My Day at an Indian Restaurant Part One

My Day at an Indian Restaurant Part One

This happened a few months back. A friend of mine called me and told me that his girlfriend was having a birthday coming up and she wanted to go out and celebrate. She wanted to choose the restaurant. She narrowed down her choices to two options. One was an Indian restaurant, while the other was a fondue restaurant. I was not going to eat at a Fondue restaurant. No way in burn-nating hell I was. So, I told him to ‘convince’ his girlfriend to lean toward the Indian Restaurant. She chose the Indian Restaurant.

Like millions of others, I saw Along Came Polly. I was a little fearful of the after effects of Indian food. I wondered if I would have ended up like Ben Stiller’s character, sweating and farting. However, the other side of me wanted to try new and interesting things.

When I got to the restaurant, with a set of other friends a married couple, I entered the restaurant. The first thing I saw was a big fat C rating sign barely visible on a glass window. My first thought, oh, shit! Along Came Polly indeed.

The wife leaned in and whispered, “You saw the C rating too.”

I nodded, thinking we should have gone with the fondue crap instead. Yet, we were already here and there was no turning back.

“Don’t tell anyone,” the wife said.

Getting back to the restaurant, I noticed the place was extremely dark, which I dug a lot. I would much rather not see other people eating while I waited for my food. There was Indian music being piped in through speakers, which enhanced the atmosphere. We went to the back of the dining area where the guy and his birthday girlfriend were waiting for us. As I sat down, I noticed that there were candles placed at the center of each table in the place. Right across from us, a large Indian family sat waiting to order as well. A rather tall Indian waiter came to our table, placing a basket of Indian bread for us to eat. The bread was flat and flaky, and I really enjoyed it.

Then the waiter started to take our orders and I started to get nervous, because I looked at the menu and didn’t know what the hell was on the damn thing. I didn’t want to look like a complete idiot (Too late). Before he got around to me, I quickly searched for a familiar word to latch on to, Chicken. While I didn’t know what it was, it did in fact have chicken in the title, so I knew I was safe. (James Rule: When not sure what to pick, always bet on chicken.)

“What would you like, sir?” he asked in a thick accent.

Here goes nothing. Instead of trying to pronounce the dish and sounding like a complete jackass, I simply pointed at the dish on the menu, and he nodded.

The electrifying conclusion (well not that electrifying) Tomorrow