I used to eat at Indian restaurants–a lot. Not the posh, pearl-inlaid, teeny-weeny dishes kind, but the little hole in the wall spots, the kind with ever-changing menus and cheap plastic cutlery. Samosas were better eaten hot off a napkin, tandoori tastier when I could actually see the tandoor. But the posh places still beckoned, their fancy water goblets gleaming in the sun when I passed by, their leather-backed booths piled with silken cushions, exuding luxury and comfort, the perfect spot to linger after a rich and satisfying meal.
