Restaurant reviews I
Ok, I know this is very silly. But it makes me feel like I'm still part of the civilized world...
Restaurant: El Rodeo
Location: Connaught Circle, New Delhi
Price: Can't remember, exactly. I think dinner for two, with a shared appetizer and non-alcoholic drinks, came to about $18.
Ambiance: Mexican bordello. Maroon flocked wallpaper, red velvet curtains, dim lighting, smoky air, little Mexican blankets as placemats. Saddles as bar stools. The waitstaff were all very cute and muscular young men and all wore black, including black cowboy hats and boots, with little red kerchiefs at the neck. Less Mexican; more "Brokeback." Perhaps the owners couldn't resist the idea of Indians as cowboys. I know I couldn't have.
I ordered the nachos, and fajitas with frijoles guajillo. The waiter had a bit of trouble understanding me, and "corrected" my pronunciation, making all the "j"s and "g"s hard: fa-JEE-tas with free-JOE-lays goo-ah-JEE-low. I tried to keep a straight face. K ordered chicken enchiladas -- and a non-alcoholic cocktail called a "southern belle." The waiter tried to keep a straight face.
The nachos came with frozen guacamole. I didn't mind, however, because this was the first bonafide avocado product I've encountered in India. Which is weird, because they grow here. More disturbingly, the "nachos" did not come with cheese. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't the crunchy things called "nacho chips," because they're the ones to use in the dish called "nachos," which always comes with cheese? And if a restaurant really means "the crunchy things" they always list "nacho chips," with emphasis on the second word?
The waiter helpfully explained what each dish was when he brought it -- he could tell I was a greenhorn because of the way I pronounced my order -- but slipped up when he came to the tortilla, calling it a "roti." Which, sadly, it was. Essentially, my fajitas were the standard Indian veg sizzler plate (assorted vegetables served on a sizzling metal dish), with a few rotis. The salsa was surprisingly ok, but the sour cream turned out to be exactly that: heavy cream that'd been left out to sour.
K pronounced his chicken agreeably non-ketchup-y (ketchup being the chief risk in India when ordering anything non-Indian in which tomato is to play a role), but with Indian-ized spices.
I was terribly excited when the waiter put down a basket of what he called cornbread, but this turned out to be the disappointment of the evening. It really was bread, not cake, sort of like potato bread. It was in bread-shaped slices, not at all yellow, and had a faintly sourdough taste. Revolting.
Overall: points for trying, and for funky bar stools, and for fairly decent live music (mostly the Eagles -- it's always either that or George Michael at every such place, and, frankly, I was grateful for the way the coin fell that night) at a volume that still allowed conversation. Plus, we didn't get food poisoning.
Restaurant: El Rodeo
Location: Connaught Circle, New Delhi
Price: Can't remember, exactly. I think dinner for two, with a shared appetizer and non-alcoholic drinks, came to about $18.
Ambiance: Mexican bordello. Maroon flocked wallpaper, red velvet curtains, dim lighting, smoky air, little Mexican blankets as placemats. Saddles as bar stools. The waitstaff were all very cute and muscular young men and all wore black, including black cowboy hats and boots, with little red kerchiefs at the neck. Less Mexican; more "Brokeback." Perhaps the owners couldn't resist the idea of Indians as cowboys. I know I couldn't have.
I ordered the nachos, and fajitas with frijoles guajillo. The waiter had a bit of trouble understanding me, and "corrected" my pronunciation, making all the "j"s and "g"s hard: fa-JEE-tas with free-JOE-lays goo-ah-JEE-low. I tried to keep a straight face. K ordered chicken enchiladas -- and a non-alcoholic cocktail called a "southern belle." The waiter tried to keep a straight face.
The nachos came with frozen guacamole. I didn't mind, however, because this was the first bonafide avocado product I've encountered in India. Which is weird, because they grow here. More disturbingly, the "nachos" did not come with cheese. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't the crunchy things called "nacho chips," because they're the ones to use in the dish called "nachos," which always comes with cheese? And if a restaurant really means "the crunchy things" they always list "nacho chips," with emphasis on the second word?
The waiter helpfully explained what each dish was when he brought it -- he could tell I was a greenhorn because of the way I pronounced my order -- but slipped up when he came to the tortilla, calling it a "roti." Which, sadly, it was. Essentially, my fajitas were the standard Indian veg sizzler plate (assorted vegetables served on a sizzling metal dish), with a few rotis. The salsa was surprisingly ok, but the sour cream turned out to be exactly that: heavy cream that'd been left out to sour.
K pronounced his chicken agreeably non-ketchup-y (ketchup being the chief risk in India when ordering anything non-Indian in which tomato is to play a role), but with Indian-ized spices.
I was terribly excited when the waiter put down a basket of what he called cornbread, but this turned out to be the disappointment of the evening. It really was bread, not cake, sort of like potato bread. It was in bread-shaped slices, not at all yellow, and had a faintly sourdough taste. Revolting.
Overall: points for trying, and for funky bar stools, and for fairly decent live music (mostly the Eagles -- it's always either that or George Michael at every such place, and, frankly, I was grateful for the way the coin fell that night) at a volume that still allowed conversation. Plus, we didn't get food poisoning.
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