Seven things I hate about Indian restaurants

Since the political atmosphere is extraordinarily placid; since there is a dearth of controversial current affairs issues to explore; and since nobody has any complaints about about the job the government is doing, I’ve fallen back on making a list for this week’s column. Here are seven things I dislike about eating out.

1) Menu rationing
If four of you enter a restaurant, the waiter will hand out two bills of fare, and grab them as soon as you’re done ordering. I wonder what they’re so scared about? Is it common practice for customers to tuck menus into their waistbands and dart out of restaurants? Are the cards collectibles on par with vintage Bollywood posters?

Last week, I had the missing menu experience in an extremely expensive restaurant named for Japanese horseradish. After deciding on a glass of Asahi for myself, I found my companion waiting to borrow the liquor menu. “Why hasn’t she been given one?” I asked. “I thought you’d order for her," the waiter responded. “I know it’s 2016 even if you don’t,” I muttered under my breath.

2) Music
Most restaurant owners obviously believe their clients have plenty of money and no capacity to engage in conversation. I can think of few things more foolish than having to scream to make oneself heard at a table even when nobody else is talking, and paying handsomely for that privilege.

On the other hand, the noisiest restobar in Bombay might be preferable to eateries in Thailand, which favour syrupy versions of western classics sung by women who don’t appear to understand the words. I kid you not, I’ve heard We Don’t Need No Education and Like A Rolling Stone sung as romantic ballads, and it was enough to turn a perfectly good massaman curry inedible.

3) Children
If I liked kids, I’d have had one or two myself. Even child-loving adults are unlikely to be enthusiastic about an eight-year-old and his six-year-old brother playing catch in a fine dining establishment. Few Indian parents seem to think it’s a problem to have their kids entertain themselves in this fashion. I wonder why they don’t go to McDonald’s if they have to bring their progeny along. McDonald’s has a clown mascot, a sign that children are welcome.

Strangely, I can’t recall seeing kids creating a ruckus in a McDonald’s. That’s probably because they actually enjoy the food and the meal ends quickly. In upscale places they get bored and the courses seem unappetising. I have some sympathy for children forced to stay out with parents in stuffy places, but that won’t stop me from sticking my foot out "accidentally", the next time two brats chase each other round my table.

4) Cutting corners
If you aren’t already angry at shelling out Rs 150 for a glass of fountain Pepsi or Coke at the multiplex, you will be once you realise the flavour’s been diluted to homeopathic concentrations. The paper cup carrying the fluid is so thin it will fold in on itself if held near the rim. At the café downstairs, the spoons have plastic filaments emanating from the edges, and those edges are so thin and sharp you risk cutting your tongue on them.

Last time I ordered a salad at a fast food chain that boasts more restaurants globally than any other, the fork broke as I tried to pierce a slice of cucumber (which admittedly was thicker and harder than a cucumber slice has any business being). The damaged prong didn’t just come off in one piece. It acted like a cluster bomb, splintering into tiny pieces and spreading into the entire dish, so I was removing bits of plastic from my mouth throughout the meal.

Decent disposable cutlery would cost something like 10 paise more per piece, but that’s apparently where restaurant chains want to squeeze out a little more profit.

5) Spice
Every Indian cookery series and cookbook on earth begins with the admonition that it’s a mistake to confuse Indian cooking solely with over-spiced curries. Indian cooking is varied, complex, and subtle. Well, somebody forgot to inform Indian restaurants. Chilli or heaps of pepper will infest everything you consume, whether soup, pasta, burger, or fried rice. If its Indian food, of course, fumes rising from stomach to throat are an inevitable by-product of eating out.

Even dishes that start out being flavourful but mild soon slide toward a heat overload. A Lucknowi take-away chain I favoured for its soft kababs is a recent victim of the trend. It appears to be a demand driven thing, so I’m obviously in a minority for complaining against it. Majoritarianism works in food as it does in politics.

6) Waiters
This could be an article in itself. There are the overenthusiastic ones who ask you at five-minute intervals whether the food’s acceptable. There are the ones that herd and gossip and ignore customers. There are the ones mesmerised by the television screen. There are the over-casual ones who place an arm around the table and lean close when taking the order. And there are the ones who want to change your preferences. I know tikkas and rotis are both dry. No, I don’t mind. Yes, I still want just a plate of chicken kababs and a tandoori roti. I know espresso is black coffee. I know it’s just a shot. I know it’s bitter. I know it seems crazy to you that anybody would want to drink that stuff, but I’d still like an espresso, if you don’t mind.

7) Bills
If it’s a couple at the table, the bill will be handed to the man rather than being placed between the two diners (this could have been placed in the "waiter" entry, or with further elaboration under a "sexism" heading). It will be faded like the output from an old dot matrix printer that’s almost out of ink. Once you use your telephone’s torch widget to cast some light on the figures, you will see a confusing list of taxes. If the service charge is among them, it means you don’t have to tip. I understand that many Indians are more miserly than Steve Buscemi in Reservoir Dogs, so it makes sense to have a service charge. But instead of specifying clearly that service is included, many restaurants disguise the levy by using the short form "S.C." to squeeze a little more cash out of you on your way out.