I won’t lie, I looked around to make sure there weren’t a couple white guys in sunglasses and trenchcoats sitting in an unmarked sedan with a telephoto lens aimed at me as I walked in this joint. Granted, I know it’s just a restaurant, but with our civil-liberties-deficient regime in D.C., one can never be too careful. The little American flag by the door hasn’t really helped business all that much from what I could tell, but it may be the weird interior keeping the crowds away. Walking up to the second floor space is an odd experience, and the fact that the place looks like the bottom floor of a private duplex (and not a nice one at that) just screws with your sense of reality–not to mention your appetite. To go is the way to go. The food itself is actually rather tasty and not too expensive. It doesn’t necessarily do anything to differentiate itself from the several other Afghan places in the neighborhood, but a nice chicken kebab makes for a decent, relatively healthy meal when you’re looking for a break from that turkey sandwich or slice of pizza. I’ll just have to trust that they didn’t open an F.B.I. file on me for eight dollars worth of rice, chicken and yogurty sauce. [MF]
265 W 54th St.