A (mild) Thursday Evening.






It was a Thursday early evening and I wasn't planning on dressing formally. Formal attire was something meant for those bow-tie evenings; you know what I'm saying here – the guys with the weird secret handshakes, they were the ones that did dig formal attire.

I wasn't into formal attire though, and my bow-tie days were just about completely finished.

It's not at all that I didn't dig secret handshakes, I just didn't like them that much. I always thought one should shake hands like a man, and not imply in any way that there exists something like a mischievous secret happening between the parties engaged in the handshake.

In any case. Let us make this semi-formal attire, I thought. Long denim trousers, brown, and a red polo shirt. I always liked red. Red is always a handy colour, just in case there's mischievous witchcraft going on around the part of town you're about to visit.

I know, I'm bent towards esoteric thinking, yet those things must be spoken about. Not all witchcraft is good and that is a thing that must be said. Some uncomfortable things must be evoked, whether we like those things or not.

Brown shoes on, black socks - I never understood the custom of patterned and coloured socks, I guess I'm conservative. Now, I'm getting the good MacPac coat on, the navy blue one, and I'm stepping out of the house. I know my way around well, so I find the mobile phone superfluous on this occasion...

I'm just by Southern Cross Restaurant, but I do not stop there. Maybe another evening. I walk down Cuba Street, all the way, and turn right on Courtney Place: just the place I was after this cold Thursday evening - Great India.

I walk right in. I wait to be seated, and I say hello briefly to the owner, an old good friend of mine. The flavour of the place is Anglo-Indian and it's possibly the best place in town for that sort of thing.

I did have Anglo-Indian at Bletchley Park when I visited the United Kingdom and I did verify the look-and-feel and the taste were actually identical.

This one's a Cobra restaurant. Indian Restaurants come in two flavours: Cobra and King Fisher. I do not drink but I do dig their mango lassi so I was planning to have one for dessert together with their world-famous Kulfi ice-cream.

I check the menu - bingo! Samba Masala. Venison, though I'm not sure what type, possibly deer, assorted with pulao rice.

The dish would've gone better with sweet coconut rice yet I'm not the sort of person to assort sweet and sour that easily.

After dessert, the impeccable signature of the restaurant: the hot towel. I settle the bill, say thank you very much and walk away in the cold night...

So this Thursday evening was still good, just like fifteen years ago when I was a graduate student in Wellington. All I wish is for people to eat out, for Heaven's sake.