“Half memoir, half travel, A Yank Back to England...is an absolutely wonderful book, not only about going home again but also about love and family and tradition and the passage of the years.” —Michael Dirda, Pulitzer Prize-winning literary critic (Washington Post) To see the entire quote, click here.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The culinary jewel in the crown
By eight thirty we were perusing the vast and varied menu of the Taj Mahal Indian Restaurant. Kate was fast asleep in her stroller. I cannot remember if, in fact, it was the Taj Mahal Restaurant; it could well have been the Star of India. But it certainly was the first restaurant we came to in Stowmarket. Indian music, akin to the sound of a cat being gently throttled, played in the background. Red velvet flock paper with shiny gold bits adorned the walls. Sparkly beaded curtains covered a few doorways. A picture of the Taj Mahal was framed and lit in a plastic wooden box with plastic foliage sprouting beneath it, all pleasantly fake except for the aromas that came from the kitchen. These were pungent, exotic, delightful, authentic. Lew peered intently at the menu. I’m not sure why, because he always had the same dish, but he studied the menu nonetheless.
Standing, from L to R: Lew (Dad), Frances (Prodigal Wife), Denis (The Prodigal Tourist), and Jessie (Mum). Floating: Kate (Prodigal Daughter).
About this blog
You are reading random vignettes, deleted scenes, and other extras from and about my book, A Yank Back to England: The Prodigal Tourist Returns. Enjoy, let me know what you think, ask questions, and thanks for your support! Cheers, The Prodigal Tourist
Years ago I shed my Cockney accent and left London's blighted East End for America. Since then, I’ve only returned to see my increasingly cantankerous parents and assorted relatives. Until my American wife comes along. She wants to tour, see the sights. No thank you. It’s not for me. But she insists, and I become a reluctant tourist in my former homeland.