It is an inexorable fact that Andersonville will become, over time, one long uninterrupted strip of vintage-furniture shops. The moment I take to the barricades is the dread day that Taste of Lebanon is priced out of the hood; given the constant flow of customers, I’d hope that’s still pretty far off. This little counter-service joint excels at everything it does—falafel, baba ghanouj, a splendid fattoush—but ask just about anybody what they can’t do without here and they’ll most likely tell you: the lentil soup. Which is uncanny, because what the fuck is even in lentil soup? Lentils, that’s what. I’ve downed gallons trying to figure out what makes this stuff so good. No single spice predominates; it is presumably not made with, like, veal stock or something. The most discernible flavors are black pepper and onions. Still, it’s transcendent. “I don’t know why I like it / I just do,” Whitney Houston did not sing about the lentil soup at Taste of Lebanon. But she should have.