Given the miserly salary that I earn, my typical form of summer entertainment revolves around buying a couple of warm beers, sitting in a park and watching girls stroll by.

But recently, I had the chance to sit outside on a warm summer's night, be waited on, drink cold beer, and ... watch girls stroll by.

It was a pleasant change – and one of the advantages of a LifeStyle restaurant review. LifeStyle pays the tab and, unless you're eating at Sydney 2000, you can enjoy a healthy meal for free, which is why you're likely to see a lot more reviews from this little black duck.

We were dining at Club Oranzhereya, located in a pleasantly quiet spot adjacent the Park Kultury swimming pool. My dining partner, who holds the dubious distinction of once having edited LifeStyle for a year, had been champing at the bit to get to this place.

Anyway, having surveyed the pleasant evening summer scene over a couple of cold Klinskoye (70 rubles), we turned our attention to the menu, which incorporates a mixture of Arabic and Chinese food and a little sushi to boot.

For an appetizer we both opted for the humus with fresh tomatoes (120 rubles). Earning as little as we do means that neither of us has the opportunity to indulge in such small pleasures, and therefore anything resembling humus was going to be well-received. That said, the final product was a tad oily.

Shortly after finishing the dish, I did a double-take at what I thought was a brief flash of silk and flesh in the restaurant. I motioned to my dining partner and said: "I could be hallucinating, but I swear I saw a belly-dancer."

He was off like a shot... leaving me trailing in his wake. When I caught up with him, he was already in the midst of some chit-chat with one of the belly-dancers, and I caught them mid-sentence.

"Bond?" came her fluttering inquiry.

"No... err, Beadle... James Beadle."

Beadle was using his "James, the elegantly spoken Englishman" routine, and it was working a treat. The three dancers, clad in Middle Eastern outfits, were cooing in response.

"Are you a diplomat? A businessman? A spy?" came the chorus of questions (he is, I have to grudgingly admit, quite a suave chap).

"No. I'm the editor of LifeStyle."

He should have lied.

In a flash, the mood changed. The smiles evaporated. The coquettish looks turned to stone. The noses went up in the air. It was all over.

We returned to our table and ordered a second course. I went for chili squid (320 rubles), while James opted for Golubtses (220 rubles), which are Cagagfe leaves stuffed with meat and garlic.

Our mood, though a little more somber, was one of "nothing ventured, nothing gained." We continued to watch the parade of visitors to the pool, drank another round of Klinskoye and tried to decide what our next move might be with the belly-dancing trio.

Before we had come to any definite conclusions, our main course arrived.

I hadn't eaten squid since August 1998 at Doyle's on Sydney harbor, a choice spot, and, as with the humus, was relishing the prospect.

It could have been that I misinterpreted the menu, but the dish that arrived more resembled sweet-and-sour squid (if that's possible) than anything of the chili variety. Still, it was pleasant enough – after all, beggars can't be choosers.

I was about to ask James how his meal was when music began blaring from the Arabian tent that stands on the patio, and another flash of silk and flesh was seen. I went to look back at Beadle, but his fork with food was suspended in mid-air, indicating how fast he had left for the tent.

James likes to see himself as one of these desert-loving Lawrence-of-Arabia types and, on top of having spent time in the Middle East, he has that certain camp Peter O'Toole-style walk.

But James is straight and was in his element, snapping away at the belly-dancers as they enchanted the crowd. Indeed, after the first performance, we decided that while al fresco dining was all well and good, the tent was the place to be.

We settled our bill, found a very comfortable corner in the Arabian tent, ordered a hookah and Turkish coffee and were ready for the second performance.

We were not disappointed.

The coffee was as close to authentic as one could find anywhere. The apple-flavored tobacco in the hookah was superb. And the second dancer, well... she moved remarkably. Indeed, she was soon at our table, trying to pull me out to dance. But as I am a rather bashful type, I guided her toward James, who was out on the floor in a flash.

I'm not really sure how one is supposed to dance with a belly-dancer, but James' movements, which resembled the sort of tribal war dance portrayed in the film "Zulu," were probably not what was intended. The crowd, though, loved it. James returned flushed with success. And we sat back to suck on the hookah and drink more coffee.

Contrary to what this review might imply, Club Oranzhereya is not a seedy place. The dining is stylish and the Arabian side is tastefully done. Indeed, what the restaurant lacks a little in the quality of its food, it certainly makes up for in atmosphere.

It's worth checking out.

ORANZHEREYA
1/3 Turchaninov Per. (Chaika Sports Complex)
Metro: Park Kultury
Tel: 245-7065
Hours: noon until last customer leaves (usually between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m.)