Namaste!

This is one of the most commonly featured words on a fempat’s Tinder profile followed by yet another lame story about self discovery and possibly an elephant photo. It also means ‘Hello!’ in the Hindi language apparently, but let’s not get too cultural and diverse here.

However, it came into my view not as a result of wanting to do some charity work, but due to getting bogged down with various other shit and leaving it far too late to go to the usual local spots for some good cheap Vietnamese dishes as I usually would.

My options were relatively limited and I was not willing to go far. In keeping with the finest of Anglo-Indian restaurant traditions, this place happened to be open for a hour or two after others would start pulling their shutters down. Conveniently located next to Bamboo 2 bar, it is ideally located for the average Brit or Aussie pub drinker who might like to pay a visit to an Indian restaurant at the start of their evening out.

Indian food wasn’t at the top of my list for this evening but it was there and it was waiting for me to try it. So I ventured in a proceeded to order, starting with some Masala Pappadams.

My request for the chicken Madras to be ‘super spicy’ was greeted with a slight degree of caution but it arrived with the unusual form of Basmati rice that was seasoned with cloves and cinnamon; the naan was pretty big as well. The Chicken Madras wasn’t really all that spicy in my opinion but it did the job nicely.

Although Indian food is never going to be the cheap option here; I was surprised to find that bottles of Huda Gold beer were sold for 15,000 VND. As somebody that objects to the common tendency of some foreigners to overpay for basic local beers, I greeted this positively. The portion sizes could have probably fed two at a stretch and it is no wonder that I felt absolutely stuffed.

It was inevitable that I would somehow be able to save some room for Gulab Jamun, that strange Indian dessert dish made from milk solids that somehow tastes like a hot sweet sponge cake drowning in syrup. Most Westerners seem to avoid such Indian desserts, which is quite a shame.

A slightly expensive indulgence by local standards maybe, but it was still cheaper than what you’d expect to pay in the West. It left me waddling home with a belly full of exotic spices that would later be sure to offend anybody who was unfortunate enough to be sharing a bed with me that night. Overall, it was rather nice indeed.