Pretty good food and the kind of sweat you need when you want relief from sweating from the heat.
Had a lot left over at the end and asked the nice waiter if I could take it home for lunch.
"By which time", I added, "we'll have beaten Pakistan to a pulp".
Meaning, of course, the last day of the Third Test of the series that (inter alia) has kept me from posting here for a while.
I then went on a bit about their shabby fielding, internal team feuds and general inconsistency since they were first admitted to Test cricket in 1952 -- a good year for most things apart from that -- usw.
What I'd assumed, of course, was that something called an "Indian Restaurant" was, in fact, run by Indians, and that they'd enjoy the odd jibe at their sub-continental cousins.
On paying the bill, the chef-cum-cashier (who goes by the curious name of Jack) informed me that it was a Pakistani outfit.
I pointed to the take-away menu on the counter where it clearly said "Indian Restaurant", in my defence, but with a note of apology hanging in the voice.
Obvious really: you won't get a lot of custom if you call yourself a Pakistani Restaurant.
Fortuitously, I'd taken my Swiss Army knife along to open my Cascade Stout and, as with such devices, it contains a tool specially designed for removing the foot from one's own mouth.
