Review of an Indian restaurant in Thurso in 2010

I can’t remember the exact date, nor can I remember the exact restaurant. I mean there are so many to choose form in Thurso! The photos have been edited to remove the innocent bystanders!

It wasn’t exactly gang warfare as the group of seven edible experts” dribbled into the Palace but the arrival of the so-called prawn cocktail gave rise to violent feelings! For here in all its glory was a visual excellent display of such bad presentation that designer graves were being turned over by the second! As grace was eliminated at the start of the meal, there was no saving it with this pathetic starter. Its appearance in shock value could surely only be equalled by the effect created if turning up at one’s grandparent’s funeral completely naked singing, “I’ve got the whole world in my hands”!!!!! The cocktail resembled the results of a late-night orgy between a rice pudding and a custard tart. It failed the Trades description Act by virtue of its container, it being a China bowl and we were in an Indian!! “Wot no glass”?

Oh and mentioning orgies allows a seam-free link to action at one end of the table. No, not in the traditional sense, (???), of exchanging wives but food. The game continued with trying to guess what ones was eating and whether this had any connection with what one had ordered. The menu was very helpful in including photographs of several dishes but it would have been nice to keep hold of the menu to do a quality check. However the sight of taste, in food being hot or mild has yet to be captured, although the effects have. The sampling, (also known as pinching or “nicking”) of other people food is encouraged it appears, but probably best to stick to ones own dining companions rather than complete strangers on other tables. By this type of food combining, insurance claims related to poisoning are hard to prove. Although a certain cocktail would be presumed guilty before the body had cooled.

Many other courses fared so much better in that they were what they were meant to be and so what if the lamb didn’t bleat or the chicken didn’t cluck. There was plenty of it and even if some dishes weren’t sizzling hot, the diners were and obviously proud of it. The rice was lemony which is how it should be, being known in the trade as “lemon rice”. The chutney was great and all were soon devouring the poppadom’s, so much so that it seemed a shame to interrupt proceedings to order starters and main course. Mental note her, must pay more attention.

The trouble as evident with some vague comments demonstrated, such as, “what am I eating here”, is that if one isn’t familiar with the Indian cuisine, then one may be forgiven for mistaken certain styles, phrases and nuances delicately balanced to give an authentic taste of that wonderful Country, India. And then there are the chips, yes the chips, genuine Indian chips, more in common with those perhaps at the casino perhaps. Just who would take a gamble and order chips in an Indian?

Chairs are for sitting on and certainly not for hanging coats on. That’s why God invented coat stands, but of course God didn’t eat out a lot. If I wanted to clean the floor, I would have brought a mop and not as it appeared to use my coat which because it’s of the long variety, when hanging on the chair gave a polish to the floor behind me.

The service was, as it should be with a dubious dabbling of attentiveness bordering on tiresome desperation. The language barrier presented more of a challenge than the tidal barrier proposed for the Pentland Firth, although I expect equally impassable. Obviously, Indians are not big Martini drinkers, so when a request was made for such a drink accompanied by lemonade in a long glass, many gesticulations of hands and rapid scratches of the brow resulted. After a lengthy debate it seemed almost a miracle that anything resembled the desired wish materialised. At one stage it would be no surprise to see a bowl of Martini with a bucket of lemonade served. The wine was great and purely aimed at the sophisticated as witnessed by the slender design of the wine glasses. So easy to tip over that emptying them was a high priority.

Summing up, or for those readers of a technical nature then, in conclusion, the eating-out experience was similar to hearing that old song, “Nice Legs shame about the face”. Only here at the Palace it was nice company shame about the place.