When Ann & I first moved to 30th Ave in Oct of ’04 we were excited by the quaint-looking Indian restaurant Gandhi. We are both very fond of Indian food. Within a few weeks she went there with a friend and came home with a significant horror story. A roach, and not a small one, was found walking across the table. When they told the waiter, he apologized, made a half-assed attempt to find the sucker, and didn’t offer them a free drink. So we boycotted the place. But tonight I really wanted Indian food, and we figured since it was over a year ago, we’d give it a shot.
We were the only ones there when we came in (7 pm on a Saturday) and were seated at a central table. It was Ann who noticed it first — the tablecloth was wet. Not quite soaking, but more than damp. As in it just came out of the washing machine. “Well, at least this way we know it is clean.” Thing is, it was making my legs cold. I tried tucking it back under itself, I tried covering my knees with my napkin. I figured it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, so we wouldn’t complain. Even though the tablecloth next to us was dry.
Three other couples dropped in during the next ten minutes or so, so this made me feel better. The menu had a whole section devoted to Baltis, which are a reigonal (north-west) specialty. I’d never heard of a Balti before, but I figured why not? I ordered the Chicken Balti.
And it was good! A little bland, but a little of the red onion chutney spiced it up. I liked it so much I was halfway through it before I realized that it wasn’t what I ordered. There was no chicken in my Chicken Balti. (Who knows, it may not have even been a Balti?) It was basically a collection of vegetables, chick peas and spices.
So this is the hand God has dealt us. We have one reasonable-looking Indian restaurant (there’s another nearby called Meghna, but that place looks scary) and there are either a) cockroaches running across your table or b) ice cold tablecloths and incorrect dishes. Karmically, we musta screwed up somewhere.
