Only a blind man would bring a date here. Baba’s maroon and tan walls and dark wooden tables and booths scream, well, whatever the opposite of romance is. Our friendly server plopped us in a booth (kids to the left, kids to the right) and handed us plastic menus with pictures. Wine was inquired about. “Red or white?” he asked. Um. We dove into ordering: mezza plate, lamb kabab, gyro plate, and falafel. The solidly packed mezza plate was dropped in front of us not two minutes later and barely had a moment’s rest before eight grubby hands scooped and dipped as if we had never eaten before. Hummus and babaganoush both packed a piercing garlic punch (another reason to take a new lover somewhere else), and the parsley-dense tabouli salad was light and fresh. Lamb kebabs were quite rare (requested medium) and chewy, so we pushed those aside and devoured a puck-huge pile of rice, which was soft and rich. Falafel, one of our favorite things, was so dry it shattered when we tried to cut it in half, a huge disappointment. The store-bought pita was also a bit of a head-scratcher (why not just make it fresh?) but not as much as the baklava, which was inedible. Despite those bumps, the food is decent, and one friend’s honey even got a doggie bag—there was that much. We left with two uncomfortable sensations: very full tummies and a touch of baby fever. 1901 Abrams Rd. 214-823-8235. $$. Full bar.
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