Vanessa T.
Google
My taste buds got a Lebanese passport and are never coming home.
Let me set the scene: I walked into Anthony and Villa of Lebanon thinking I’d be having a light dinner. I walked out an hour later, emotionally attached to a plate of hummus and seriously considering naming my firstborn “Baba Ghanoush.”
The hummus? So smooth it could probably get a job as a motivational speaker. If angels ever learned how to cook, this is what they’d bring to the potluck. The pickled garlic was a great compliment to the rest of the food, and strong enough to ward off vampires, exes, and possibly low self-esteem.
Then came the lamb shawarma. Tender, juicy, perfectly spiced. I took one bite and instantly forgot my own name. I’m pretty sure my phone’s facial recognition didn’t recognize me afterward because I had spiritually ascended.
By dessert, I was too full to move. But then someone said “pistachio baklava” and I suddenly found strength that I didn’t know I had. It was flaky, buttery, and unapologetically sweet. It was so perfect, I almost stood up and clapped.
Service? Impeccable. Our server thanked us, but truly, it was him that we should have been thanking.
In conclusion: this wasn’t a meal, it was a spiritual awakening with extra garlic. 10/10 would risk hummus-induced bliss again.