drawn in foreign dignitaries, rock stars, aristocrats, and artists since it opened its doors in 1943. café baba. sweet mint tea and a thick, slow-moving haze of smoke that smells like my dorm room, 1972. anthony: good evening, hello. george: hi, i m george. anthony: this is george bajalia and zineb benjelloun. thank you for having me. george: yeah. welcome to café baba. anthony: i should say right now, i have no direct knowledge or awareness of either george or zineb smoking any illegal substances nor do i have any contemporaneous recollection at this time of me doing anything untoward in their presence, because that would be like wrong, dude. uh, some tea. george is here on a fulbright scholarship, and zineb is an artist from rabat. others in the room, however, well, don t give me that innocent look, you young punks. i know somebody in here s smoking reefer. anthony: so how stoned are people here? zineb: well, we can ask. [ laughter ]
i am me and we are you and where s my omelet, dude, cause i am hungry. george: assalamu alaikum. one, two, three? anthony: abdullah is just waiting for you right when you come stumbling out of café baba. coincidence or not? you be the judge. george: ketchup and mayonnaise, everything. anthony: ketchup and mayonnaise? sure, why not? condiment options i would be hard pressed to turn down at this precise moment anyway. george: that s a lot of mayonnaise. it s a good munchie. anthony: dude, that s awesome. i ll have 12 more. it s balanced.