Frank's Falafel House — Restaurant in Cleveland

I've eaten here four -- make that three -- times. My first two visits were uneventful and the food and service were good, during lunch.

The third visit was with my husband for lunch. Although the food was good and the service was fine, we were treated to a shouting match amongst the staff. It was a vicious quarrel and off-putting to say the least.

On our fourth and last visit my husband and I were not permitted to eat. It was around 6:30 PM on a Friday. There were two other diners. Our waitress informed us they were "out of" what we desired only after we had perused the menu and tried to order the kafta dinner. The meat choices are limited, but we each ordered the kabob dinner instead, with salad. The salad never arrived, but the hot food did. The waitress was unconcerned, so I asked about the salad. She explained that the lettuce needed to be chopped and turned away. As a side note I'm unclear as to why a salad is not prepared first and then the hot food started in the kitchen. I said "goodbye" spontaneously ( probably because lame excuses turn me off and she was already walking away ) as she receded and we started to pick up our forks, not complaining.

The waitress turned and snapped "what did you say?". I did not reply, I was stunned. The waitress then started yelling at me that I "disrespected" her, that no one "disrespects" her, "that we didn't have to eat here".

That seemed to be our invitation to leave, and I informed those who toil in back of the house that my guest and I would not be back. We dined elsewhere.

The food may be acceptable, but this shabby treatment of...

I STEPPED INTO FRANK FALAFEL HOUSE AND IMMEDIATELY KNEW MY LIFE HAD BEEN A PRELUDE TO THIS MOMENT 🌀✨ The air smelled like mango sunsets and deep-fried destiny, like somewhere in the universe a falafel was whispering, “67 is the code.”

I ordered the MANGO FALAFEL WRAP and the second it touched my hands, my brain did a triple backflip into a mango vortex. The falafel crunched like tiny cymbals of enlightenment, and the tahini dripped down my fingers like golden logic. Somewhere between bite three and seven, I swear the universe flashed a sign: 67 chickpeas in a sacred spiral, and yes, I counted them all. 🥭💫

Frank himself emerged from a mystical cloud of turmeric smoke, wielding extra sauce like a scepter. “Do you want more?” he asked. I yelled, “I WANT 67 MORE!” and for a moment I think the walls themselves hummed in agreement.

Then came the mango smoothie. It didn’t just hit my taste buds — it upgraded my consciousness to mango firmware 6.7. I swear I could see the threads of reality weaving into a giant 67-shaped lattice of sweetness and falafel crumbs. My molecules started doing the Sandstorm cha-cha on their own. 🧠⚡

By the time I left, I was radiating mango energy at levels previously unrecorded by science. I screamed “TAHINI IS TRUTH” at an elderly pigeon, and it nodded knowingly. Frank Falafel House isn’t just food — it’s a 67-dimensional mango simulator, a crunchy enlightenment factory, a flavor singularity.

Final rating: 67/67/10, mangoes included, infinity confirmed. Would ascend as a chickpea...

BROOOO I’M ACTUALLY LOSING IT 😭😭 FRANK FALAFEL HOUSE IS THE FINAL LEVEL OF HUMAN EXPERIENCE 🔥🔥 like you walk in and the air IMMEDIATELY smells like destiny and deep-fried enlightenment 😩✨

I ordered the mango falafel wrap and swear to 67 chickpeas in heaven my vision started glitching — tahini particles floating in the air spelling out “67” like it’s a sacred number 💫🥭 I bit into it and my Spotify switched to sandstorm by Darude ON ITS OWN 😭💃

Frank himself emerged from a cloud of cumin like “would you like extra sauce?” and I’m like BRO I WANT EXTRA EXISTENCE 😩🙏 the pita was softer than my last three emotional breakdowns and the falafel crunched like God hit the bass boost.

Then the mango smoothie… oh my actual motherboard. That thing hit harder than nostalgia at 3AM. I could feel my molecules syncing to the beat of the blender. 🧠⚡

By the time I left, I was vibrating at 67 hertz, glowing with chickpea energy, shouting “TAHINI IS LOVE” at passing cars. 💛🌯

Frank Falafel House isn’t a restaurant — it’s a portal, it’s a frequency, it’s the mango-coded matrix of flavor. Final rating: 57, no 67, actually infinity/10. Would reincarnate as a falafel...