Catch 22: Or Why I Can't Finish Reading A Food Review

Guess the taste: raw beef, eggs and potatoes

In my entire life, I have never been able to finish reading a food review. Sorry Naresh, sorry Iain, sorry Guy (the food reviewers that I worked with) - not even yours, not even the ones that I may have joined you for the food to. 

It is not because I don’t care for food. I do. I really do. Bad food upsets me. Bad service upsets me. Bad ambience upsets me. Which is why I was permanently upset in London - the food quality was so poor in general. 

Today, while reading a review in the toilet of a seafood restaurant Dimitri’s by some Mr Michael Harden in the latest Melbourne Weekly, I finally figured out why. 

It is because most of the review is just gibberish to me. 

Here’s a line out of the review. “There will still be the superb spakonita made with wild greens, the semonila-dusted calamari served with auso aioli, French toast made with baklava and the brilliant gigantes - large tomoatoey baked beans served with poached eggs, loukaniko sausages and feta, all examples of the modern Greek approach that owner Jim Karabagias does with intuitive flair.” 

To begin with, I find my comprehension hiccuping four times in that one sentence - at “spakonita”, “auso ailoi”, “gingates” and "loukanikos”. And each time I hiccup, my interest in the review falls a few notches unconsciously. (In all, I hiccuped nine times in the tiny half page review). 

Besides, even when I do recognise all the ingredients I find it tough to imagine them together - French toast made with baklava? Now there are people who can simply put unlikely ingredients together in their minds and conjure up the taste. They are usually contestants in MasterChef. To the rest of us, the words describing the dishes are simply gibberish until we actually taste them. And if we can’t imagine the taste, how will be know that we will like the taste? 

The only time a food review comes to life for me is when something goes wrong with the service - the staff is rude, or the food comes too late or the bill contains an unexpected charge. Because human F-ups are something we all can relate to. 

The problem is that food reviewers want to bring to you interesting new restaurants offering interesting new foods in interesting new ambience. But newer the foods, ingredients and atmosphere, the more I hiccup, and the more I lose interest. 

And that is what I call a Catch 22.

Heathrow's breakdown

Snowed in for Christmas

I was meant to fly to India for a short Christmas break today. Only I am not. Because it snowed over the weekend, and clearly that was too much for one of the world’s oldest and busiest international airports of one of the world’s richest countries to handle.

Heathrow isn’t the only transport link to be affected. Eurostar is working on reduced capacity and is urging people to cancel bookings. Trains all around the country have been affected with more than seven to eight hour delays and cancellation.

Mind you, no sudden volcanoes have erupted anywhere this time. No, no, no. It is just snow in a country far up in the northern hemisphere where snow is not unusual. It snowed last year as well, and we faced the similar chaos (with BA workers threatening to go on strike just to add to the fun).

Why doesn’t the government just say it upfront: please don’t travel during December, we can't handle it. It might be Christmas and it might be holiday time, but really, if you travel, it is your problem. We can’t be bothered. We’ll make all the right noises -- listen to BAA CEO's  useless apologies -- but not the right choices.

It is like living in India again! Only without the warmth of the climate or the people.

On Tayyab's and the paucity of good Indian restaurants in London

Another one bites the dust

Sid's and my perennial search for a good Indian restaurant led us to the famed Tayyab’s this weekend. I had reasons to be optimistic. Whenever, we mentioned the general hideousness of Brick Lane's Indian fare, people whispered of Tayyab’s as an authentic alternative. And the Time Out London Food & Drink guide had nice things to say about it.

The snaking queue at the restaurant gave us more reasons for hope. Though the chaos was not conducive to a relaxing night, it was a positive indication of the kitchen’s efforts. Luckily for us, we were the only people in line for a table-of-two and found ourselves seated soon enough and being served by a polite, dishy-looking Pakistani émigré waiter, his soft Punjabi accent yet to be sandpapered away.

