Amsterdam Falafel

With the chilly onset of delicious fall, I've been jogging further and further out for good eats. This past week, I jogged to Adams Morgan to scope out the 'hood. I took my housemate with me on our longest jog yet, where we reached Amsterdam Falafel. She had her wallet, I did not. If you could combine the expressions of a sad puppy with a fish starved for water, that approximates my face as she chomped down on "the best falafel of [her] life," replete with do-it-yourself toppings like baba ghanoush, pickled beets, and coleslaw. I vowed to come back soon.

Fast forward two days, me and the law school girls are coming back from an evening class, and someone is hungry. I recommend Amsterdam Falafel. We go, They take credit cards. We rejoice. It is falafel heaven. Sting is playing in the background (shameless) and two very sketchy Russians are at the other table, but we are too busy eating to take much notice of them. I get the small, but it's still huge. I go crazy with the toppings - I make a note that eggplant is delicious in all its forms. It is also like 2 in the morning by the time we get back. I sleep as though I had been knocked by a two-by-four and awake with a very confused stomach that does not know what hour it is. Regardless, it was neat.