The other night, while polishing off a Sainsbury's 2 for £5 chicken jalfrezi microwave meal, John said happily, "I could happily eat a curry once a week." He chewed thoughtfully for about a second. "Yes, that's right, once a week." So could I. In fact, when I lived in East London, I did. Every Monday, after my extremely non-strenuous yoga class in the meeting rooms at my office, I'd order a Butter Chicken with Plain Rice from my favorite takeaway, East Is East, on Commercial Road (they've recently acquired new management, so I can't vouch for what the food is like now) on my way home, while John favored Tayyabs' tandoori specialties (which we used to smell 24/7 as John lived directly by the restaurant's extractor fan, but that's another story for another post at another time) on Fieldgate Street.
Due to the waves of Bangladeshi, Pakistani and Indian immigrants arriving and settling in Britain (especially London), curry houses in the UK are the equivalent of tex-mex joints in the US - i.e. ubiquitous. The East End is full of Bengali restaurants, namely on Brick Lane (though John and I had a disastrous experience at one once and vowed to stick to Tayyabs/East Is East from then on), where you can guarantee to be
Moving away from my beloved East Is East was difficult; when I first arrived in Maida Vale, I remember anxiously asking my new housemates if there was a curry house nearby (thank goodness Meghna Grill was just a two minute stroll away). But it's really nothing a jar of Patak's curry paste and some good chicken drumsticks can't solve, as John has evidenced with his superb cooking skills. Failing that, there's always the "Indian" aisle in our local supermarket ... with curry, options are never scarce.
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