Unfortunately, he turned out to be the dishiest thing in the restaurant that night. My guess is that the saag gosht, fried daal and paneer tikka that we ordered were very tasty when they were initially made, but each subsequent reheat through the day had taken something off the flavour. So by the time it reached our table at eight in the night, I could almost taste the oil and spices crying in protest against the day's torture. The naans were tasty but without the reinforcement of good curry they couldn’t save the night.

It is really funny that the closest we have come to truly yummy, value-for-money Indian food in England is at a Burmese restaurant (Mandalay on Edgeware Road) and a Nepali one (Yak Yeti Yak in all the way in Bath). 

Sid says that the popularity of any foreign cuisine is inversely related to its authenticity. The reason our Nepali and Burmese restaurant have been able to maintain their high standard is because they are the only ones in the market – a small niche clientele is enough for them to survive. But the more ubiquitous a cuisine gets, the more a restaurant finds itself pandering to popular tastes in order to attract patrons – even if it means playing fast and loose with authenticity. So it is to the very popularity of Indian food in London that we can blame for our inability to find a good Indian restaurant in London.

But that is our theory. If you have any others, feel free to share.

***
On the most interesting Indian place we have found in London, Dishoom in Leicester Square, read this.

Baffled by brands: Or is Louis Vuitton pulling a fast one of us?

Grand signature design: Mud brown with LV squiggles?

When the lady at her little shop in Portobello Market pointed at the Elspeth Gibson London label on the nice tweed skirt, she expected my eyes to light-up. Never having heard of Ms Gibson from London, I only stared back in incomprehension. Unfortunately, I don’t think the fact endeared me to her and I suspect she bumped the price up of by another £5 just to punish me.


But here's the thing: why should I have heard of Ms Elspeth Gibson from London? She only makes skirts – nice skirts, I agree, but skirts nonetheless. She doesn’t set the tax rates, and she doesn’t decide how my taxes will be spent. And yet, it is socially unacceptable for me to admit that, no, I had never heard of her before today.

Perhaps, it is my legacy of growing up in a socialist India that I don’t know, understand or care for brands.

I like to buy things, nice things. But I want to buy them because they are well-made, and look good on me or my house. Not because cleverly-made advertisements - with not just a little help from feminist icon Carrie Bradshaw - tell me that they are fabulous, my life is worthless without them, and that just to own them will prove to others that I have fabulous taste, or at the very least, lots of money.

Unfortunately, most people are buying into brands precisely for those reasons. And I can't help but feel sad for such people.

Even if I bought into the whole advertising spiel, I still don’t get the obsession with Louis Vuitton, the luxury leather goods brand. Its grand signature design comprises mud brown backgrounds with LV squiggled all over it. From my perspective, that is ugly and somewhat loud. Sid says the idea behind having such an obvious signature design is instant recognition. No one should miss that you are carrying a Louis Vuitton accessory.

But what I can’t miss is that everyone is bloody carrying a Louis Vuitton. In cars, buses, shops, streets, I see men and women flashing their mud brown LVs: young women, old women, fat women, thin women, gay men, straight men, and white, brown and black men and women. So either the market is glutted with clever fakes or this exclusive club is bursting on its seams.

Agreed it is ugly, but at least there are no squiggles

If it is the former, it’s the brand’s fault fair and square. Instead of trying to sell itself on genuinely clever, hard to copy, detailing, Louis Vuitton tried to sell itself on the basis of its one loud, easily recognisable – and thus equally easy to reproduce – patent design.

And if it is the latter, than it has hard-sold itself so much that I am no longer setting myself apart by spending my money on Louis Vuitton.

Either way, from my perspective, this brand is pulling a fast one on us. 

But then again, what do I know. I am just a hick little child of socialist India.


***
Who says it better than Jennifer Saunders in Absolutely Fabulous - "Lacroix? Fabulous. Thank You!"

Policing the poll: Or an update on the great Indian passport debate

Courtsey: The American Culture

Two day ago, I wrote a blog about how Sid says that Indian passports should be divided into two categories: Passport A & B – with one having more rights than others.

I put up his very undemocratic sounding idea up for a democratic vote, and much to my surprise – four people actually voted. The result like most things Indian is complicated. We have a tie with two votes in favour and two against.

