Something I’ve noticed amongst the whole break-up scenario is that somehow – consciously or sub-consciously – people seem to assume that you hate the entire male species, and that the only way to make you feel better is to invite you on endless girls’ nights out. Don’t get me wrong – I love a good girls’ night out. But I’m a flirt. There’s only so many girls’ nights out I can stand before I start to get itchy. I need that hit of sweat that smells like cumin and musk. I need testosterone-fuelled competitiveness and innuendo-style banter. I need boys’ nights out too.
And what’s more boys-y than watching rugby and drinking beer in an Irish pub, followed by a good old curry? Memories of India is actually quite a classy Indian, as these things go. The décor only scores about 4 out of 10 on the kitsch scale of Indian restaurants, although the waiters somewhat make up for it with their camp cheekiness.
Having played Musical Tables no less than three times (we arrived late, and caused all kinds of logistical issues) we tucked into the poppadums like the beer monkeys that we were. Next up, we ordered a lamb gosht, chicken balti, prawn biryani, palak paneer (Indian cheese in a spinach sauce) and a couple of assorted naans. I was a big fan of the biryani and the palak paneer, in particular, but the meat dishes were good too.
