Solomon's Mine (so back off)

Stop what you're doing! Get off the net! Head down to Queen of Sheba, a new and totally brilliant restaurant in Glasgow's St George's cross. Not hungry? Who cares, you'd be stuffed halfway through the main course anyway.

Me and Girl-e were going to get the usual Friday night takeaway, although we've gone through something of a local restaurant trial seperation since we last dropped in on our local Italian; instead of seafood spaghetti, they gave me a Carbonora which was actually a soup-based dish served in melted Lurpak instead of water. She still likes the pizza.

Last minute change of plan - we head to fast food powerhouse Asia Style in St George's road, but seeing as they're off ushering in the year of the Tiger, we go next door; stepping through a front door straight out of a B & Q sale and into a beautiful, but quirkily unpretentious interior with mushroom-like woven tables and cute stools which leave you only a foot off the ground.

Still reading? Get down there and give them your money before they shut down. The place was deserted but for our smily waitress wearing, presumably, Abyssinian national dress. No alcohol, (byob) so I sip some fragrant black tea with a spoonful of sugar and we order a starter and main.

I never see oxtail on menus; my starter is similar - a clear, oily broth with shreds of lamb on the bone. Girl-e has Sambusa parcels with lentils. Very nice, but the mains are the thing, and I'm disappointed that we don't eat them as intended - everyone present dining off the same giant pancake.

Why did we ever eat anything that was less than 100% meat? Meat which includes not-meat is a sickening thought when you think about it - I've just eaten a plate of raw beef, and now I feel I could fight a cow for more. It arrives on a delicious sour pancake the size of a Turkey platter called an 'Injera'. The waitress warns me what I'm getting, and right enough, it's a mere flash in the pan away from standing round, eating grass and taking few life-changing risks. Has it been seasoned? What is the taste of beef, anyway? Prepared this way, the blood and fat take on a flavour of their own; the texture is only as surprising as sushi.

We get a spoonful of fiery spice, as powder and blended with butter, which we dip as we go along, eating with our fingers. Girl-e orders a combination of lentil stew and spinach on fried onions and can't finish hers, either; excuse the bland description, it was nice when I had a spoonful of the leftovers just now. There are several vegetarian options to run through when we come back.

Why did we eat all those curries and pastas? Why do we even heat things up? Our idea of a guilty pleasure is a plate of meat slurry with mayo on a bun. I get through half of the main and get the rest wrapped up, and I'm still on a protein buzz.

I'm off to Google Ethiopia now, it's gratifying Glasgow finally has one of their restaurants. I do know the Queen of Sheba was married to the great King Solomon. I'm going back with friends, soon. It's the taste of ... civilisation.