Now, one vote I know is from Sid – trying to rig the poll in his favour. But I have no idea who the other three are.

Please stand up and identify yourself. The comment floor is yours to say why you think it is a bad or a good idea. I swear you won't have Sid running after you with a stick!

Malaysian Malaise: Or should we have a passport A and passport B for Indians?

I was in throes of misery last week when I found out that Malaysia had scrapped the Visa-on-Arrival facility that it extended to Indian citizens. Not that I blame them. After all, 40,000 Indians had abused the system and disappeared into the netherland of Malaysia. Naturally, the Malay aren’t feeling terribly welcoming towards us.

But what I want to know is this. How many Indians visited Malaysia in the same period and did not flout the visa regulations? I am sure that the figure was much higher than the much-maligned “40,000” figure. But now, all those people who kept to the right side of the law, including myself, will be penalised.

Is that fair? Will I always have to answer for the actions of my lawless compatriots? Does my good behaviour account for nothing?

Sid says he has the perfect solution to the problem. 

The Indian government should have a two-tiered system of passports. Everyone is granted Passport B to begin with, which is like our passports as the moment – with no visa-on-arrival facilities. But if in the next five-to-ten years, they rake up an extensive travel history without flouting any visa regulations, they should be upgraded to a Passport A, which will be allowed visa-on-arrival facility. 

After all, if someone’s objective is to go AWOL in America, they are not going to wait five years, visit the country several times, get their Passport A and then do it. They will probably do it the moment they are granted their very first visa on their Passport B.

Now Leo-with-an-Afro (see followers) says this will amount to grading of citizenship into Class A & Class B, and as much as he would like it, he cannot support the idea. But Sid says it amounts to rewarding good behaviour because everyone has to start at the same level – and then, whether they move up or not will depend on their own actions.  According to him, the problem in India is not just that bad behaviour goes unpunished, it is also that good behaviour goes unrecognised.

As for me, I am undecided. But I so do want that visa-on-arrival…

***
Have your say:

 Should India adopt the two-tiered passport system

• 
  
  yes, it rewards good behavior
• 
  
  what tosh, it is undemocratic and fuedal

view results
Free vote poll

The blue bits are the travel option available to a non-visa holding Indian. For a closer look, go here. (Remember to remove Malaysia out of the blue bits now.)

Minimalism - or why we just can't get it right

Two magazines found their way on my doorstep yesterday at the same time: the weekly woman’s lifestyle mag-rag Stylist & the season catalogue of the high-end contemporary furniture store, BoConcept.

The simultaneity of their arrival made me think of the big lifestyle dilemma of our modern world: minimalism vs perennial consumerism.

Now, if you look at the BoConcept catalogue, it is all surfaces – clean, uncluttered, never-ending surfaces (and insect pictures on the wall, for some odd reason). The uber-expensive furniture and fixtures are defined by their sparseness and their determination to not take attention away from the pure beauty of empty space.  Think: the frighteningly modernist house in Polanski’s latest, The Ghost Writer.

Ice-cold minimalism is the lifestyle to aspire to.

On the other hand, fashion magazines such as Stylist that we consume on a regular basis are filled with “stuff” being peddled to us. I don’t know what else to call all of this but stuff: citrus-orange watches; limited-edition velvet flowercap perfume bottles; wall-mounted wine racks; handcrafted cards; cellulite brushes; Lady Gaga designed heartbeat earphones designed “just for Dr Dre Beats”; Phillips Fidelio’s snazzy DS9000 iPod; peppermint and lemon insect-repellent candles; a book of 100 shots of Kate Moss; “little fella” late-night reading lamps; and, I kid you not, babushka-doll inspired USB sticks -- all of which Stylist believes would really enhance your life.

Would it make any material difference to anyone’s life, whether they did or did not own the babushka-doll USB stick or the Lady Gaga designed heartbeat earphones? None what so ever. Yet, we will all buy it because of the fuzzy, warm momentary joy that the act of buying gives us.

And then, we will try to fit all this colourful junk into our supposedly cool minimalist lives – and wonder, what went wrong.

