For starters, Berni made .... or rather brought .... STOREmade nan bread. It was delicious but something all of us (including Berni) had purchased and enjoyed a million times before. It is the difference between actually going to Indian versus thumbing through a really great Indian themed coffee table book. We did, however, manage to put our own spin on the pre-packaged nan by popping it into the toaster oven (instead of sprinkling it with water and heating it slightly in the microwave as the directions directed us to do). It was good ... a little crispy maybe (think saltine consistency) but still okay.
Christine brought a really yummy vindaloos and that being said, I believe that she was the only one who actually would have made it to India and got off the plane. Her spin was using a butcher cut veal roast as the protein instead of the chicken that the recipe called for. The only drawback was that she did use a bottled pre-made vindaloos sauce from the grocery store.The sauce was tasty and she did have to partially cook the veal at home and then finish cooking it at work in the toaster oven (along side the nan) so she definitely gets bonus points for that..
What did I bring? I brought samosas. I brought samosas and I would really prefer to just leave it at that.
*sigh*
Okay, I brought samosas .... I brought samosas that I purchased fully cooked from the local Indian restaurant .... and I feel terrible about it ... sort of anyway. I feel bad because I am constantly keeping the other brown bagged travellers on course by upholding the "rules" and the spirit of our weekly meals-- there is no switching countries, there is no deviation from our course, there is no switching days and there is certainly no cheating! I have been adamant about this since day one when "someone" tried to switch Costa Rica out for Mexico because they felt like tacos. Alas, dear reader, I am a hypocrite but a hypocrite with a good reason ... I was soooooo tiiirrrred *insert whiny voice here*. It was a Wednesday night and the thought of actually having to prepare samosas from scratch seemed like an incredibly daunting task ... so I cheated. I ordered twenty samosas from my local Indian restaurant using my cell phone while hiding out in the company loo. The events that followed next could be likened to something from an old black and white double agent movie. I slunk into the Indian restaurant under the cover of an inky black night and being careful to stay hidden in the shadows slowly made my way up to the front cash register. The restaurant air was thick and fragrant, heavy with the scent of curry, cardamon and cumin. "I'm here for the stuff" I whispered to the woman standing behind the counter. She smiled knowingly and motioned with her hand toward the kitchen; a tall spindly man appeared holding a large brown paper bag stained with grease. "Are you the one who ordered the twenty samosas?" he bellowed, his deep baritone shattering the quiet. "Yes, yes I am" I hissed my eyes darting around the empty room. "Don't you normally do these transactions somewhere more um private?" I asked. The man looked at me quizzically. "Why twenty samosas?" he questioned raising one of his bushy black eyebrows. So, I offered up a vague explanation in hushed tones about an office party and a tyrant boss demanding twenty of the most sumptuous samosas in the land..The man, who continued to stare at me in puzzlement, shook his head and offered to deliver the samosas directly to my office the following days so that they "would be fresh". "NO!!!!!!" I screeched, my voice coming out sounding like some crazy mix of a falcon and a train whistle. The man physically jumped back at the sound, bumping into the woman who was still standing next to the til. "O-o-okay" he stammered. They offered me a complimentary dish of sticky tamarind sauce to accompany the samosas (which I readily accepted) obviously hoping that a friendly token would help get the nutcase (i.e. Me) out of their restaurant and out of their lives for good. I paid for the samosas and carefully backed out of the restaurant and sank back into the night, leaving a "this never even happened ..." lingering in the air and the man and the woman staring after me.
And that, dear reader, is not even the worst part.
The worst part came the next day in the form copious amounts of praise from my co-workers at my "wonderful", "delectable" samosas (the samosas that I had so cleverly transferred into old Tupperware containers the night before to help facilitate my ruse). Everyone was talking about them and about how "fantastic they tasted". Our receptionist in our city office (who had managed to sneak a piece of one from Berni when she was down) even called to let me know how hard it is to get the samosa pastry "just right" but that mine was very very authentic tasting and "just perfect" Ugh. I took the praise in stride for as a long as I could before finally advising (modestly of course) that although I was glad everyone had enjoyed them, I did not want to talk about it anymore. *GASP* I know, I know my actions were truly underhanded and seedy and unlike bothChristine and Berni I consciously made the decision to keep my dirty little secret tightly under wraps. I figured if I confessed to my little lie in this week's blog entry it would be like a sort of written apology and if they (Christine and Berni) never happen to read this entry well, there's nothing I could really do about that. I mean it's not like I didn't try right? Riiiiight?! *wink wink*
So, even though this week's brown bagged trip did not go exactly as it should have we did still end up with a fantastically tasty meal and well ... if you want the product information or directions to the (fabulous) Indian Restaurant in my town drop me a line.and I can totally hook you up.
Next week we will be packing our culinary bags and heading to the Ivory Coast for an authentic slice of their proverbial pie .... a slice that we will be one hundred percent preparing ourselves ... PROMISE!
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