busker

Gandhi

House of Exotic Indian Cuisine

Thursday was so glorious, for luncheon I decided to treat myself to Indian cuisine - from the Punjab, no less - at the newly opened Gandhi on the second floor of the Pavilion.

None other than the dapper manager Mr Manoj Kumar himself led me to my table, tho' I blanched when I saw where he was placing me. Let me explain:

Many moons ago, I decided to explore somewhere to take business contacts for a good meal and away from the Seattle smog.

Despite the silly name, I decided to put "Spartans" Italian restaurant (as it was called in those days) thru its paces. Thus it was one evening that I found myself climbing the stairs to the same 2nd-floor rendezvous now occupied by Gandhi.

Matters got off to a splendid start with the dazzling smile I got from the stunning young receptionist - clearly a sophisticated import from the fleshpots of Seattle. In fact, once I could tear my eyes off her, I noticed that almost the *entire* staff comprised of damsels of serious pulchritude.

Before I could ogle further, up strode the manager (an acquaintance, as it happened) and led me to a table discreetly hidden from the fray and offered me a glass of wine and the menu.

Five minutes passed, fifteen, then 20 ... I was puzzled. Meanwhile, from the other side of the partition I could hear the manager keeping his bevy of beauties amused in trills of youthful laughter.

But what about my vino and the menu?

Another 10 minutes passed, at which point I decided to humiliate myself no longer and walked out, attracting no one's attention, certainly not the manager's whom I glimpsed besporting himself on the balcony with a brace of ringleted serveuses.

Why wait so long? Well, I'll tell you why - to enjoy a meal served by one of those leggy charmers, that's why. Otherwise I'd have vamoosed much sooner.

Anyway, it was to that exact same table that Mr Kumar led me - but for a very different experience.

A menu was instantly in my hands, the drink arrived - a deliciously cold Kingfisher - and I was off:

• Papadums
• Paratha
• Chicken tikka
• Rice
• Raita
• Mango chutney

Only one blemish - rather funny, really - concerning the nectar Kingfisher. It comes in rather a *small* bottle, so a good meal usually requires two or three. Imagine my horror (and Mr Kumar's!) when I called for the second bottle only to be told that I had consumed the last Kingfisher - the man who drank Gandhi dry! - and would need to fall back on Heineken.

I began to wonder if that particular area wasn't jinxed: first, the service-unconscious Spartan harem; next the oddly named "Via" (where my daughter and I had possibly our worst - and worst *served* - meal *ever* on the island.

And now an ale malfunction for Gandhi ... ominous.

I fear for this fine establishment's chances of survival (elaborated on in a long and pompous discussion of that woeful Islay advert/bleat (BI Review, March 12; with the kinky hideous pseudo scroll border).

Having finished my meal, and strolled out onto the balcony for fresh air, sunshine and a contemplative (and contented) digestif
Cohiba, I settled the bill (a very reasonable $35 incl not ungenerous tip) and sauntered home.

I urge all lovers of exotic Indian cuisine to hurry there before the Gandhi bites the dust, victim to our collective and characteristic neglect, as per Artsoup and the revered Winslow Hardware.