Fashion, flies and summer skies

This intriguing shop window – notice the huge house flies behind the mannequins – is that of the Zara store opposite the Oxford Circus tube stop.

But the connection between flies & fashion isn’t the only thing that befuddles me about the UK fashion industry. No, that honour must be shared by the absolute disconnect between the weather and the fashion trends.

One February morning this year, I entered the Reiss store on Essex Road in order to escape the drizzle that had just suddenly come down to cherry-top the ice-cold morning. I decided to put the time to good use by looking around for a good cardigan or sweater. Only, when I asked the assistant for a good 100 per cent wool sweater, she looked nonplussed.

 “We have only two of those left,” she explained. “You see, we have moved to our spring collection.” Ironically, as we looked outside in search of spring, we saw snow flakes drift by. To give the shop assistant her due, she had the grace to look sheepish.

And now, the shops say that it is summer and we must buy cut sleeves, tube tops, cotton frocks, summer skirts and sun glasses. Only, there is no sign of the ballyhooed summer or the sun. 

But who will tell that to Vogue!

Passport to Paradise

Passports have become a bit of an obsession with me ever since I left India. I find it amazing how much of your respect and dignity is tied into your passport. If you are the proud owner of the right passport – ie, British, EU, American, and Australian – you can skip in and out of most countries at will regardless of your job, income, education or marital status. But if you have the wrong passport – ie, any non-white country passport – you better be working, have a healthy bank balance, be reasonably well-educated, definitely married, and preferably have your return tickets plastered on to your face before you even dare venture into the visa offices of most countries.

But no one earns his or her passport. A quirk of fate (or an errant grandmother, according to this blog) may be all that it takes.

Which is why, I have a totally different take on the current political stand-off between Britain and Israel. As the political blog Pickled Politics points out, the British government’s reaction to Mossad agents using fake British passports to kill the Hamas leader in Dubai is utterly overblown considering its timid mumbles over Israeli bombing of Gaza in December 2008, which killed over 1,500 innocent Palestinians. The author of the blog appears baffled by Britain’s bluster about human rights and international law in this case. But what he probably doesn’t understand is that British government isn’t protesting over the human rights violation or the breaking of international law by Mossad. It is only and plainly worried about the undermining of British passports by the Israeli Secret Service.

If British passports can be seen internationally as easily faked, then what is to stop countries from insisting upon prior visas for British passport holders before entering their borders? After all, in 2009, UK decided to stop South Africans from entering the UK without prior visas because it felt that the South African passport system was too weak, ie, SA passports could be easily faked.

You see, the reason why British government wasn’t terribly worried about the death of 1500 Palestinians was that it didn’t obstruct the travel plans of British tourists. Mossad’s latest antic could. And that is why, in the humble opinion of this Indian passport holder, Gordon Brown has got his undies in a knot.

**
If the author of Pickled Politics thinks I am exxagerating, he should read what happens when you have a wrong passport, here and here.

Spain, Spain go away

And this is why, I won’t be visiting Spain.

Because it is not enough for the Spanish Consulate - or its outsourced arm in England, the VFS application Centre - that I have my husband’s employment contract to show them when applying for a visa. They want a letter from his employer addressed to the Spanish Consulate stating that he will rejoin the company at the end of the holiday. Never mind, that he is Australian and doesn’t even need a visa to enter Spain. I, his Indian wife, do – so he must get a letter.

It isn’t enough that we are married and I have my marriage certificate in original and photocopy to prove it. They want Sid to write a letter stating that he will financially support me through the holiday.

And this is what did it for me: It isn’t enough that I have a travel insurance which covers the medical expenses. They want me to go through the forty page document, find the clause that states that if I die in Spain while on holiday, the insurance will pay for the repatriation of the dead body, photocopy the page and give it to them. So the Spanish government doesn’t mind paying for the dead body of people with the right passports, they do in case of those with the wrong passports. I decided that even Antoni Gaudi isn’t worth all the trouble.

America vs Austria

I gave in practically the same documentation to both the Austrian Consulate as I did to the American one.

