dosa

So, I was at this Indian restaurant with a friend. We ordered our usual curries and set about to enjoy them. A spectacle seemed to arise at the table near us. The waiter brought out what can only be described as a two-foot long burrito. Everyone in the small restaurant turned to watch the waiter deliver the interesting looking food item to the eager restaurant goers. We were intrigued. What was this food? We were amazed by the flurry of excitement that surrounded the lucky recipients of the curious dish. We wanted all of the adulation and attention that those people got. We asked around and found out that the dish was called a dosa. It was a large crepe filled with curry or potatoes. My friend and I decided that next time we met up for Indian food, we were going to order the dosa.

The day finally came. We were so excited. We ordered a dosa. We wanted the throngs of restaurant goers to turn in amazement as the waiter brought out the two-foot long curry-filled crepe. We sat in eager expectation, waiting for our dosa to arrive. Our excitment turned to sorrow when the waiter came out with our dosa. Instead of bringing out the entire dosa on a large platter, the kitchen staff, probably thinking they were doing us a favor, cut the dosa up into bite-sized pieces and arranged them on a platter. No adulation, no head-turning, nothing. We both felt so let down. We ate the dosa and enjoyed it, but it was a bitter enjoyment. It was an enjoyment marred by the disappointment in not receiving the dosa with all of the pomp and circumstance afforded those restaurant goers we saw those many weeks before.

Indian food just doesn’t taste the same anymore. It has a sadder, more lonesome taste now and maybe it always will.