indian feast.

The other night, I met up with a couple of friends at one of those BYOB Indian places in the East Village. There’s about 10 Indian places in a row on 6th street between 1st and 2nd aves, but we chose Spice Cove. I’m no Indian feed aficionado, so I can’t say for sure that it was, like, what the Dalai Lama wants to eat as his last meal and then be buried with his leftovers, but I thought it was tasty. And I’m sure DL wouldn’t spit in the food or anything. I don’t think that’s his style.

They started us with this peppery flatbread deliciousness and three different flavorful sauces. I remember I was pretty into the green one, which reminded me of salsa verde by being mildish and complimenting the flatbread SO well. The red was chunky and a little spicier, and the brown was tangy and I think spicy? Oy. That whole description makes me feel like Ms. Swan on Mad TV, whose go-to description of EVERYONE was “he look like a man.” Alas, see below for a pic of the sauces. Ooohhh. Ahhhh.

flavas of love

flavas of love

I ordered the prix-fixe which was $9.95 for soup, appetizer, entree AND dessert. I got the tomato lentil soup, the veggie samosa, and, the star of the meal, veggie vindaloo.

Hellooo vindaloo, you spicy thing, you 😉 I very much enjoyed your flavor the other night. The basmati rice I served underneath you only enhanced your heat. Is it weird that I can’t stop thinking about you? See below:

spicy young thang

spicy young thang

I had strawberry ice cream for dessert, which I SO didn’t need. I was completely stuffed, but who can resist an adorable pink dessert? Not I, and I’ve never pretended otherwise.

Needless to say, I skipped the gym that night. It happens.

I made up for my one night of gym negligence last night by spending 45 minutes on the cybex arc, strength training, AND going to hip hop. BAM. See below for a pic of me and the cybex, which I always describe as a machine midway between an elliptical and a stair stepper.



Look how lean my thighs look! Doesn’t my ass go on for MILES? (Ha, that’s not really me). After my ride, I went to hip hop. I am obsessed with my teacher. He teaches at Broadway Dance Center AND my gym, and his choreography is always really tranny-centric. For example, he’ll be like “Do this move like you’re an over dramatic tranny waiting for the bus during her walk of shame.” It’s wondrous.

We did this combo to a new Bjork song, and I KILLED it. It was one of the best classes I’ve been to in forever. Bjork herself would have bowed down. Well, probably not. But I bet she would have performed a variety of bird calls dressed as the Tin Man or something. Bjork is so weird.


2 Responses to “indian feast.”

  1. 1 Lillie
    February 13, 2009 at 1:46 am

    The sweet brown sauce is called Tamarind sauce. It’s my favorite!! This entry made my mouth water! Next time you’re in Boston we should go out for Indian together.

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