So, about a month or so ago, my friend Becca and I were on our way to go shopping (I think...I can't even remember that far back), and we happened to pass an Indian restaurant called "Torch of India." It stood on one corner of an intersection, and, at the time, directly to the right of Becca's car. The light at the intersection was red, so we came to a stop right beside the restaurant. Becca happened to look over and saw a sign in the window advertising "live belly-dancing Friday and Saturday evenings." For some reason that I cannot explain other than the fact that Becca is extremely strange (I say this with love), the concept of seeing a live belly-dancer just overjoyed my dear friend, and she, very enthusiastically, announced "WE HAVE TO GO!!!" I looked over at the sign and shrank back in utter horror. "WHY!?!" I asked, panic-stricken. I never really got a clear answer to this question. Once Becca gets an idea into her head, there is really no talking her out of it. She will either keep pleading with you until your ears bleed, or, she will thunder-hip you into random objects until you relent (this was my entire high school experience folks, only instead of objects, she thunder-hipped me into other people...). At the time of sign-spottage, I believe Becca's announcement was said jokingly (really only half-jokingly), but as the evening went on, the subject kept coming up. I finally admitted that I'd never had Indian food, and would like to try it, so we made plans (while we were eating Pho, by the way) to check it out the following evening. After the conception of these plans, Becca (again, jokingly) texted her boyfriend that we were going to go belly-dancing the following day, to which he pretty much freaked the crap out. I had the following text message conversation with him later that afternoon, reassuring him that we would not actually be participating in dancing of any sort (this is the abridged version):
Him: What's this belly dancing about!!!
Me: We passed an Indian restaurant with a sign in the window advertising live belly-dancing, so your girlfriend could not be swayed against going to see this. She says it will be our next cultural experience.
Him: Ok...you guys aren't participating, right?
Me: Bwahahahahahhahaha! NO! Never in a million years! Even if we wanted to, I really don't think they encourage audience participation. Pretty sure it would be frowned upon. I predict we'll eat, and then watch about 2 minutes of dancing before it gets uncomfortable and we leave.
Him: Sounds like a BB impulse to me. Suggest something else and perhaps she'll lose interest. Or just tickle her side, you'll get your way.
I didn't even attempt that last suggestion. I know what dirty retaliatory tricks she's capable of. So we went. I didn't argue. I was in it for the food.
After we got there and were seated, I noticed the only other table occupied was the one directly behind us, and the occupants were employees on their break. It was a beautiful little restaurant full of Indian-themed decor with television sets in the corner playing what appeared to be Indian soap operas. The smell in the restaurant was heavenly, so we had high hopes for the food (the reviews were all four stars and above). The menu was also MUCH easier to understand than the one at Pho Vietnam (see previous Adventures in Food chapter for that story). We ordered shortly after we were seated, and were promptly brought our drinks and an appetizer (seen below)
The plate held two super-thin, crispy, tortilla-like objects, and the tray held three different dipping sauces. The two of us broke apart the objects and tried each of the three sauces. They were like nothing I'd ever tasted before. I don't even know how to describe the flavors. They were all good! I can say that for sure! One of them was like, a savory, tangy mango spread, one sort of tasted like calamata olives, and the green one was a little bit like salsa verde. Basically, we devoured this in no time flat. It was awesome.
