Valentine's Dinner
Valentine's day was also my writer friend P's B'day. So we decided to celebrate in pukka Brit style with a "curry" dinner. At 8.00 pm in D's cosy room, there was still no sign of P and we wondered if he had overslept--P tends to work all night and sleep all day. But he turned up shortly all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. So we set off in my 2 door to Swansea's Indian Quarter, St. Helen's Road.
A spotted a Gaylord-lookalike restaurant called Rajasthan. Visions of hot phulkas, Bhindi fry and Undhiyo kept me going down the freezing, (almost) bladder-emptying walk from A's chosen parking spot down one pavement, across the road and down another, till we entered the place. The menu brought me down with a bong! It was the same Bangladeshi-Indian food you find all over UK, with one difference--it was cooked by an Iranian chef! This is not a good combination. The bhindi fry was sour and burnt and had bhindi heads; raita was a steel katori of sour curds with chopped cukes and red chilli powder and the rogan chicken was chicken tikkas hidden under raw tomato wedges and semi-cooked onions.
D, who is a desi, asked the waiter to move a karahi nearer her plate. P, who is all Welsh and deeply communist, was shocked. How could she ask the waiter? Why didn't she move it herself? Thereafter, all D's explanations fell on deaf ears. The karahi had a broken handle...It was too hot... Still, no go. P was not to be appeased and put this behaviour down to feudal upbringing.
So I decided to tell him about my great-aunt AA and wedding gifts. Great-aunt AA was a connoisseur of good food, and varied the amount on her gift cheque on the quality of the wedding feast. Hard rotis, take away Rs 10; not enough meat in the biryani, another Rs 10, only one dessert (blasphemy!) cut Rs 15... And since she had high standards and a tight purse, the bride and groom could count themselves lucky if they received a sizeable gift.
I told P, "The food at Rajasthan was abysmal. The waiter didn't even dish out the grub. And to top it all, he forgot for ever to present and collect the cheque. So surely we shouldn't tip!"
Somehow, I don't think P was convinced. Later, he offered around slices of his delicious B'day cake (baked and iced by D) with embarrassing ji huzoor servility. He almost pulled it off too. I picked up the fork and saw that the cake-wedge was icing-side down on my plate!
A spotted a Gaylord-lookalike restaurant called Rajasthan. Visions of hot phulkas, Bhindi fry and Undhiyo kept me going down the freezing, (almost) bladder-emptying walk from A's chosen parking spot down one pavement, across the road and down another, till we entered the place. The menu brought me down with a bong! It was the same Bangladeshi-Indian food you find all over UK, with one difference--it was cooked by an Iranian chef! This is not a good combination. The bhindi fry was sour and burnt and had bhindi heads; raita was a steel katori of sour curds with chopped cukes and red chilli powder and the rogan chicken was chicken tikkas hidden under raw tomato wedges and semi-cooked onions.
D, who is a desi, asked the waiter to move a karahi nearer her plate. P, who is all Welsh and deeply communist, was shocked. How could she ask the waiter? Why didn't she move it herself? Thereafter, all D's explanations fell on deaf ears. The karahi had a broken handle...It was too hot... Still, no go. P was not to be appeased and put this behaviour down to feudal upbringing.
So I decided to tell him about my great-aunt AA and wedding gifts. Great-aunt AA was a connoisseur of good food, and varied the amount on her gift cheque on the quality of the wedding feast. Hard rotis, take away Rs 10; not enough meat in the biryani, another Rs 10, only one dessert (blasphemy!) cut Rs 15... And since she had high standards and a tight purse, the bride and groom could count themselves lucky if they received a sizeable gift.
I told P, "The food at Rajasthan was abysmal. The waiter didn't even dish out the grub. And to top it all, he forgot for ever to present and collect the cheque. So surely we shouldn't tip!"
Somehow, I don't think P was convinced. Later, he offered around slices of his delicious B'day cake (baked and iced by D) with embarrassing ji huzoor servility. He almost pulled it off too. I picked up the fork and saw that the cake-wedge was icing-side down on my plate!
posted by Sabiha | 6:09 PM
3 Comments:
you sure have a colourful family. you had me cracking up with your great aunt's tale.
just curious, where was poor A? no mention of him and that too on valentine's day!
and about the poor quality of indian grub, i smell an opportunity. why don't you ask A to invest in an indian restaurant specializing in hyderabadi food? you could run it with chefs from back home...
A was the one who spotted that restaurant. So the buck for the evening stops with him. And there is a huuuge opp for good quality Indian restaurants, and even Indian take-aways or dabba-wallas. In fact, I am trying to persuade another Indian friend to cook from home and cater, and have offered myself up as her 1st customer. That I won't have to cook!
hey sabs is what P and Diddy saying true? but it was a great tale and i enjoyed it, so keep going...
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