Aladin forever

If you have been to London and you know me, chances are good that I have taken you to Aladin.

I love Aladin and I think Aladin loves me back. Aladin gives me free poppadoms every time I come in and I have been coming in for a few years now. Lately I have noticed that other guests are also getting free poppadoms (unless they are silly enough to order them in which case they do get it, but there goes the free aspect), but maybe all of us have been coming to Aladin for a long time.

It's the best curry on Brick Lane and they are so nice, oh so nice at Aladin. I have come into the restaurant with many people, but the worst and original constellation involves two other girls. Let me introduce them by means of a little ditty.

One time at Aladin we spoke about Kant, Emmanuel Kant. I am not sure how and when we found the time to speak about anything but the boy she (friend A) met at Soho bar one night when given the instructions to "find someone to tie her over until we return from spring break" who is now her husband and father of her child. In any case, the time was found and upon hearing this poor philosopher's name mentioned, all she could do was whisper very loudly "The guy's name is cunt?", bend over laughing, not whispering now, repeating "cunt, cunt, cunt". So she is loud. Loud and honest and always willing to learn. I love her.

Meanwhile the sitter-by's silently (at least in comparison with us) drink their self-brought beers and eat curry. I do hope they were eating the kurma cause nothing will even get your attention when you are eating Aladin Kurma. Now you know about my favorite dish.

On a different occasion, friend B decides to really give the world a piece of her mind on a topic that shall not be discussed in detail, but which necessitated her listing many many, more than I thought available, porn related adjectives of a blond, lets face it, insults, insults of your average blond really. She is a bottle of wine into it, unable to distinguish between a whisper and a WHISPER and I, similarly disposed, am beginning to notice despite our sorry state that we are loud, we are obnoxious and oblivious to the fact that we are loud and obnoxious oh, and loud.

Yet every time we walk back I detect a smile, (maybe a smirk? No, a smile) on the face of the waiter. Maybe he too is excited to hear about Kants and porn because God knows, he will. Now that is goodness, that is acceptance and that is the best kurma in town and now that I think about it, more often than not, we have been given the table right by the door.

If you read any of my previous posts you will know that I am never bad, no matter how hard I try. As such, the worst that ever happened to me personally at Aladin is that I decided to give a little lecture on feminism and the skewed world order to the now newly acquired husband in a time when he still had the option of running away, which is what the looks of the blokes on the 'blokes night out' table next to us suggested he do. Yet it is impossible to undo the kurma effect which inspires kindness and so he did not leave. Now it's too late. Ha.


Seated away from the door and with friend A long shipped back to America (and well aware of Mr. Kant's brilliance) the two remaining members of team shut up already had a wholesome time at Aladin last night and since we won't be there the rest of the week, I strongly recommend you go and order the chicken kurma or if you want to have it all, the veggie balti kurma, go ahead, also have some samosas, the regular nan and maybe some egg fried rice and definitely don't order the poppadoms, remember that!