When you are stuck 24/7 in a hospital with your child, those precious breaks so graciously provided to you from family, friends and sometimes even the nurses are hurriedly accepted and woefully appreciated. But then guilt sets in, and while you are TOLD to take your time, relax, and have a nice dinner…you end up eating a buffet dinner to make it quicker and you carry back with you a debilitating case of indigestion.
On one such break, my husband and I decided to hit up a local Indian joint close to the hospital to semi-celebrate our 6 year Anniversary. That date obviously has changed since we were married last year… but nonetheless, 4/20 still holds a somewhat special place in our hearts. As does Indian Buffet.
We equate love with our stomachs. And Curry. We are cool like that.
I had assumed that since we were in downtown Vancouver, the ethnic restaurants would be, well, authentically ethnic. We live in one of the most culturally diverse regions of North America, I don’t think it’s asking too much to go to an Indian Buffet restaurant and be eating Indian food. I mean really, french fries? Greek Salad? Please!
I could live with all that. As long as my butter chicken isn’t fucked with. Butter chicken is sacred. But, my friends, someone fucked with the butter chicken.
First, chicken. I would consider that an important ingredient, you? Without chicken it’s just ‘butter’ and while appealing to maybe a 2 year old who doesn’t know any better, I can’t say I would serve up ‘butter’ on top of my basmati rice. Secondly, authentic Butter Chicken is an unmistakable rich and smooth taste explosion in your mouth that cannot be fully described by me justifiably, so I won’t even try. Just know, orgasms could possibly be used in the same sentence. This horrible concoction that I placed in my mouth tasted more like a Campbell’s Soup variety with curry. And not even one of the good ones.
So, my friends, I was forced to pay $15.95 for basmati rice, lamb curry (WITH bones. *sigh*), and chili chicken drumsticks. I wouldn’t even pay $4.95 at a Mall Food Court for this, but based on our time constraints and the need to be back with our baby boy, we paid the Spanish waiter (yup, Spanish, in an authentic Indian restaurant, should have been my first clue) declined to tip (hey, it’s a buffet, what customer service do they really provide) and carried on our way with very little complaining.
But lesson learned: Stick to OUR local Indian buffet who currently knock our socks off with their Butter Chicken.
That comes with Chicken.
No comments:
Post a Comment