The train smokes down the xylophone
For the first time in our current ward and precinct,
spatch and I did not have to prove our identities before voting tonight. The difference was magical: instead of Kafkaesque obstruction which our papers could only provisionally resolve, we were presented with ballots, which we cast and were out of there in five minutes flat. We had earlier in the evening enjoyed dinner from Guru the Caterer, which only took us seventeen months of walking past on a regular basis to try rather than just inhale like a beggar in a folktale—admittedly for almost half that time I was medically prohibited takeout. I rejoice in a local source of goat curry, especially on nights when the combo includes the option of palak paneer and roti and rice and pickle into the bargain, which is most of a thali without the plate. I had never actually seen bread pakora in a restaurant before and probably would try it. I am still sufficiently new to eating from restaurants again that it feels like a treat each time.

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(Adapt to appropriate mix of genuine yayness with the correct amount of sarcasm re. kafkaesque activities you had come to expect.)
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Niiice. There used to be a place around the corner from one of my old jobs that did a good goat curry, but they took it off the menu or changed the recipe and it wasn't the same.
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Also, yay for goat curry!
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Goat curry!!!
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I am incoherent after reading that menu. And especially, BREAD PAKORA. I've never heard of it. I would happily eat the simple form, but the stuffed ones, according to a recipe on a blog I often peruse but have not yet found everything relevant to my interests, are like "fried battered sandwiches with a spicy potato filling." I'll just eat that all the time now, thank you.
Only I'm terrible at deep frying and at keeping complex battered items together while they cook. You can shallow-fry them too, but I've learned that with chickpea flour batter it's better to follow directions. Maybe I'll make some besan chilla. Those are within my skill set.
P.
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