifles of the universe. After all, it’s Iggy’s birthday. The man is cooler than you; give it up and deal with it. Do you have full Fu-Manchu facial hair? Did you steal James Brown’s soul while his body was still warm? Does your coat contain at least three arrestable offenses, including shuriken? Have you ever sat on a sofa with a bathrobe-clad Miles Davis? I didn’t think so; to the back of the line with you.

So, you see, to bacchanalate properly we needed a venue alive with pleasure. We tried this East Side Moroccan joint, Zerza, but it was only just O.K. and shall receive my bile.

It’s good the 12 of us (14? 13? I wasn’t paying attention to begin with and I fully lost track after a few drinks) were such a giddy fun-loving bunch because my dish wasn’t. What was billed as a vegetarian casserole was a watery bunch of TV dinner peas, some carrot chunks and a scatter of lonely chickpeas. Thankfully the mojitos, although expensive, were tasty, as was the baklava.

But worst, we’d selected the place for its promise of gyrating, ululating, finger-cymbal rocking, vision-questing entertainments. To wit, we were told there would be a hookah; there was no hookah. We were told there would be belly dancing; there was no belly dancing. (Other than, eventually, among our own group; but this is a family blog and I can divulge no further detail.) ¿Dónde está belly dancer? “She left,” our waitress said, not so helpfully. Later, perhaps taking stock of our mojito-fogged minds, she suggested the tip wasn’t included in our colossal bill when in fact it was. That ain’t right. The free flutes of champagne the manager dispatched to our table didn’t make up for these transgressions but we drank it anyway.

On the gleeful slouch back to our respective subways and trains, we stopped at Astor Place to rotate The Alamo in Iggy’s honor. Some imps had pranked the top of the hulking metal cube with LED throwies, glowing like candyraver fireflies. We spun ol’ Alamo so fast, it began to shudder. “It’s oscillating! It’s oscillating!” Iggy shouted, and I thought it might whip loose from its pivot and hurtle down the Bowery, taking us with it.

Zerza

Tags: 52 Meals Project (2007), Friends | Comments have been closed.

On February 28, 2007 at 8:52 p.m., Faithful Reader Formerly Known as Dad wrote:

It's safe to tell us about the belly dancing. Mom won't notice and we'll never tell her.