When last we left our dashing beer gypsy, she was headed to Ali Baba to cure her hangry.
Now…you have to appreciate the short distance of which this event occurred. According to Google Maps, if you took the road it’s about .2 miles and 29 seconds by car to get from Cannonball Creek to Ali Baba. On bikes, it’s a little longer than 29 seconds but we also cut across the Starbucks and office building parking lots.
All of this is down hill, in so many ways. One friend was way up front and the other 3 were behind me by a little bit. As we round the office building, I see there are no cars on Rubey Drive. After a day of screeching my tires for shits and giggles, I figure this one would be epic since I have:
- Downhill inertia in my favor.
- A corner I have to take to get to Ali Baba.
- Enough beer in me to make me indestructible, especially on a bike.
As destiny comes quickly to greet me, I peddle a bit to get my footing, pop up on my peddles a wee bit because I know I’m going to have to crank on them pretty hard(it has coaster brakes, like when we were kids), and I strengthen my resolve to be a bad ass. I take the corner really fast and SLAM on the breaks with about 90% of the force I was expecting to use.
Slow motion took over…
The back wheel wiggled a bit more…I turned the handle bars to compensate slightly for taking the turn…I felt the baskets shake behind me. Then next thing I know I’m dumping the bike and tumbling over the handle bars…to land neatly on my feet.
After 2 summers in a row of damaging myself, I know when I’m hurt. Laughter poured out of me after the 4 seconds of shock wore off. Small scratch on my right foot and scapula. Nice sized rubber grip burn from my sternum across my right breast, about 2.5 inches long. That was it on the damage list. Not even a tear in my summer dress. Yes, folks. I do dumb ass shit on bicycles in summer dresses. Gotta keep it classy, kids.
About 200 feet later, we’re in front of Ali Baba, fine Lebanese and Persian food. Fine is not the word I or any of my cohorts would have used.
It was so amazing that if you had punched me while I was eating, I wound not have noticed.
We started with humus, grape leaves, and falafel. Which was a perfect teaser for 6 people. I had ordered the Bamya: okra cooked with beef, lemon juice, and Ali Baba spices and came with rice. It was divine. The meat was perfect and soft, not sinuous or fatty at all. The spices seemed the perfect blend to not over power the okra but to enhance it. To top it all, a nice bit of Turkish coffee. If this was the pay off for having endured such a vexing ride out to Golden(oh yeah, besides it being super hot without any clouds, the wind was against us the whole way), it was totally worth every hill I swore at.
Note: There is no booze what-so-ever in this joint. It’s a good thing. You really don’t need to be drinking in this place because it’s a total trip. It looks like the inside of a REAL genie bottle. No I Dream Of Jeannie pink and purple deco that makes you want to puke. These people spared no expense to make sure you questioned your sanity when you walked back out into reality. AND there’s 3…count that, 3 locations around Denver in which this magical amazingness happens.
The rest of the night was, well…I guess one could describe it as pleasant. We hopped the W-line back to Union Station without a hitch but know that if you’re on bicycle, it’s all up hill to the Jeffco government center. We met up with friends at a favorite neighborhood bar, then met up with more friends at a dive bar. Laughter all around.
Live fiercely. Love fiercely.
Post script: The whole time I’ve been writing this, I’ve been listening to my downstairs neighbors having sex. I think their bed is right under my couch. Not that I’m complaining. Just saying they might want to think about getting some of that bamya for after sex. Or during. They might be kinky like that. Dammit. I can’t stop thinking about eating that stuff.