I love Indian food. Growing up, my mother was obsessed with curries, Naan bread and mango lassies. At a very young age, I didn’t quite appreciate the joys of delving into exotic cuisine. I’d have two bites of my mom’s chicken tikka masala and beg for McDonald’s.
However, on a trip to London, I gave Indian food a shot. At an unassuming restaurant in Covent Garden, I fell in love. The flavors exploded like fireworks for my taste buds. I adored the taste of curry and soon went from ordering mild to medium curries.
In New York, I frequented East Sixth Street in the East Village. It’s also known as curry road. There I would sample a smorgasbord of regional Indian cuisines.
I recently had dinner in curry lane with friends. Adriana ordered her chicken tikka masala extra spicy. I thought to myself, “Oh I love spicy food, I’ll also order it extra spicy.” When my dish arrived, the smells left me breathless in joy. I broke a piece of Naan bread and began to feast.
The first bites of the dish had a wonderful creamy texture and then the kicker. As I chewed further, the spice from the curry intensified. I wore a most proper outfit that evening. Soon, I was drenched. I had to constantly dry my forehead.
Adriana was more comfortable with the intense spiciness. My mouth was on fire, but I couldn’t stop eating. It tasted magnificently. I took the last bite, which further intensified the internal heat wave feeling. However, it was well worth it. Regardless of spice, Indian remains one of my favorite cuisines.
Living in a big city like New York exposes one to a United Nations of cuisines. One doesn’t have to travel far distances to have an authentic taste of any country, when it’s in one of the five boroughs.