door, and Alex stepped inside. Immediately, he was hit with a wall of delicious smells.
“It’s not curry like you know it,” George continued as he led them up to the counter. “You pick from a handful of different options and they serve it on disposable plates, with disposable knives and forks. It’s cheap as chips, but the food is amazing.”
“It smells amazing,” Alex said.
He read down the menu as they waited in line. The restaurant was set up cafeteria style, with communal tables and the disposable plates and napkins George had described, and bins for people to clean up after themselves.
The options consisted of lamb, chicken, or vegetable curry, with no more details about what went into the dishes than that. There was a whole bunch of sides to go with it too: naan bread, poppadums, saag aloo, bajis, samosas. The most expensive thing on the menu was the lamb curry, which cost six pounds, including rice.
Cheap as chips was right.
“What do you recommend?” Alex asked.
“Honestly? It’s all good. I’ll get a bunch of sides so we can just share.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
After another moment’s deliberation while waiting in the queue, Alex decided on the chicken curry, and he’d share whatever George came up with. The men serving all wore elegantly twisted turbans, and one had a net covering his beard, making him look like a trussed-up Father Christmas. Sort of.
All of the curries were resting in the stainless steel vats that characterized school dinners back when he was at boarding school, bringing on a wave of nostalgia. Alex got that boarding school wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it had worked for him. He wanted anonymity, to be just another face in the crowd, and Harrow gave him that. No one cared who his family were. That only started to matter once he transferred to Eton, for secondary school.
George ordered first, opting for a plain naan rather than one with garlic butter, which Alex appreciated. He paid too, waving away Alex’s offer of splitting it.
“It’s a date,” he said in a low voice, with a shy smile.
They carried the food—and for costing less than twenty pounds in total, it was a lot of food—over to a table by the window, where they could watch people going by.
“This place is popular with students,” George said as a big group of them got up from the table behind him.
“I can see that. Because it’s so cheap?”
“I guess so. They used to operate out of the student union, just over on Potter Row. Then they opened this place a few years back.”
Alex nodded and dug his plastic fork into the pile of delicately soft, saffron yellow rice.
It was incredible .
“Oh my God,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.
“Right?”
“This is… really good.”
Alex reached for his Coke and swigged it. The curry was delicately spiced, not too hot, but rich and creamy and delicious. He was fairly adventurous when it came to ordering Indian food at a restaurant, though this was a different experience entirely.
“How did you find this place?” Alex asked.
“Someone from the rugby team brought a bunch of us here, well, when it was at the student union. They do really cheap beer at the union too,” he said with a grin. “So none of us really minded that much. They do takeaway now too.”
“We’re coming back here,” Alex said emphatically, mopping up some of the curry sauce with the edge of his naan bread. “Regularly.”
“I’m so okay with that.”
Even with George’s appetite, they couldn’t quite manage to work their way through all the side dishes, and Alex gave up trying before George did. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach, aware that he was going to have to work hard to burn all this off.
“Okay, I have a question,” Alex asked, stretching his arms over his head and enjoying the resulting pop in his back.
“Go for it.”
“What is it you actually do? I know you said you’re a design engineer, but you
“It’s not curry like you know it,” George continued as he led them up to the counter. “You pick from a handful of different options and they serve it on disposable plates, with disposable knives and forks. It’s cheap as chips, but the food is amazing.”
“It smells amazing,” Alex said.
He read down the menu as they waited in line. The restaurant was set up cafeteria style, with communal tables and the disposable plates and napkins George had described, and bins for people to clean up after themselves.
The options consisted of lamb, chicken, or vegetable curry, with no more details about what went into the dishes than that. There was a whole bunch of sides to go with it too: naan bread, poppadums, saag aloo, bajis, samosas. The most expensive thing on the menu was the lamb curry, which cost six pounds, including rice.
Cheap as chips was right.
“What do you recommend?” Alex asked.
“Honestly? It’s all good. I’ll get a bunch of sides so we can just share.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
After another moment’s deliberation while waiting in the queue, Alex decided on the chicken curry, and he’d share whatever George came up with. The men serving all wore elegantly twisted turbans, and one had a net covering his beard, making him look like a trussed-up Father Christmas. Sort of.
All of the curries were resting in the stainless steel vats that characterized school dinners back when he was at boarding school, bringing on a wave of nostalgia. Alex got that boarding school wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it had worked for him. He wanted anonymity, to be just another face in the crowd, and Harrow gave him that. No one cared who his family were. That only started to matter once he transferred to Eton, for secondary school.
George ordered first, opting for a plain naan rather than one with garlic butter, which Alex appreciated. He paid too, waving away Alex’s offer of splitting it.
“It’s a date,” he said in a low voice, with a shy smile.
They carried the food—and for costing less than twenty pounds in total, it was a lot of food—over to a table by the window, where they could watch people going by.
“This place is popular with students,” George said as a big group of them got up from the table behind him.
“I can see that. Because it’s so cheap?”
“I guess so. They used to operate out of the student union, just over on Potter Row. Then they opened this place a few years back.”
Alex nodded and dug his plastic fork into the pile of delicately soft, saffron yellow rice.
It was incredible .
“Oh my God,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.
“Right?”
“This is… really good.”
Alex reached for his Coke and swigged it. The curry was delicately spiced, not too hot, but rich and creamy and delicious. He was fairly adventurous when it came to ordering Indian food at a restaurant, though this was a different experience entirely.
“How did you find this place?” Alex asked.
“Someone from the rugby team brought a bunch of us here, well, when it was at the student union. They do really cheap beer at the union too,” he said with a grin. “So none of us really minded that much. They do takeaway now too.”
“We’re coming back here,” Alex said emphatically, mopping up some of the curry sauce with the edge of his naan bread. “Regularly.”
“I’m so okay with that.”
Even with George’s appetite, they couldn’t quite manage to work their way through all the side dishes, and Alex gave up trying before George did. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach, aware that he was going to have to work hard to burn all this off.
“Okay, I have a question,” Alex asked, stretching his arms over his head and enjoying the resulting pop in his back.
“Go for it.”
“What is it you actually do? I know you said you’re a design engineer, but you
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