Spy Games @ Matam Fez Standing amidst tapastries, rounded doorways, huge pillows and soft Arabian music it was hard to believe that just behind the heavy velvet curtains was the lesser region of hell known as Colfax. After a brief survey of a very tiny private room that would fit only half a wrestler or maybe a manager or two, we choose an open room lined with plush floor seats and gigantic pillows, tapestries everywhere, cool hanging lights ... very groovy baby. I was offered a medium-size bath towel draped over my shoulder in lieu of a napkin. It made me feel kinda like a decorated Morroccan official ... by the name Mustaffa ... working on an evil plan of world domination ... in an underground hideout ... uh, never mind. Our waiter was Alish, a slightly nervous but competent foreigner, lending a little more authenticity to the environs even though I think he was German, (maybe a spy, sent to infiltrate my lair ... uh, oh yeah, I wouldnt know a Morroccan if he bit me on the fez). Anyway he poured a whole pot of lemon water over my hands. This prompted an immediate visit to the bathroom were I found that the tiny Morroccan style hallway was just slightly smaller than the width of my shoulders. I choose a traditional mint iced tea --refreshingly simple and satisfying. Morroccan wine and beer are also available, but I had to stay on my toes, ever watchful, for rival evil-doers. We were promptly served harar, a thick and slightly creamy lamb and lental soup, which we drank directly from the bowls. Next was an assortment of salads including curried carrots, spicy beets, creamy spinach, fava bean pasta (Hannibal Lecter where are you?), eggplant roulade of some kind, tomatoes and cucumbers, potatoes, it just went on and on, eating it all with my fingers, slurping, and sopping, like Jabba the Hutt. Then a carrot pinapple and raisin palette cleanser, suspicously resembling the carrot salad of school lunch days ... brings to mind the matronly nurse Gretta, charged with my upbringing, who ritualisticly shaved my ... uh, never mind. What looked and smelled like dessert was a tasty third appetizer called bastia. It was comprised of chicken, eggs and almonds wrapped in filo dough and sprinkled with powdered sugar (yeah, it scared me too, but was suprisingly good). I choose a hot and spicy chicken split roaster with hot Morroccan sauce as as my entrée. Half a chicken eaten with both hands and no regard for neatness or civility. Steamed veggies with cous cous were served with our main course. Generous portions of fresh fruit were served as dessert. Sweetened Chinese gunpowder tea with spearmint was balanced on the elbow of our earnest Alish, then deftly flipped. We were told to close our eyes. HA! I knew it! A spy after all, maybe even an agent! Slowly reaching into my tunic for my dagger, I complied. Warm rose water was sprinkled on our faces and hair, or was it? Quickly retrieving a vial of antidote from my boot heel I... Eva the belly dancer, a tiny little creature full of fire, obviously involved in the plot thickening around me, was hypnotically pleasing, but I was able to resist her powers with my specially designed anti-hypno contacts. Although Mataam Fez is typically the "exotic" hot spot to sing happy birthday and make your date wiggle with embarrassment from the belly dancer's pulsations, it's the place to go to get away from Denver, the 20th century, the ever watchful eye of 007, and the unending sea of do-gooders trying to thwart my every plan for world domination, but I will not be denied ... I will reign triumphant! All Rights Reserved © 2001 Go-Go Media, LLC