Ode to a restaurant that shall remain nameless

Here’s the 0-star google review this place deserves 🙁

You’re a riverside Indian restaurant that isn’t.
You reserve your most spectacular examples of in-edibility for hapless take-out clientele.

All your sauces are from jars.

You’ve nuked every last good thing about naan. You’ve rid it of all its buttery, flake-y joy.
You’re passing off crappy substitutes riddled with half-baked dough that was still thawing when you threw it into your general purpose ovens.

General purpose ovens, because there’s no way in hell you have an actual tandoor oven, as evidenced by the… the desecrated bits of flesh you tried to pass off as “tandoori chicken”. I know there’s tons of restaurants without traditional ovens that still manage a fairly good approximation to tandoori chicken but you lot didn’t try at all. Like, AT ALL. This poor bird was merely treated to heat in the presence of red food coloring. If there’s a God for such poultry as finds their way into your kitchens, they’ll all be in heaven right now, shitting in concerted unison over all your future earnings… because you don’t deserve a penny for ruining such a great world cuisine. You’ve shown utter disrespect for every ingredient, food source and life-form plucked from the earth and co-opted into your un-savoury restaurateurial schemes.

Even your samosas, which I’d looked upon as a sort of last resort… thinking “they will have expediently outsourced samosas, surely“… Well, your samosas were soggy and filled with a vile re-vomit of potentially putrefying potatoes and peas. (I take from this that you may have actually made the damn things yourselves after all). Not to mention their green condiment reminiscent of mint leaves, watered down green food coloring and roadside gravel.

A friend claims they saw into your kitchen and glimpsed the staff, and that one would be forgiven for presuming that they do, in actual fact, hail from the Indian subcontinent. I can only imagine what the cooks themselves must think of the fare. They’ll know it’s rubbish.

I have to hope it was not always thus.

I have to hope that long ago, you started out with high hopes and big dreams of nutritional excellence. If so, what happened? Did the butter-chicken-fixated hordes wear you down? (Because, look, they wear everybody down, OK?). Or did you come upon hard times, forcing you to cut corners and resort to bottom-shelf curry pastes and watered down chutneys? Because that’d be understandable too (understandable, but not all that forgivable). Are you in debt? Is the chef in hospital? Did your tandoor explode? Is this is all a cynical ruse to separate sweet-toothed tourists and gastronomically clueless locals from their undeserved cash? If so, whats the secret club handshake for disavowing membership in either group, in order to be let in on the good stuff?

I guess I’ll never frigging know. Because I’m NEVER. coming. back.

In the end I didn’t post it on some reviews site. I guess If I was that riled up, it might mean that… I’m foodie?! I never thought of myself that way… tho’, I’m realising that if there’s anything I don’t cope well with, it’s bad food. Hrmm…

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