accusations roll in: You didn't give it a chance! You only ate at one
Indian restuarant in your whole life, and it was in Jackson, and they
were probably having an off night! You're a bigot and a prostitute and
ought to be burned alive.
I will not deny these things (except for most of that last one). I had
never really given Indian food its fair due. But, that all changed
when I came to New York. I went out for Indian food for the first time
for Sajaa's birthday party (or maybe Eiren's) (oh God). We ventured
over ten blocks south to Royal Kabab and Curry (103 and B-way) and,
amidst the hanging lights, garish table setting, and awkward enough
conversation, I rediscovered Indian food. Bliss.
And so, with the delicious naan (na'an? nan?) in my left hand, and a
fork in my right, I was faithful to the Royal Kabab and Curry for over
a year.
But no more. Just three more blocks south, on the east side of
Broadway, is Indus Valley. It's a little cramped, and the service
can't be deemed better than so-so, but I stumbled upon a dish there
that takes my breath away with its deliciousness. I can't even
pronounce the dish's name, but I'm all about picking it out of the
expansive menu.
Drawback: slightly expensive.
Draw: taste of heaven.
Anyway, in one week's time, I will be wrapping up this novel of mine.
I had a few more ideas for it last night when I was writing, so I'm
really excited to see where it's going to go. I think this excitement
is good. Please wish me luck.
Oh, and I realize that no one will ever read that last post. I wouldn't.
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