Visited in February, 2015
Next door at Gravy
Restaurant, ten minutes before their opening: “Could you let us in? We’re really cold. It’s
freezing out here.”
The Gravy manager barked, “You’ll have to wait until we are open. Not before.”
“We don’t need a table right away, can’t we just wait inside
the door where it is warm?”
“No.”
“Jerks,” I muttered irritably.
“Are you still hungry?” my wife asked, ignoring my grousing.
“Look at you, your fingers are turning blue. You’re
shivering. What else is nearby?”
“Sitti is right
next door.”
“We’ve already been there twice. The service was slow, the bar tender
worthless.”
“That was just your martini.
You enjoyed the food didn’t you?
Besides I don’t see anywhere else.”
“I suppose.” I replied without conviction or even
enthusiasm.
Well before the evening rush, there were plenty of tables. A
waiter appeared. “How are you this afternoon, sir? My name is Ross.” Before us
stood a stolid, somewhat stocky, unruly haired young Celt, either totally
unfazed or unable to read my dour expression. “Can I get you something to
drink?”
“How am I? Let me
tell you. We’ve just been pushed out in the cold by Gravy, and we’re hungry. Vivian
is there a wine you would like?” I so wanted this to be fun, but I was not
optimistic.
“Yes, this looks good.” she replied cheerily and returned the
wine list to Ross.
“And for you sir?”
Grumble, grumble. “Is this bartender any good? The last two
times we’ve been here, the drinks were terrible.”
“How so?”
“I like martinis. On our first visit, after reminding the
waiter twice, mine finally arrived, well after we had begun eating. The second
time – it arrived with ice chips all over the surface, obviously shaken when I
had asked for stirred. Water kills gin.”
Ross’s eyes twinkled; his body language read “Ignore gruff.”
He paused, smiled disarmingly, and responded, “How do you like your martini?”
Good man. No fear, very professional. I liked him, but I still barked, “Tanqueray gin,
classic not dry, not shaken, stirred only a few times, and straight up, with an
olive. And better bring me a jigger of olive juice for insurance.”
“Insurance?”
“Yes, insurance, if it’s poor, I can drown it down dirty.”
“I’ll bring the juice, but you won’t need it. You’ll be
pleased. To be sure, I’ll make it myself.”
I warmed to this guy.
My wife and I had begun to thaw.
The drink arrived, I sipped. “Ross, thank you, this is
good.” He waited a bit more, the restaurant was not yet crowded. Though he had
no accent, I wondered out loud,”You’re not Scottish by any chance, are you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact; my mother still lives there.”
And so started a conversation, first about Scotland, then his
educational background, and finally the restaurant itself. He told us about the
old time photos on the walls, “Many if not all are relatives of the owner,
including his ‘Sitti’ which in Lebanese means ‘grandmother,’ the most
important, and most beloved figure in any Lebanese family.”
We were in good hands. Ross’s martini calmed my inner
dragon. “And so my new friend, what do you recommend?” Sitti organized its large, tri-panel menu by: Cold Mezze (salad,
soup, sides); Entrees and Kabobs; and Hot Mezze and Pizzettes. “So many
choices.”
The table pita arrived, fresh warm billowing pillows of
goodness. Vivian and I relaxed enough to discuss Burning Coal’s production of Romeo and Juliet that we had just this afternoon. By
the second martini, we were reminiscing about other productions.
I truly enjoy lentil soup, one of the world’s great
accomplishments, and Sitti’s ranked
among the best, and also one of the most unusual. Tonight’s included not only dark lentils but shredded
grape leaves in a tangy vegetable broth. Slivers of a white root vegetable
replaced the typical rice. Neither Vivian nor I could quite place the very
fragrant spice. I’d go back just for the soup. Not ordering any appetizer,
Vivian tried my soup and loved it.
Her shrimp kabob arrived off the spit, tangy with a delectable
sauce. “One of the best shrimp dishes I
have ever had.” She exclaimed. I tasted the tails (yes the tails, I like them crispy
and chewy). The sauce was indeed good,
not oily, and not overly spiced. Her
white rice, served with brown, fried bits of vermicelli and slivered almonds, was
quite good.
After all these good treats, my swarma was a bit of a disappointment. Having lived in New Jersey with its large
Middle Eastern population, the swarma I was used to was meat shaved from a large vertical-spit
of overlapping cuts of meat. What I
received were pan fried, indistinguishable morsels of beef and lamb. My guess
would be that the demand for swarma in Raleigh doesn’t warrant setting up a
true swarma spit – nevertheless, this second best was just that.
Because it sounded so bizarre, I ordered garlic whips as my
side. Bizarre? Yes! As strange as
Aladdin’s magic carpet and even more transportive. Wow, what a grand taste.
Ross described it as a mixture of egg whites, garlic, salt and a small amount
of oil. It was far lighter than mayonnaise
and spread wonderfully. Next time, especially if the lentil soup is not au
jour, I’m ordering garlic whip as my appetizer.
In the hopes that we might someday bring our grandchildren,
we checked out the children’s menu. It’s as much fun as the adult fare: mini tastes
of hummus, baba ghanouj, and labneh; cheese pizzette with house-made
mozzarella; chicken kabob; or peanut butter and jelly on pita. We laughed over
the Lebanese interpretation of our traditional PB&J.
We shared the baklava for dessert: five pieces, sweet but
not too rich; we could even taste the pistachios. To Vivian’s disappointment, they did not
serve Turkish Coffee.
On leaving we thanked Ross profusely, “Great time; you’ve
made me want to come back.”
Sitti Authentic
Lebanese is located at: 137 S. Wilmington Street, Raleigh, NC 27601. 919-239-4070. http://www.sitti-raleigh.com/
