We had trouble finding the place as we crawled eastward on 23rd Avenue in a blinding downpour, but finally spotted the wood-frame house, its front porch dimly illumined by colored lanterns. Abandoning the car somewhere down the street and plunging ankle-deep in water, we waded to the porch and dashed inside. Curious little knickknacks lined the walls, including a flute carved from lamb bone, an antique clock made of rope, an astrolabe, and a bunch of dried aloe hanging over the door. "Like mistletoe," one diner observed, puckering her lips, then adding, "I feel like I'm in someone's living room." Indeed, a trio of businessmen had spread papers over an adjoining table as they discussed tax liabilities over glasses of ouzo, while a law student pored over her textbook of torts. A long, narrow window peered into the kitchen, where deeply red tomatoes were stacked pyramidally and a pair of raven-haired women puttered over... More >>>