A Recipe for Hummus

A Story by Gary Diehl

Another in a continuing ridiculous series of stories about me and my dating misadventures.

She was smart, funny and beautiful - not really my type. But, I decided to ask her out anyway. And for some unknown reason she had agreed. Maybe it was out of pity, curiosity or maybe she was doing research for a psychology paper. I don’t know. Don’t care. The first date went fine, though it wasn’t really a date, just a meet and greet kind of thing for coffee to see if I had a tail or was allowed within 500 ft. of a school. No and yes respectively by the way.

The second date would be different. See, she was Lebanese and wanted to share her culture with me. OK, cool, I thought. I didn’t even know what a Hookah bar was and had to look it up when she suggested we go to one. According to Wikipedia a hookah is a single or multi-stemmed instrument for vaporizing and smoking flavored tobacco (called Mu'assel). In other words, a bong. And a hookah bar is, well a bar where one would smoke a hookah.

I don’t smoke, never have. But pretty girls make guys do dumb things. So we agree to meet there. I’m early, she’s late and aside from the bartender and one server, I am the only one in the bar. Hmmm. Saturday night at 7:00 and no one?

Eventually she shows and we get a table, the waitress asks my date a question I didn’t understand and she responds with a response I don’t understand either. A bit later, the waitress (and I don’t think she’s called a waitress but rather something like a barista for hookah bars) brings out this really large glass contraption, lights it up and drops a cube of something into the top. I assume tobacco.

I’m nervous because I don’t want to take a big inhale and end up coughing like an idiot. I’m out of my league and also out of my element, but I’m still trying to act cool. Trying.

But I take a “drag.” Do they call it that? I’ve never smoked " anything. Well, a few cigars. So I inhale and it’s actually quite pleasant, very mild and flavorful and after awhile you get a little, very little buzz. It’s nice

By now the bar is filling up and there are hookahs on all the tables, smoke floating up and away all around us. The crowd is mostly, if not all Lebanese folks and my date apparently is pretty well known and popular as people keep coming over and saying hello.

We place our food order, of course we have to have hummus and pita, and we also order kibbeh, which look like little deep fried footballs with meat inside. I think it was just ground beef but according to the Internet it can be beef, lamb, goat or camel. Although I can’t imagine eating camel, aren’t they pretty valuable for other stuff?

So things are going good. Making small talk, smoking the hookah, eating hummus and kibbeh. And that’s when it took a turn.

Now my date has a fairly heavy Lebanese accent and this next part would be much better if I could write with a Lebanese accent, but I can’t, so try to imagine it.

“So, Gary?” she asks, “How was your date on Wednesday?”

Oh boy! Out of nowhere she hits me with that. I literally had seconds to decide how to reply. I did in fact have another date the previous Wednesday, nothing came of it and the two of us had already agreed just to move on. Not a big deal. Plus I only had a hamburger Wednesday so it wouldn’t even make a good story.

And this was technically just my first date with my date tonight. There was no foul here. But it was uncomfortable. And I had to respond.

I smiled, dipped a pita in the hummus, trying again to be cool, “Oh, how did you know I was out Wednesday?”

I wasn’t trying to dodge the question, more like stall for time to make sure I responded properly. How did she know it wasn’t my sister I was with? Other than I don’t have a sister. Or maybe just a friend.

“Oh, I have my ways of knowing,” She said. It sounds a lot creepier in the Lebanese accent.

“Were you there?”

“Like I said, I have my ways of knowing.” Now she’s sounding like a Gypsy fortune teller.” “It’s OK, I don’t mind, it’s not like you and I are exclusive or anything.”

I’m thinking, Oh boy, this is going south fast, I can just feel it. Exclusive? Did she just say that? It’s a first date!

“Really, it’s OK, I don’t mind at all. I’m just teasing you.” She smiled. “I hope you had fun Wednesday.”

Not really passive aggressive, maybe more like passive -passive with an aggressive undertone. But, when you factor in the accent, it almost came across threateningly.

It hadn’t crossed my mind until then, but I suddenly realized that I am sitting in a bar filled with men and women from the same culture as my date. Many who seemed to know her quite well and most of whom I can only assume would be fairly protective of one of their own, particularly a single mother on a date with some guy they don’t know. Really, she could not be in a safer place right now. Me? I wasn’t sure.

I imagined a group coming over to our table and my date simply saying, “Take him.” Upon which they would lift me out of my chair carry me out the back, throw me in a dumpster and pour hookah water all over me.

Now I have to say, I have a good number of friends and acquaintances that are Lebanese. They are the nicest friendliest people you would ever want to meet. But I have never dated their daughters or sisters and if they thought I treating one of their loved ones improperly, I would imagine they would react as anyone would, whether they be they Lebanese, Egyptian, Chinese or Texan.

But once again let me emphasize, I did nothing wrong!

The crowd didn’t turn on me that night. They just kept dancing. My date and I tried to make small talk but I found it tough. A couple more times I asked her if she was there Wednesday, but she would not give it up. So I let it go.

We wouldn’t go out again and she would never tell me how she knew I had a date that Wednesday, which is fine. Ultimately, I wasn’t what she was looking for and she wasn’t what I was looking for.

But I can now say that I have been to a hookah bar. The kibbeh was delicious. The hummus? I think mine is better.

So here is my recipe: