At 9 o’clock, the dinner rush has just begun. Tables of 10 and more are being seated. Women in heels carry little girls in party dresses. Young men greet one another with double-cheeked kisses. People arrive clutching wrapped gifts. The band gets ready on-stage.

Kayan Mediterranean Cuisine
202–777 West Broadway
604-874-2777
Open daily 11 a.m. to midnight.

This isn’t a wedding reception, although it feels like one. Rather, it’s an ordinary Saturday night at Kayan Mediterranean Cuisine, a new restaurant in the old Tojo’s space on West Broadway. It’s regularly packed on Friday and Saturday nights, when there’s live Middle Eastern music and dancing. The authentic Lebanese and Syrian food likely has something to do with the turnout.

Among the large groups, our table for two is the exception, but the staff is accommodating. We made our reservation a week earlier, when we arrived at 8 p.m. thinking we’d snag a table for the 9 p.m. entertainment. The place was empty, yet virtually every spot was booked.

We had to power-snack early in the evening to make it to this late dinner. As we salivate over the menu, everything looks good. Hot and cold mezza (small dishes, around $7.50) make up the bulk of the offerings, including dips like hummus and baba ganoush, tabbouleh salad, stuffed grape leaves, and falafel. We can’t narrow our choices down far enough, so we decide to forgo individual entrées for the mezza dinner for two ($44.95), which lets us pick seven to share.

Order sorted, I take a look around. The restaurant is a long rectangle, and we’re seated at one end, next to a wall of windows facing the mountains. It quickly becomes apparent that this is the quieter section, as the stage is near the other side, with the small dance floor. There, the pumping music makes talking difficult. Patrons are raising glasses of wine, martinis—even shooters. Enthusiastic dancers have their hands up, swaying their hips and pressing the air to the beat.

Even if it weren’t full of people, Kayan has atmosphere to spare. Walls are Revlon-lipstick red. Sparkly textiles cover some tables, and banquettes are lined with bright cushions. Tapestries and inlaid-wood-mosaic mirrors hang on the walls.

Later, by telephone, Lebanese co-owner Oula Hamadeh tells me that, in terms of décor, “Every single thing you see here comes from the Middle East.” Hamadeh says the entertainers vary every week, from a Persian singer to the two Iraqi brothers who were singing Arabic pop the night I was there. According to Hamadeh, the music crosses borders—“Everyone in the region knows the songs”—so the restaurant attracts diners with ties to Egypt, Lebanon, Iran, and elsewhere. Daytime and weeknights see a more sedate business crowd.

When our food arrives, I’m surprised that the “mezza for two” isn’t served in communal dishes. Our order has been split onto two platters in portions larger than either of us can finish. Pita bread and tzatziki accompany both, along with a house-made garlic mayonnaise so luscious I could swim in it.

Our favourite mezza is the sojok, an Armenian beef sausage. The chunks of sausage are spiced with an intoxicating mixture of mild curry, paprika, allspice, and cloves. It’s served hot in a crock, topped with diced fresh tomatoes and gratuitous amounts of olive oil to sop up with pita. We also love the kibbie, deep-fried ovals of ground sirloin and cracked wheat stuffed with cinnamon-scented ground beef and pine nuts.

The shankleesh, a feta-cheese dip, is a bit strong on the oregano for my liking. The foul moudammas, a rough-textured fava-bean dip, is good but fridge-cold. I prefer the moutabal bathenjan, a fluffy mixture of rich roasted eggplant seasoned with pomegranate and lemon juices. Filo cheese pastries and baked lemon chicken wings round out the textures.

As we rubberneck at the other tables, the entrées look enticing. They’re large, served with a generous green salad, and include kebabs, lamb shanks, and shawarma plates ($14.95 to $18.95).

Our server is pleasant and helpful with the menu. But he’s simply overburdened, and everybody’s signalling for his attention. Our dessert order is mixed up, and the evening begins to drag. Our house-made baklawa finally arrives in four bite-sized, honey-dripping pieces. The shai tea is something to see, served in an elaborate gold tea set.

As we sip, Hamadeh appears in glittering belly-dancing attire. (She teaches raqs sharqi, or oriental dance, and performs on weekends at Kayan.) She delights diners by sashaying between tables while balancing a candelabra of real, lit candles on her head. Later, she dances while balancing swords.

We leave Kayan at midnight, feeling like we’ve had not just dinner but a full-on experience. Next time, we’ll be at one of the big tables with friends.