Beirut viewed through the lens of a bar glass - Nabil Majdalani

Veteran restaurateur talks about the effect of changing times on the capital's nightlife

By Jim Quilty
Daily Star staff
Saturday, July 23, 2005

Beirut viewed through the lens of a bar glass

Interview

BEIRUT: "Once we were at Uncle Sam's when an army convoy pulled up outside," Nabil Majdalani chuckles as he reassembles the scene. "The officer came in and said everybody had to leave. 'There's a 200-kilogram bomb outside,'" he said. "All the guests decided to stay at the bar because they all lived a couple of blocks away. If this bomb was to blow they'd die either way. So we stayed at Uncle Sam's playing darts and having drinks. Nobody died."

Majdalani isn't in a talkative mood today. Maybe it's the heat and humidity that've enclosed Beirut recently. Even at his most taciturn, though, he'll spin a yarn that'd put most novelists to shame.

A Beirut restaurateur for more years than he'd care to see published, Majdalani was the owner of Uncle Sam's, a Ras Beirut landmark on the corner across from AUB's Main Gate from 1980-86 - conventionally known as the darkest days of Lebanon's Civil War. These days he owns Le Rouge, a successful bistrot-cafe-bar in the Gemmayzeh quarter.

Beirut has long thrived on its services - long before independent Lebanon existed, in fact - and that makes the city's restaurateurs a particularly rich source for one strand of Beirut's recent social history. Majdalani's stories are as entertaining as his insights are informative.

His early career reads like a tour of the creme de la creme of Beirut's prewar hospitality sector. His first job was at the legendary St. Georges Hotel - these days a Civil War ruin further damaged by the blast that killed former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri.

"I interned at the St. Georges ... no salary but I was making about $1,500 a month, a huge sum then. I had friends with doctorates making $500 a month."

He left Beirut in 1976 for Sharjah, in the U.A.E., to work on the opening of NovoTel. He ran a restaurant in Cannes - "Much nicer than Sharjah" - and returned to Beirut in 1980.

"Ras Beirut, AUB and that area used to be Beirut - between Hamra Street, Jeanne d'Arc, Bliss Street, the Central Bank and the universities. During the war things changed." he smiles. "Uncle Sam's worked tremendously. We had three hold-ups," he laughs. "It was fantastic.

"We never paid for militia protection," he says, "but there was the neighbourhood hizb - the SSNP. They were just before Cinema Strand. From the Strand and up it was Hizbullah. On the other side was the PSP."

He laughs again, recalling a robbery at Uncle Sam's. "One of our customers was passing by. He went directly to the gendarmerie. Meanwhile we'd told one of our cooks run to the SSNP.

"So the hizb came. The police came. The police shot at the hizb. The burglars threw grenades and left. It was crazy. The police came in and arrested all the guests." He laughs. "The only people who didn't get mugged were the burglars themselves."

In February, car bombs returned to Beirut political life in earnest. In the wake of each bomb, the quiet in Beirut streets has been palpable. Majdalani recalls people being more innocent 30 years ago.

"In 1975 nobody was afraid," he says. "We'd hear gunshots and people would say, 'Oh, gunshots.' The first time we heard shells coming it was 'Wow! Shells!' Like being in a movie.

"Frankly [peoples' habits of consumption] didn't change. ... Uncle Sam's was packed from morning to the 8 p.m. curfew. We had to kick people out. They didn't want to leave because they all lived close by and they thought they could walk home. We'd kick them out at eight and finally the last one would leave at 10 or 11 p.m.

"People were there, I think, to forget the war. And it was the place. Ras Beirut is where everybody gathered. Uncle Sam's, Backstreet, Smugglers - which was bombed - these were the places where people would go to blow off steam.

"We didn't really know how it was on the Green Line. We used to play tennis at the Renaissance every day, listening to bullets whistling overhead. We'd go swimming at Sporting Club. Shells were falling on your left and on your right. Because you were young you didn't give a s***" he laughs.

"Frankly you had to adapt. Otherwise you wouldn't survive. We wanted to stay there ... because we believed that staying in your place was the best thing to do. Though we weren't with any party."

Majdalani began earning his reputation as an innovator during the war. "I was the first person to start playing jazz in Beirut, at Uncle Sam's."

Jazz remained the theme for his next project, the Blue Note Cafe, which he opened on Makhoul in 1986. He later sold the company, which remains Beirut's cornerstone of imported and local jazz performance. He later acquired The Lone Star Cafe, near AUB.

At about the same time, Majdalani became involved in consultancy and branding. Among his many projects was the Hard Rock Cafe's Middle East franchise.

Beirut once had the distinction of being the only city in the world with two Hard Rock Cafes. The one in Ain al-Mreisseh, Majdalani's, was licensed from the U.S. company. The rights to the second, in Verdun, were seen as less legitimate because they were sold by an independent Canadian subsidiary.

There was a local wrinkle in this international dispute. "We had a fight over this and it was quite political. The one in Verdun was backed by the Shiite House speaker. Ain al-Mreisseh was backed by the Sunni premier," he chuckles. "This is Lebanon. Mayshil hal."

Majdalani suffered one setback in 1998 - Makhoul's Brasserie 101, which he says first brought mussels to Beirut. It fell victim to changing tastes, a shift that saw Monnot Street, near the old Green Line, boom at the expense of Ras Beirut and the north-eastern suburb Kaslik.

"The war was over and it was the closest place between two Beiruts. If you didn't want to go to East Beirut or West Beirut he would go to Monnot."

He attributes the relative decline of Ras Beirut to social factors. "There were times during the year when you didn't serve alcohol - because of religious feasts, Ashoura, Ramadan." People went elsewhere.

"It shifted, too, because there was a movement of new people to Ras Beirut. It was a clash of classes if you like, a clash of mentalities.

"We're in Gemmayzeh, now. Last year we didn't feel that it was Ramadan. While we were in Ras Beirut we used to live it. I'm sorry to use this 'East Beirut' 'West Beirut' but that's how it is.

"Restaurateurs live on hospitality. We don't talk politics. We don't talk religion. We eat all kinds of food. When you start having 'This you cannot serve' 'This you cannot eat' ... it's hospitality but not the sort that we're used to."

He pauses to speak to another customer. "For as long as I can recall Lebanon has been known for its hospitality. It used to be hospitality people opening businesses. Now ... Everybody thinks restaurants and hotels are the moneymaking thing, though 90 percent of them fail. The ones who last are those who've learned the business, who know how to deal with situations.

"Now there's Gemmayzeh. It's trendy. Why? Frankly I don't know. Except that it reminds me of Jeanne d'Arc street in West Beirut, where I was born." -dailystar

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