Ruby Tuesday

We are often asked for ur opinions on the curry houses of this fair city, frequently by itinerant limeys. We spent our first few months in the city slumped drunk in some of the more insalubrious joints in Astoria, which left us with the impression that New York City curry is overly mild and that the city's curry house owners are much more amused by stupendouslly drunk customers than their counterparts in Oxford.

Two things changed our outlook - the realisation that over in Jackson Heights there were authentic and fiery Indian treats aplenty, a realisation that somehow has not yet translated into a vist, and Haveli. Located round the corner from the end of Indian Row, smartly setting itself aside from the gaudy throng, but offering cheap but classy feeding, Haveli is justly legendary.

But we are now prepared, cashflow permitting, to cast Haveli aside like a used hankie. For we have found Tamarind, and nothing will be the same again. Except, we pray, the size of our a*s. We ate till a standstill, and wanted to eat all the appetisers. Which would have done nothing for our appetite. The entrees shoot right past twenny dollar, but we just don't care. The only thing we would take issue with was the lighting, which made cutesome companion look slightly sad, and the rest of the diners look like walking corpses.

And finally a shout out to Gary Younge in the Guardian. Gary we were very rude about when he moved to New York for a period. You see, he set up shop in Fort Greene and started saying outrageously simple-minded things about the neighborhood. We lived there, and would have preferred he bang on about how the yuppies from Manhattan were ruining Franks/Moe's/Alibi, like all the other writers. He's moved back to London, and has just written an article about how crass white people are that is the left-wing columnist's equivalent of "Good Morning Captain" by Slint. The argument starts out quietly, but reasonable, taut, slinky, and then he loses his sh*t, the argument gets louder, but is still reasonable, taut, and slinky. Brutally effective.

Tonight, we're back on the rock, ironic-styler. More tomorrow.