We had hired an official guide for our four days in Cairo. The responsibility was shared by two men, both named Mohammed. Each morning, one or both of them would appear in a van, ready with a driver, and whisk us off on another tour to visit the pyramids, Saqqara, or Coptic/Islamic Cairo. They both seemed knowledgeable, agreeable, and friendly, but also took advantage of us whenever they could.
One morning, skinny Mohammed asked us if we would like to eat authentic Oriental food for lunch. Oriental food? Why not Arabic, I wondered, tired of the American food we had been eating since our arrival. He assured us that it would be a treat to eat a typical Egyptian meal together. We agreed to pay him $25.00 US + beverages, and he settled happily back into his seat.
We arrived at the Pyramid Restaurant at 2 pm, and not another soul in sight at the empty tables. In the back of the restaurant, four women sat on the floor beside a brick oven baking pita bread. Intrigued, I wandered over. A woman motioned for me to join her, so I sat beside her and watched her extract the pitas and put them in boxes filled with cracked wheat. She handed me a wooden slab with a freshly baked pita on it, and pulled off a piece for me to eat. So sweet, puffy and warm. Delicious, "La Zeez" I told her.
Mohammed led us upstairs to eat. The restaurant had open walls allowing views of the pyramids beyond the billboards and city traffic. Our guide quickly brushed aside our menus, and spoke Arabic to our waiter, who efficiently scurried away. I was dying of thirst. It had been a long, hot morning at Saqqara. Our colas were brought out and easily downed in one gulp. Our guide didn't even take a sip until the meal arrived, and then barely finished his drink. It was always surprising to see how little Egyptians drink in that hot, dry desert environment.
Our meal consisted of a several small communal "salads" which included cucumber relish, hummus, a cheesy white sauce, tomatoes, calamari, and eggplant, in addition to warm pitas and a whole fish. The food was delicious, and I was pleasantly surprised to learn that what they term Oriental food is actually Arabic. The only food we declined was the watermelon dessert, which is supposedly the kiss of death for "Pharaoh's Revenge" (intestinal sickness).
It was a tasty meal, although overpriced as the communal salads cost less than $1.00 US a piece. Obviously our $25.00 paid for our guide's meal and plenty of baksheesh for everyone. It is a common practice that we didn't catch on to until three weeks later in Jordan. Guides arrange for you to pay them directly, greatly inflating the price, and take you to their favorite restaurants. We finally wised up, requested restaurants described in travel books, and paid far less for much more satisfying food to boot.