Tandoori Nights (or why I love an Indian)
As the sun sank down in the
West,
I sank pints down the pub
without worry,
And I found that I’d
developed a craving:
What I needed next was a
bloody hot curry.
You see KFC just wouldn’t cut
it:
The chicken tasted like some
old flab.
Fish and chips were no good
at the time,
And I couldn’t go near a
doner kebab.
There’s other things I could
have had if I’d wanted:
Chinese – but you have to be
in the right mood,
You’re usually hungry again
an hour later,
And to be honest it’s not my favourite food.
An Indian it had to be for me
then,
It was no time to act like a
shrinking lily,
Something to clear my sinuses
out,
A meal with a kick of some
chillie!
Poppadoms I started with, and
some pickles,
Bhajias, pakoras and some
tikka –
So hot that it made my throat
go numb,
You can tell I’m an Indian
thrill-seeker.
I’d no idea what next I
should choose
Picking one was something of
a great drama.
Dhansak, Madras or a hot
Vindaloo -
Patia,
Jalfreezie, or Chillie Masala?
Chicken, vegetable or lamb
for main course?
A tough question I had to
decide.
Cooked in which tasty, spicy
sauce?
Cos I always like a bit on
the side.
There was bhindi, gobi and
aloo –
Vegetable koftas, dhal and
some rice.
I had to have all of these
dishes:
I didn’t care so long as
there was plenty of spice.
I hadn’t even started yet on
the breads:
Naans, rotis and chapattis
all soft,
I mopped up the delicious
sauces.
And four pints of lager I
quaffed.
And when it was all ordered
and eaten,
When I couldn’t eat one other
thing,
When my stomach was finally
beaten,
And my mouth continued to
sting.
I’d finished my lager and was
getting the bill,
I knew that I’d be back again
in a hurry.
I’m starting to wonder if
I’ll ever be cured,
Of this addiction I’ve got
for a curry.
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