We were at the Mirch Masala restaurant Sunday buffet. Two blonde, bearded uncles. Aunt Madge, fresh off a congested motorway. And me with my quasi Urdu and gora husband.
As we settled into our crisp onion bhajis, I let out a gasp. I had suddenly remembered my recent brush with international foodie fame and fortune.
I’m in Olive, I declared with a flourish.
Uncle one raised an eyebrow. Uncle two gave me a grunt. Aunt Madge just said: “Who’s Olive?”
Great. Only, like, the best food magazine published by the BBC. Read by a gazillion people, none of whom I actually know.
They asked me about my favourite cheap eat in London - the £6.95 eat as much as you want lunch buffet at Diwana Bhelpuri House in Euston. But if you’re not in London, this information is about as useful to you as your local weather to me.
So here are my top tips for spotting a really good Indian buffet instead:
- Elderly Indians: No self respecting elderly Indian will pay money to eat poorly cooked version of the food they eat at home
- Hot chapattis/rotis: There is little point in rotis that have languished on the buffet table, turning rock hard and stone cold
- Wide selection: Surely, the whole point of the whole exercise is to eat until you can barely move, a huge meal that you would be nuts to cook at home?
I’ve had a few strange working lunches in my time. The first question set the tone for this one: “Have you thought much about what would happen when you die?”
