Even though it may seem like I hate everything about India, I actually don’t [insert appropriate verb and direct object]. In fact, I have many recommendations, which I’ll write about in future posts. I would write about them now, but I’m so tired it just took me four times to figure out how to spell recommendations.
I’ll just say that I’ve finally found a restaurant I really like in New Delhi. It’s called Gunpowder, and it’s located in Hauz Khaz Village (don’t ask me where that is). I had to do the following things to get there:
1. Find my way through a maze of back alleys
2. Avoid getting hit by a stampeding crowd of men carrying a bundle of metal rods
3. Walk in complete darkness through a garbage dump
4. Step in a foot-high pile of concrete dust, thereby ruining my ballet flats
5. Almost fall into a fifteen foot hole next to the entrance
6. Climb six flight of stairs
7. Go to the bathroom and clean off my concrete dust leg with a dirty rag
8. Sit and cry for three minutes, after which I did not talk for ten
It was completely worth it for the meal. Southern Indian, fresh, and extremely reasonably priced, it’s everything Caleb and I have been looking for in the past two weeks, when we’ve been stuck in luxury hotel compounds that feature really, really expensive restaurants with really, really mediocre food.
I also really liked the neighborhood, which had a vintage Bollywood poster store, an art gallery, and a textile market with recycled fabrics from all over India. Caleb says it’s like the Williamsburg of New Delhi, and I say, why’d you have to ruin it for me, Caleb?
(I would show a picture of the food, but I can’t figure out how to download it, not in the tourist twilight zone that is 10 o’clock in the evening.)