Friday, January 19, 2007

Still cranky

By the afternoon the mood hadn’t improved much. I had a lunch date with Rockin’ Roddie. He proposed a new Indian food buffet restaurant he’d recently discovered. Surely this would be the cure.

“Sweet,” said I. “I loves Indian buffets.”

We arrive at the joint. Big place. Big parking lot. Only one other car. No problem. It’s early yet. Not quite twelve o’clock.

Something is wrong. Out of place. It takes me a moment to comprehend it. It’s a big sign that reads:



“Um… Rod?”


“What – what’s that?”




“What’s with the sign?”

“What sign?”

“That doesn’t apply to us, does it?”


“Tell me that doesn’t apply to us.”

“Oh – that sign?”


“Um – surprise…”

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Just trust me, okay?”


“Just give it a chance, okay?”

“I don’t believe this,” I’m whining. We’re out of the car. I’m following him across the parking lot. “I can’t believe this. After all we’ve been through.”

“It’s good, FWG. I promise.”

“Don’t do this, Rod.”

“It’s good. Trust me.”

“Have you ever seen me eating Indian food without meat? Ever?”

“Have you ever tried it?”

Silent pouting. We’re entering the building.

“I hope you’ve accomplished all you wanted to in this life, Roddie,” I hiss in his ear, “Cause you are this close to checking out. THIS CLOSE!”

“I know.”

I feel a small pang of guilt. I think he’s actually a little afraid at this point.

Inside, a very nice polite woman dressed in colourful sari invites us to choose any table. Oddly Rod chooses the one that is strangely centred out under some kind of gazebo-like architectural structure. This way we’ll be the centre of attention when I tire of the curried peas and go for his jugular. There’ll be plenty of witnesses to later finger his killer.

I wear a scowl as we approach the rather large buffet. Sari lady follows us. Roddie stops at the salad section and I pass on by, resisting the urge to give him the Gordie Howe elbow.

There’s a very large selection at the main counters. The first two items are labeled ‘Sweet Dish’ according to the post-it-note tacked overhead. I take a very small sampling of Pinkish Shreds o’ Mush and ignore the Bobbing For Testicles for now.

Note: There are no other labels at this buffet other than ‘Sweet Dish’ for these two items so I’ll have to make up my own names for all this stuff as we go along and I’m not even apologizing for it. So there.

I raise the plate to my face, trying to smell the Pinkish Mush Shreds.

“That is sweet dish,” says Sari lady, smiling kindly. I’m too miserable and/or stupid to realize just yet that sweet dish means dessert. Duh.

I give her a brief humorless smile in return.

Her finger moves back and forth between the Pink Mush and the Bobbing for Testicles. “Sweet dishes,” she says.

‘Can it, lady. I’m not in the mood’

I move on. The plan is to try small bits of everything remotely interesting – in the vain hope I will find one or two things enjoyable to which I’ll return for more.

I take a Patty of Blecch in a Yellow-Grey Bile Sauce and a couple Glumps What Could Resemble Chicken if you Squint in a Gooey Bright Red Sauce. Sari lady insists on staying close – presumably ready to assist in identifying what is a sweet dish and what is not. She keeps standing right in front of whatever item I’m keen to try next. I persevere. I sample a smattering of Reddish-Brown Goop #1 and a dollop of Reddish-Brown Goop #2. I take a samosa and Sari lady points out the samosa sauce which I dip into liberally. I finish off with a couple spongy spheroids in a light brown sauce – let’s call it – Sponge Ball Brown Pants.

Back at the table we’re given a pitcher of water and a basket of naan bread with baked-in garlic. Very nice.

The Blecch Patties, Mushy Pink Shreds and Reddish-Brown Goops #1 and #2 all heartily fail to impress.


The Sponge Ball Square Pants resembles butter chicken but with balls of sponge instead of chicken. Between that, the samosa , the naan bread and the squint-chicken glumps I enjoy a very satisfactory second course and leave the restaurant very full, festively plump and kind toward Rockin’ Roddie once again.

All’s well that ends without a crucifixion.



Babs Gladhand said...

You should so write your own cookbook. The names you gave the dishes are fantastic!

Dave said...

Bwahahahaha!!!! Vegetarian buffet. Is Rod new? I guess that kinda balances things out after that 96 ounce prime rib at The Keg a few years back.

best signoff ever...

Kathleen said...

So, where can I find this fabulous 100% vegetarian Indian buffet? It sounds yummy! The Indian buffet by me has one or two veggie dishes on it, so I have a tendency to avoid it.

And nice usage of the Gordie Howe elbow. Can't tell you're Canadian, can you?

I'm glad the vegetarian food didn't kill you.

Fantasy Writer Guy said...

Babs - Thanks but my dish-naming skills vastly outweigh my cooking skills. Here's my original dishes:

FWG's World Famous Guinness Stew
Crazy Ass Oily Shrimp
Christmas Cran-nutty Salad
Peanut Butter Milkshake
Peanut Butter & Syrup Sandwich
Kraft Dinner with Salsa & Weiners

That's about it. Not much of a cookbook. I'd have to team up with someone who knows how to navigate the kitchen without having a nervous breakdown.

Davey-boy: Mmmmmmmmmmm... Hee hee... Never again.

Kats: At the corner of Eglinton and Tomken, Mississauga Ontario. Take a cattle prod with you so you can chase Sari Lady out of the way when she's running a block on the food counter.