Aroma

Further up the road we entered the gilded Indian restaurant Aroma, safe to say this is by far the largest restaurant we’ve dined in. Within there is not a trace of traditional curry house décor, it’s mien instead modern brothel. Glossy red, white and black, sleek and masculine.
The stand out moment was when they brought the pickle tray with its six different choices, all of which are great and better than any I’ve had before, even the weird chunky orange one that no one ever likes was edible.
The starters were pleasant but the main course was practically toxic, the flavour itself was fine and the meal would surely have been bearable were it not for the gristle and toughness of the meat. I chose the lamb Karahi and it left me feeling vaguely ill, the hideous crunch as you bite into a hunk of meat signals the start of a terrible meal. Only in one other restaurant have I experienced the same thing the atrocious and egregious India: The Restaurant (now closed down) on Kirkstall Road in Leeds. It too was also style rather than substance, serving such dreadful meat is unforgivable in a restaurant so obviously decked to impress. Perhaps if there were fewer puma statues littering the place they might be able to purchase decent meat. It was just terrible and cheap, full of cartilage, tough and unappealing, so after I’d pulled the third bit of knuckle out of my mouth I decided to stop eating it and move onto the plate opposite, King Prawn Karahi. Here again I was woefully disappointed the king prawn seriously overdone and suffering from it, flavourless and dense, practically a crime.
After leaving half the meal I wanted to make a quick exit lest we have to eat another course even more crude than the last. Had we left after the starters the meal would have been amazing but crap produce mixed with lazy chefs left an unsatisfied and slightly nauseated Jane, ug.

A Romantic Meal

Feeling full of remorse for our previous and repeated rule breaking this week we headed back to La Romantica for an Italian meal for two. On this excursion they able to accommodate us and only another two diners littered the room. We ordered a carafe of wine to sup while we studied the brief menu, I was allowed a few brief sips of the former and fewer glimpses of the latter before the contents of my glass were tipped dramatically onto my lap. After a quick mop up and descreet bawl in the loos I returned my damp posterior to my seat and ordered pate and steak Diane to accompany whatever was left of my red wine. The wait for food was excruciating as I will ill disposed to accept the apologies of my companion and instead sulked and stared at the hideous wallpaper. Luckily the stale atmosphere was broken with the arrival of the starter, which was satisfactory, when it comes to pate I can only compare it to my mothers Christmas efforts which will never be improved upon. If I’d have eaten the main with my eyes I would have derived much more pleasure from it, the creamy sauce covering a plump and sizeable steak alongside fat chips all looked great, it tasted fine but fell slightly short of expectations. It was Italian food by numbers, all the right ingredients without any of the art, the portion, again was too large and I found myself feeling ill after I'd admitted defeat. This has been a recurring feature of the clock, it can be denoted to my substantial gluttony, or as I would like to believe, down to the inability of restaurants to measure a correct portion size. I think we are unprepared to leave any food that has been bought and paid for and as a result we gorge ourselves and ruin an otherwise satisfactory meal. We as diners cannot be expected to portion out our own food, the chefs have more experience and should therefore know what is acceptable. You'll be glad to know that the temperature of the establishment was fine. The waiting staff was excellent and I left an appropriately British tip as we hastily departed the restaurant so I could rinse off my crotch.

Birthday Treat

We again defied the rules we had ourselves set in place, this time venturing to Wasabi Sabi, much further up the road than we had yet reached. Today being my birthday I had a choice of any restaurant or cuisine on London Road and I had chosen teppenyaki. I had for some time been eyeing the place and felt that it was the right sort of establishment to host my birthday celebrations. We sat at, not on the iron griddle awaiting our chef meanwhile we were sufficiently impressed and entertained by the skilful chef opposite. We ordered the from the set menus and awaited our food and fire show. I was left severely unimpressed by the manoeuvres of the man sent to cook our food. Lacking entirely in charisma and enthusiasm he dutifully but dispassionately prepared and cooked our food. The food afforded more character than he and was found to be excellent. The scallops fresh and juicy, the lobster perfectly succulent, all the meat was seasoned to perfection and though the steak was asked for rare and delivered medium the meal was superb just firework deficient. The waiting staff were on hand when needed but stays at an appropriate distance. I found myself sat directly under an air conditioning grate and as soon as the hot plate had cooled I began to feel a chill, I have found that as someone who is vaguely related to someone who may or may not have worked with coal I feel the cold much more and am eternally doomed to be placed in the way of an odious wind of natures or man’s making. We were more than contented with our experience at Wasabi Sabi until minutes before we exited when the very same chef that had left us temperate donned a fine hat and proceeded to execute an enviable culinary show at the table behind us. He began to juggle utensils, flip lobster tails into his hat and light alcohol on the plate with volcanic results to the whoops of appreciation from his diners. They were encouraged to get involved and instructed to toss food around and into each others mouths while he himself exhibited a somewhat disturbing groinal rotation whilst emitting curious whines. Apparently the cooking of oriental cuisine at Wasabi Sabi arouses the chef and disturbes the diners. We left satisfied by the food but feeling disappointed that our experience had been less enthralling than that of the other diners.

Zeugma's

I'm just catching up with the clock as I’ve been to America trying to get back into the swing of things – time for an update. After Candytown we ventured across the road to La Romantica, entering through the domestic looking door and were surprised to be turned away as they were full to capacity. Grrr. Our need for food and progressing with the clock led to a tiny distortion of the rules and we headed up London Road to Zeugma’s. A Turkish restaurant that looks and feels a take-away offers a healthier and superior calibre variation from the tradition London Road kebab. Seated and ravenous we were grateful to be presented with complementary bread and olives, which were hurriedly consumed and sated a growing hunger starting to grumble from inside the darkened corridors of my gut. It’s traditionally Turkish victuals were aromatic and tender, they enticed the nostrils while stimulating the saliva glands. The lamb kebabs were full of flavour and served in a substantial quantity. As usual there was too much provided and my plate was decidedly not clear at the end. We were well served and well satisfied by the end of our meal, even more so when the bill arrived. The meal was well priced to for the food and service provided. There distinct and unsolicited cool breeze that meandered occasionally through the tables which carried upon it the abrosial smells from the stove. The smells were pleasing the siberian tempest less so. I suppose the open cooker warms the surrounding air to an acceptable temperature for others but I, as a miner's son's daughter, remained bundled in a winter coat throughout. I'll not prattle on about this slight inconveniance more than necessary, and state it was a lovely meal.