Friday, July 15, 2011

When a Russian Indian is Exactly Perfect

You know it's been a tough day when you've had two glasses of wine even before you go out. Actually, it wasn't a tough day at all; many parts of the day were enjoyable. There was just one really niggly annoying thing (which wouldn't go away) that required fortification. And a good laugh. Thankfully, I had the foresight earlier in the week to know that a night out tonight, Friday night, the last day of a long term, would be exactly what the doctor ordered. And I nailed it.

Paul and I decided to try something a bit different for us and booked a table at PaNKaWaLLa on Devon Street. We love a good curry and were unphased by the prospect of an Indian meal, but decided to brush up on all things Mumbai just to be sure. Paul assured me it was the real deal: the maitre d who took our booking was decidedly Indian. So who could blame us for being a little bit taken aback and unprepared when having to decipher and interpret the accent of our waitress who was...Russian? Blond, blue eyes and very awkward. Who knew? I couldn't understand a word she said and was so completely overwhelmed by her...well, Russian-ness, that I made Paul signal me (a twitch of the ear) every time she approached, just so I could be ready to concentrate. It was just so funny. Not so funny when she forgot the cutlery, not to mention the plates ("please, don't eat: wait for plates" or something like that), but we were in such a mood that I'm sure she felt well forgiven. Actually, yes, even that was funny. The best thing about the night was that there was a huge party next to us, nearly 20 tables long, which meant that our meals took ages to come. Not a problem. The wine flowed freely, as did the conversation and the laughs. And besides: our baby-sitters were free tonight. We didn't mind how long the meal took. Enough said.

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