One of my favorite places to eat in the city is a tiny little dining room tucked into a narrow row house in Old City. The brick walls are covered in old Turkish plates, and glass lanterns hang from the tin ceiling. The tables are covered in white butcher paper, and a rainbow assortment of crayons is tucked into ornate Moroccan-style glasses, nestled amongst equally ornate candle holders. The bar is very old, and very mirrored.
Above the restaurant is an tiny, narrow club, with an even tinier stage at the back of the room. In front of the tiny stage is a small grouping of tables. If you have tickets to an upstairs show, and reservations for a downstairs meal, you get to sit at one of the very few tables. And if you get tickets for a show, I highly recommend getting yourself a reservation downstairs.
Nearly every time I eat there, a meze platter is ordered: as an appetizer for a group, or a meal for two. Every time, as soon as the platter, heaped with Mediterranean delights, is put on the table, I bee-line for the tzatziki. The other night, I had a craving and a whole bunch of fresh-picked cucumbers. And despite the lack of ambiance, and the lack of warm, fresh pita, olives, or stuffed grape leaves, and despite the fact that, once upstairs, there was no music, just a bed and a basket full of laundry waiting to be put away, it was enjoyed, thoroughly and completely.