Curries and Ashton Lane
Apr. 26th, 2006 09:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
f4f3Well, last night was semi-officially my last big blowout meal for a while. I've decided to be exercise a bit of tough love on myself, as hotel living and a shrinking waist-line are not compatible, and I'm seeing the doctor in three weeks.
At least I went out in style. My three favourite curry houses in Glasgow are all run by the same people. One is Mother India, a ramshackle place in an old bank (I think) on two separate floors with mismatched furniture and lighting which could charitably be described as individual. The food is superb. The other two are both called "The Wee Curry Shop". One is just round the corner from Glasgow's art house cinema, the GFT, and has maybe a half dozen tables and a counter behind which the chef cooks up some equally wonderful food and passes it to the one waitress. Last time I was in it was red and white check plastic tablecloths, and bring your own bottle.
The other Wee Curry Shop is in Ashton Lane in the West End. Ashton Lane deserves its own entry (hell, it deserves its own blog, and probably has one) since it has so many fond memories for me. It's maybe a hundred yards long from the Ashoka West End to the Cul de Sac, and (counting the Wee Chip which is around the corner but part of the Ubiquiotous Chip building) has nine bars, 7 restauants and a Cinema. A couple of years they slung a web of lights over the Lane, and it makes a nice roof when it gets dark.
The Wee Curry Shop is at the north end of the lane, above Jinty McGinty's Irish Bar (home at one time to Irish Phil, site of my last drink as a single man, and previously mentioned as the place with the blonde barmaid with the large Blqack Bush).
I had a whole haddock, baked in spices to start with, and then buttered chicken which leapt off my plate and demanded to be eaten. The basmatti rice was well prepared, and the peshwari nan came perfectly puffed, like an albino wannabe tortoise.
I'm used to seeing half full plates go back after an Indian meal, but there wasn't a scrap left on mine.
A nice black bush sipped outside of Jinty's, watching the lane go by, and propitiary visits to The Chip and Brel, and I went home in a fine, relaxed state of mind.
Sometimes life is just for living...
At least I went out in style. My three favourite curry houses in Glasgow are all run by the same people. One is Mother India, a ramshackle place in an old bank (I think) on two separate floors with mismatched furniture and lighting which could charitably be described as individual. The food is superb. The other two are both called "The Wee Curry Shop". One is just round the corner from Glasgow's art house cinema, the GFT, and has maybe a half dozen tables and a counter behind which the chef cooks up some equally wonderful food and passes it to the one waitress. Last time I was in it was red and white check plastic tablecloths, and bring your own bottle.
The other Wee Curry Shop is in Ashton Lane in the West End. Ashton Lane deserves its own entry (hell, it deserves its own blog, and probably has one) since it has so many fond memories for me. It's maybe a hundred yards long from the Ashoka West End to the Cul de Sac, and (counting the Wee Chip which is around the corner but part of the Ubiquiotous Chip building) has nine bars, 7 restauants and a Cinema. A couple of years they slung a web of lights over the Lane, and it makes a nice roof when it gets dark.
The Wee Curry Shop is at the north end of the lane, above Jinty McGinty's Irish Bar (home at one time to Irish Phil, site of my last drink as a single man, and previously mentioned as the place with the blonde barmaid with the large Blqack Bush).
I had a whole haddock, baked in spices to start with, and then buttered chicken which leapt off my plate and demanded to be eaten. The basmatti rice was well prepared, and the peshwari nan came perfectly puffed, like an albino wannabe tortoise.
I'm used to seeing half full plates go back after an Indian meal, but there wasn't a scrap left on mine.
A nice black bush sipped outside of Jinty's, watching the lane go by, and propitiary visits to The Chip and Brel, and I went home in a fine, relaxed state of mind.
Sometimes life is just for living...
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