My Indian preoccupation

I’m obsessed with all things Indian – the clothes, the weddings, the dancing, Bollywood, but especially the food. I think I could happily eat curries, tikka masalas, kormas and naan bread every day for the rest of my life. But I won’t, because I wouldn’t want this delicious, bold food to lose its appeal. 

The best Indian restaurant I’ve been to so far (unfortunately hasn’t been in India since I’ve yet to go) is in Sandton City, and is called The Raj. The greatest way to enjoy the food here is to order a bit of everything and share it among the table. The Raj has great atmosphere, amazing service, and the food is just out of this world! It’s a bit on the pricey side, so don’t feel bad for splashing out; it’s that good. 

Another Indian restaurant closer to home (as in a two-minute drive for me) is Shahi Khana in Norwood. It’s a quaint restaurant and take-away joint on the corner of Grant and William streets. The décor is bad, cheesy even, but the food is exquisite and doesn’t match the low prices. You can get a huge amount of chicken briani for under R60! It takes me two days to finish mine. Shahi Khana’s chicken tikka masala is almost orgasmic. I didn’t want to offer more than two bites away.

Go to http://www.therajrestaurant.com to find out more about The Raj,
and call 011 728 8157 for Shahi Khana.

It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.

It’s my birthday today! And I’m not that excited about it.

I’m now closer to 30 than 20, and that makes my breath get caught in my throat, and my heart flutter worriedly in my chest. You’ll roll your eyes and scoff at me, but birthdays haven’t been exciting for me since after I turned 21.

Growing up, all I ever wanted to be was 18. That way, I could drink legally, go to clubs without having to sneak out the window, and claim my adulthood with pride and entitlement.

Nineteen and 20 flew by unnoticeably in an always-half-drunk blur of varsity. Then came 21, with its big party that took three months to plan, involving a gold tutu and some drunk people resembling the likes of Tina Turner, Bob Marley and the pope.

In my old age I find I often forget how old I actually am. When I was 22 I received a call from an American summer camp, asking if I was interested in joining the team for a year. When asked how old I was, I matter-of-factly replied, “Oh, I’m 19!” Except I wasn’t. I’d just forgot I was actually 22.

So today is my birthday and I’m celebrating it with my CLEO team, eating baked goods and wallowing in my silly misery. At least I’ll always be more than a decade younger than BF!