I ordered something I can't spell or say and slathered four-alarm chutney all over it, JG ordered something with lamb in the description and Ladybug went all crazy adventurous on us and ordered fish sticks with fries. Leave it to the short one to have the brains in the bunch.
This is the rest of the evening in bullet-points, since I am too fat and full to type in complete paragraphs:
* Food arrives in eleventy-gillion small dishes with matching tiny spoons that make me feel twenty times larger than I already am.
* Ladybug turns nose up at perfectly fried sticks of fish mash and fries. Five bite rule applied. Waterworks begin. Fantasize about mixing spicy curry into ketchup on kidplate.
* Pick up spoon just in time to see JG licking his bowl clean. Seriously consider bringing stopwatch to next dinner outing.
* Food into face= very best part of evening.
* Stomach bulges more, wedging me into booth. (not an exaggeration)
* Pay check and shovel 99 cents worth of fish sticks into styrofoam container before dislodging from table and waddling out to parking lot.
* Car ride home filled with painful groans, poop talk, and not-so-fresh memories of India fogging up the windows.
* Five bites of fish in Ladybug belly, in bed.
* JG dorking-out to downloaded episodes of Star Trek Voyager on the couch (again)
* Me, computer, bed... and too many Memories of India spoiling the clean sheets.
If I can only give one curry-riddled nugget of wisdom before closing and heading off to the bathroom for what will surely be the first trip of many...
The last words from your mouth before venturing out for an evening of labor-inducing spicy Indian cuisine should never (ever ever ever), under any circumstances be "couldn't hurt to try".
Because it certainly can.