India Fashion Chaat House

Superb chat!

There was a lot of variety but the Indian snacks were not very authentic.

Good food. Tasty. Recommended

I sat on a sofa at the Thrifty Shopper, a new one that didn't smell, and contemplated my next move.

My position stood closer to home than downtown, and the hour of Six had arrived.

A Trader Joe's run seemed to make sense, but at only a mile and a half away, the store was almost close enough to walk to and too close to Uber to.

I would have walked, but the journey began with the bridge of Bridge Street, which passed over a railyard with active tracks and rail sidings.

Long freight trains assembled at the yard travel all the way to Boston or all the way to Chicago.

The bridge of Bridge Street didn't look pedestrian friendly.

I looked up the rideshare fare to the Dosa Grill, same fare as Trader Joe's.

I paged a rideshare because I could find dinner at the Dosa Grill and vittles for lunch at the Indian grocery store next door.

I walked through the grocery store mystified because even after years of eating Indian food in restaurants, I couldn't easily figure out how to go from items on a shelf to dinner in a pot.

The uncertainty arises when I visit an Mexican grocery too.

A grocery called Jerusalem Market has come up in conversation among the Muslims on our staff, located near the cemetery on Teall Street.

The market pulls all the Muslim business and much of the Hindu business because the butcher follows the ritual practices of Halal, which makes for excellent beef and chicken.

I'll need to visit.

The Indian grocery carried a full counter of vegetables and fruits, keeping a man busy filling in the shelves.

But I didn't see a butcher counter.

I was seated at the Dosa Grill and looked over the menu.

I attended a reception for a couple married in India after the two returned from the old country and the beautiful catering came from the Dosa Grill.

After fifteen minutes I left because the single waitress couldn't keep up with bussing the tables or taking the orders at the long tables.

The owner noticed, insisted on taking my order, but I wished him a soft, polite, "good evening".

It's hard to deal with single diners when long tables fill with parties of six or eight or ten.

Besides, the counter next door serving juices and Indian street food had amused me.

Returning, I ordered a mango lassi and a plate of whatever the counter help had suggested.

I took a picture of the dish before tucking into it.

The dish glowed in my being like a secret for inner beauty long into the night.