By Robb Walsh Troy Fields There are better Middle Eastern restaurants in Houston, but none is more fun than El Mirage.
Smoke rises in a cloud above the hookah smoker's head.
In front of him, a belly dancer in a blue-fringed bra moves her head from side to side above her folded arms and ample cleavage in an I Dream of Jeannie gesture. The man with the water pipe can't take his eyes off her. When the curvaceous dancer stops at our table, I attempt to stuff a dollar in the waistband of her bangled skirt. Just as my hands reach her hips, she begins to undulate wildly, leaving me unsure where to deposit my money. The crowd goes wild as I turn crimson.