The same bank statements, the same travel history, a letter from a relative ready to sponsor me, the same residential permits to the UK and Australia. It was my first application to both embassies and I was interviewed by both.

The result – Austria gives me a 6-day visa and America a 10-year one.

Why is it that Austrians are scared that I will abandon my Australian husband, my UK and Australian residencies, and run away to Austria to live as a fugitive but not the Americans?

Power of ranting

Hmm... a few days after I rant about the ominipresence of celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay, one of his London restaurants loses its Michelin star.

Gosh! I should rant more.

The Other Gordon

Spotting Gordon Ramsay on PhotoPeach

If the London newspapers conducted a poll on which Gordon – Brown or Ramsay – is more recognisable in the city, I’ll bet Sid’s recently recovered tailored dinner jacket that Ramsay would win the competition hands down.

Scottish Saga

So Scotland wants its independence according to its First Minister Alex Salmond.

I will support their call for freedom on only one condition. That once free, it joins such great nations as Haiti, Nepal and Costa Rica in allowing tourism-minded Indians like me through its borders without a visa. I simply do not have the energy or patience to apply for yet another visa to visit Scotland.

Solving Britain's unemployment problems

Here is my contribution to solving UK's rising unemployment which stands at 7.8 per cent of the population at the moment and is predicted to rise to 9.5 per cent in two years. Gordon Brown should make it illegal for service companies to use any kind of automated voice recordings. No company should ask its clients to speak to automated voice services to pay for bills, send details about addresses or changes in them, or any other inquiries.

We just moved out of our old place and I had to go through an immensely long and frustrating exercise to get my address changed and outstanding bills cleared off with government councils, gas, water and electric companies. All of them forced me to speak to automated voice services. None of these enlightening conversations eventually worked out because either the automated voice couldn't understand my accent or because I didn't read out the addres exactly as it had on its records or whatever. So I was passed on real operators eventually anyway. But not before I had already wasted much time and patience over delightful chats with machines.

It is poor service, it wastes my time - and most importantly, it is taking away some poor unemployed British sods job. Get rid of it!

Not so high after all

The Indian government remains the Indian government, no matter which part of the world you approach it from.

The pages in my Indian passport, which is no where close to expiry, are over. The website of the High Commission of India in the UK says I must apply for a new passport.

So far so good.

But the form to fill gives me only three options to apply for a passport: if I am applying for the first time, if my passport has expired, or if I am applying for a duplicate passport. I fall into none of the categories.
So I look up the website for helpline numbers. There is a general enquiry number, a passport enquiries number, and impressively, an after-hours number. All carry the country code to India and turn out to be invalid. I figure that they must have by mistake skype addressed the numbers to India, when they meant to do it to the UK. So I call the general enquiry number using the UK country code. The pre recorded voice informs me that I have definitely reached the HCI but no one actually bothers to pick up the phone number on the first two tries. On my third try, someone picks up the phone and bangs it down loudly. I get the message.
So I try the passport enquiry number. Only to be told by a pre recorded message that I should look up the website for details. There is no "talk to a human being" option available on the inquiry line. So why is it an inquiry line at all?

In desperation, I call the after-hours number. There isn't even a pre recorded message this time confirming whether I've reached the HCI or outer Mongolia. The number rings four times and then I am told that as no one's picking up the number and no voice mail service is available, good luck and good night!
I am left with no option but to do just fill the form to the best of my knowledge, and then keep my fingers crossed when I jostle my way through the HCI tomorrow.

When I was at the High Commission of India office in London earlier, I met a girl who had been living in the UK with her Scottish husband for the last nine years. In a year, she would be eligible for a UK passport. In the meantime, her Indian passport had expired. But it had taken her three months to bother to apply for a new passport. "Who will deal with all this?", she had remarked distastefully looking around at the noisy, overcrowded HCI office at Aldwych. As a recent migrant to the UK, I had immediately felt defensive of India and its miseries, and had thought - Geez, what a snob?

But now, as I feel frustration mount up in me, I can almost sympathise with her. Really, who wants to deal with the HCI. Not me!