Champagne and Curry - Who'd a Thunk it?

Guys - hectic week. We all have them, right? What do you do to decompress? Do you yell at your significant other a lot and blame him for all of it? And then throw things at him?

Oh, you don't?

Gosh. Hmm. Yeah, I guess that would be weird.

Silence.

Damn, that was awkward.

So some of my friends were so kind to help me out this week when they thought I would be off gal-avant-ing to Dublin, by writing guest posts for me this week. And well - that SOOO didn't happen and this week has sucked so much you know what that I haven't even been able to post some of them.

My friend Karls - from Karlosophies is up on Monday. And she was so darn considerate to make the deadline I gave her and everything (I used to run a tight ship around these parts)!

So I want to introduce you to Allyson from Magnolias and Mimosas. She rocks my world. And she can rock a wedding dress in a classy way like no other broad I know. (I was sooooo going to use a picture from that post but she would completely KICK MY ASS. Because . . . well, just go look at it.)

But she can rock some chopsticks and glasses like nobody's biz

She will get into fights with Health Club Managers and leave them gasping with fear. She can be super scary.

But she has a soft side too. Incredibly, endearingly so . . .

All - without further ado (because I talk a lot of crap a lot), I introduce to you the lovely Allyson from Magnolias and Mimosas (her blog title is two of my favorite things, in no specific order (big lie)).

Over at Magnolias and Mimosas we do a little thing called Champagne Friday. It was born from the idea that life is too short to drink Pabst and bottom-shelf tequila. Fridays are the end of the work week (unless you are lucky enough to work weekends, which I no longer do, thank heavens) and the start of the wide-open weekend (unless you have kids who have basketball/soccer/tennis/baseball/swim practice at the buttcrack of dawn on Saturday morning. Sorry about that. Athletics are an important part of building a child's self-esteem...until it conflicts with your Saturday morning sleep). So, I introduced Champagne Fridays. This is not, mind you, Korbel. It's not even Barefoot. It's some cheap ass bottle of Spumante that they store in the fridge in the front of our party store...much like the separate case of milk in front of Kroger - convenient to run in, grab, and get out. No, it is NOT $40 champagne...but it has bubbles and a girl has to take her bubbles any way she can get them.

You know what goes really well with Champagne Friday? Indian food. I did not always believe this. I used to be stuck in that American girl rut that paired champagne with fruit and cheese and crackers (OK, maybe that's a French girl rut. An American girl rut would pair champagne with a bacon and mushroom cheeseburger and a side of loaded cheesefries. Still not half-bad but the impending heart attack could prevent you from finishing the bottle and wasted champagne is one of life's greatest tragedies). But what champagne really begs for is tandoori chicken, samosa, and kebabs. Perhaps I should stop here and say that I'm pretty sure Kiran wouldn't agree. She would probably say that I need to trade in my champagne for a Kingfisher. I would tell her she needs more bubbles in her life. If she's not getting them in the tub or the bed, then definitely in the glass.

My first legitimate experience with Indian food, and more precisely, curry, was in Glasgow, Scotland. I was visiting my sister for 2 weeks when Curry Friday rolled around. I had always heard of curry...it's that yellow sauce stuff, right? OK, sure. Load me up. I can't actually remember how this all went down for me because there was a decent amount ofBlack and Tan consumed while waiting for the curry delivery guy to arrive (I cannot even begin to imagine what his car smelled like. I'm sure his girlfriend, at some point, just quit buying perfume altogether because within 3 minutes of getting in, her Chanel No. 9 was completely overpowered by curry).

My second experience was not limited to curry but involved various meats, sauces, and naan. Lots and lots of naan. I should probably also mention that I am from Nowheresville, Kentucky (which is a lot like Nonesuch, Kentucky except that Nowheresville is fictional and Nonesuch, actually, is not). So, anything with artichokes was considered exotic. Thus my first dining experience outside of Applebee's and The Sizzler came in my mid-20's. I'm slightly embarrassed by this but now eat pretty much anythingbut American food on the reg so as to redeem myself.

Experience दो (that's two in Hindi) came in London, England (the Brits LOVE Indian food...that's the first lesson I learned) on a 10-day first date with my husband (which is a whole new post). He loved anything with spice and flavor and I loved him. So, logically speaking, I loved Indian food.

It was not so bad...at first. They served 2 slices of naan and a large glass of water with the meal. When the naan was gone and the water glass dry, I seized Neal's naan and water. This was about the time he explained to me the difference between spice and hot. But when your tongue has gone numb and your esophagus is in flames, it's sort of a moot point. Also? Americans are incredibly spoiled to waitstaff. We expect them to show up at our table at least every 3 minutes, asking how everything is, can they get us anything? And we say, through mouths overstuffed with ground cow, that "no, no. Everything is great. Thank you." The rest of the world's wait staff must be beckoned. I thought this was purely a British thing until we went to Italy. Generally, I prefer it that way...except when both glasses are empty and the heat/spice/flamesticks disguised in creamy-looking sauce are making it increasingly difficult for me to speak without drooling. At some point, I'm pretty sure I just walked over to the serving station and grabbed my own pitcher of water. But I don't remember. I was a ring o' fire.

Since then, I've married that Indian food connoisseur, met his BFF, a nice guy from Bombay who actually approves of my nosering and buys me pretty beads in the market when he goes home each year, and eaten at every Indian/Thai/Vietnamese restaurant this city has to offer. I still don't understand why there's no chocolate in Indian cuisine. And that yogurt drink makes my stomach turn. Yes, I will inhale a smoothie, but please don't order me anything milk or rice-based that has to be consumed through a straw. Potato served in a fried shell? Yes, please. Meat on a stick? Absolutely! Bread to sop up the puddles of creamy, delicious sauce? Fo sho. Anything labeled "2 stars" or higher on the heat meter? I'll pass. I'm gonna need those taste buds for my Thai Chicken pizza and champagne.

I really love this fantastic woman - fo sho. Although an Indian (by way of New Jersey) I feel the same way about Indian deserts.

And I know if someone offended me, or said anything culturally insensitive, Allyson would be the first one to throw an aloo tikki at their head.

Cuz she's that kind of friend and that's how she rolls.

Go visit her at Magnolias and Mimosas.

XOXO,

Kiran