Date Night with Raj

Learned an important lesson this morning: Do not...I repeat...do NOT eat extra spicy Phaal in close proximity to bedtime.  The fallout is not very pleasant.  The brunt of my productivity today has been conducted in a men's room stall.  Also, last night, I think I dreamt that my face had a face.

 

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Went to Saagar Indian Cuisine last night.  Was supposed to be a bit of a date night for the ladyfren' and me...had a Groupon and everything, so, ya know, pretty romantic.  We arrived eager and excited and walked in to find a practically empty room; there were four people eating, one of whom had his leg up on his booth seat, his shoeless foot extending just past the end of the cushion.  Class.

Naturally, the multi-tasking waiter/busboy/maitre'd--who was seemingly overwhelmed by the four people silently eating around him--sat us in the booth next to Foot Guy.  It was at this point we learned that Foot Guy's name was Raj and he was the money behind the restaurant.  Also, Raj was DRUNK.  He was quite happy at the fact we were sitting nearby and began chatting us up immediately, informing us he'd had a bottle of Scotch prior to his, now, second large bottle of Taj lager, and that we shouldn't worry about paying for our drinks because they'd be on him.  When I told him I wasn't planning on drinking too much more as I had to drive later, he suggested we leave our car at the restaurant and he'd be happy to take us home after our meal.  This, obviously, was tremendously comforting.

 

THE MEAL:

Top - Malai Kofta, Bottom - Phaal of Death

 

Started with a shared plate of Aloo Tikki Chaat (potato patties in a chick pea curry with yogurt, mint, tamarind sauce and spices). The Wife had Malai Kofta (veggie-cheese dumplings in a cream sauce with spices). I was going to select my Indian cuisine go-to, Palak Paneer...but then I saw the Phaal.  I'd never had Phaal before, but it was the accompanying disclaimer that caught my eye: (this is word-for-word from the menu)

Warning: Extremely Hot & Spicy. Think Before You Order. An excruciatingly hot curry, more pain and sweat than flavor, for our customers who do this on a dare, we will require you to state a verbal disclaimer not holding us liable for any physical or emotional damage after eating this curry. If you do manage to finish your serving of curry, a bottle of beer is on us.

 

Um...YES?!  I love spicy food and, even more, I love a challenge.  Ordered the Phaal and told him not to hold back.

The meal progressed.  Raj continued to drink.  I began to sweat profusely, my insides burning away with every successive forkful of Phaal.  Raj, who was now joined by Shankar, the owner of the restaurant, was beckoning us to join him at his table and eat from the four plates of food they'd ordered.  The perfect date night.

Me and the Raj-ster. 

(Btw, at some point during the meal, like a flash flood, a party of no less than 40 people came into the restaurant, got food, ate, and left within 20 minutes. It was one of those moments where, afterwards, you look at the person next to you with a furrowed brow and go, "Did that just happen??")

Skip to the end of the meal.  I'm covered in curry sweat, the Wife is slipping into the food coma, and Raj and Shankar--my two new best friends who, I'm now convinced, maintain positions of note in the local chapter of the Indian mafia--have told me I need to come back and see them sometime soon when I'm not driving so we can "go crazy."  With multiple handshakes and words of mutual admiration, we finally part ways.

So, in sum, Date Night was comprised of:

-An empty restaurant with poor service
-Food that induced me into labor
-Forced conversation with an intoxicated Indian money-lender who may be tied to the mob

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED