Mum looked a trifle lost, but she smiled at me.
“What are you having, son?”
“Don’t know yet, Mum, but I don’t think I’ll have a curry.”
“But this is a curry house. Gotta have curry in a curry house.” Mum was emphatic.
I said I might have the tandoori chicken instead. She wanted to know what that was. I explained it was chicken marinated overnight in yogurt, lemon, and various spices, then thrust into a specially constructed oven for a few minutes. I enthused and said it was delicious. Mum appeared distrustful and reiterated her previous observation.
“But this is a curry house!” She implored me to see sense.
“Let him have what he wants, if that’s what he wants. He’s big enough and ugly enough to decide for himself. I know what I want. King Prawn Madras!”