It didn't take very long for our main dishes to come to the table. I ordered mango chicken curry, and Becca ordered tilapia curry. Our meal also came with a dish of basmatti rice and some naan bread. Everything came in its own little dish, so we could help ourselves to however much we wanted. I should also mentioned that each dish could be prepared three ways, mild, medium, or hot, and we each went with medium. I love spicy food, but I had heard that Indian food can be pretty potent, so I erred on the side of caution. And boy was I glad I did. The food was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G, but it was also so hot, we were both sweating. I personally enjoy it when my food is this spicy, but I could tell Becca was struggling. She was using her naan to cool off her mouth between bites, whereas I, on the other hand, was dipping mine into the sauce and eating it just like that, regardless of the burn. It was so freaking good!!! I finished all of my food, but Becca admitted defeat, and chose to have the rest of hers packaged up so she could take it home.After we finished our food, we asked the waiter when the belly-dancing was supposed to start, and he told us that the dancer was due to arrive in about fifteen minutes. We decided to sit and wait, even though it was a little bit awkward, since we had already eaten and paid for our food, and the restaurant had started filling up, I suppose, in anticipation for the "show." While we were waiting, a man sat down at the table right next to us, which was extremely close to ours by the way, on Becca's side of the table, but, at the time, I wasn't paying much attention to him. Another man joined him a little while later, and sat on the same side of the table as me. The dancer arrived shortly afterwards and began her "show" (you'll notice I'm now using "finger quotes." You will find out why in a moment). Now, I don't know if this was racist of me in some way, but I expected the dancer to be, well, I don't know, actually Indian? I don't think that was unreasonable assumption. But she wasn't. She was a tiny, very young Caucasian girl with extremely long hair, like, down to her calves. She was dressed in what I assume was traditional belly-dancing garb, and she wore heavy makeup. She wasn't gorgeous, but she wasn't bad looking either. She just seemed so young, and...white. She started dancing, which, I found to be INCREDIBLY awkward for several reasons. 1.) It was a very small restaurant. There was no stage or any designated dance floor area, so she danced in the aisles between tables, which were fairly narrow. Patrons and waitstaff actually had to gingerly scooch around or in front of her in order to get past her. 2.) She was dancing very close to our table. 3.) As my chair was positioned so that my back was to her, I had to turn around in my seat to watch her. Doing so forced me to also position my chair in such a way that I was directly facing the guy in the seat next to me, who kept looking over and smiling every time I turned around (I should mention these guys were at least in their forties, and I am...well, MUCH younger! They were also creepy). Finally, 4.) She really wasn't very good at all. I wouldn't describe what she was doing as "belly-dancing" so much as just wiggling around. There wasn't really even much belly action going on. I know this, because her midriff was completely exposed (as I'm sure is necessary when belly-dancing) and practically so close to me, I could touch it...not that I would, because that would be extremely weird, awkward, and uncomfortable for both of us. But the guys next to us sure wanted to! They kept making lewd comments generated towards the dancer, who was also MUCH younger than them, and doing other...not so appropriate motions and such with...other areas of their bodies. You get where I'm headed with this? Cool. So I won't go on. Becca and I were so uncomfortable and weirded out (yet also, grossly amused) that we resorted to texting each other our thoughts and comments so as not to be overheard by Dimples and Big Chin (our nicknames for the two forty-year-old pervs next to us). The following is an abridged and censored transcript of that conversation:
Becca: The guys next to us are soooo freaking creepy! They told each other they are here to see her (meaning the dancer). Freaks!
Me: I can't not laugh when I look at her (again, the dancer), and whenever I try, the dude next to me turns and stares at me!
Becca: Well, the guy next to me has a big chin. I want to go and stick a coin in it.
Me: You are making it very hard for me not to laugh.
Becca: Now we can text mean things about the possibly gay murderers next to us. They are showing each other porn on their phones! The one next to you said, "you knoowww I like that."
Me: What makes you say gay if they're here for the belly-dancer? But murderers definitely.
Becca: Maybe bisexual. I could get up and start belly-dancing now for big-chin.
Me: Be my guest. I only hope you can compete with the women on their phones. Big chin just wants to dance!
Becca: I'm so grossed out by Big Chin! I can't even tell you. He even wears those shoes with the toes!
Me: Time to go.
Needless to say, shortly after that, we left...and got frozen yogurt...WHAT?
To sum up the whole experience, the food was fantastic (possibly my new favorite thing ever), the restaurant was lovely, the prices were reasonable, and the staff were incredibly nice and funny. I would absolutely go back.
The belly-dancing? Never again. Just...no.
The following day, I received a text message from Becca. The following conversation ensued:
Becca: I am pooping Indian fire, Felicia. It burns coming out just as much as it did going in.
Me: Wow, nice visual, thanks. I'm perfectly fine! You must have a sensitive stomach. Next time (if there is a next time) get mild! Btw, you left your leftovers at my house.
Becca: Good, burn them.
So, I ate them for lunch that day. They were awesome. And I felt just fine afterwards :)
~Felicia
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