I’ve been on a diet these last couple of days, with some success, in preparation for my photo shoot in two weeks.  When I weighed myself at the gym this morning the result was satisfactory: not great, not bad — i just lost the 4 pounds I gained over the weekend.  Seeing how I still have two more weeks to lose ten more pounds there was a little wiggle room.  For a splurge .  And I thought to myself… Indian!

Problem is, Indian also means buffet.  As in all you can eat.  It’s the opposite of a diet, of control and restraint.  I don’t believe in doing things half-assed.  If you’re going to a buffet you should, as the saying goes, eat your heart out.  Amen!

Any lingering doubt in my mind over whether Indian was the right lunch choice (versus soup and salad) was erased when I exited the gym.  For what did I see but a orange historic street car pulling up to a stop at the end of the block!  I love the streetcars and I think these orange ones from Milan are the prettiest.  The weather today was overcast with bits of showers and the lovely orange popped right out against the gray city.  More importantly, the streetcar reminded me of a delicious piece of Chicken Tikka Masala, floating down Market Street towards my destination downtown.  And I knew God was speaking to me.

Jesus wanted me to eat Indian on my day of rest.

I have learned the hard way that eating Indian is a luxury.   It is a luxury that I can only afford when I have no dates scheduled for the rest of the day.  One time I was enjoying an excellent Indian lunch buffet with Reuben when a regular texted to see me that afternoon.  That phone text was immediately followed by a call from another prospective date and I thought, great!  I would see one right after the other.  I would have my physical pleasures along with satiating my gastronomical needs  for the day.

I brushed my teeth after lunch.

I gargled.

But the first date, my regular, who I remember couldn’t get enough of kissing my pouty and luscious lips the last time he came over — barely stuck his tongue in my mouth before deciding kissing wasn’t such a great idea.  The second guy, a new customer, brought his face in to mine for an exploratory peck before getting a whiff and coming to the same conclusion.  Since then, neither dates have called again.  I learned my lesson:  no curry, ever, if any sort of sex is expected later on.

For the longest time, since 2002 or so, Indian has also meant Naan & Curry.  I remember when I first discovered their little hole in the wall operation in the Tenderloin.  Before they relocated, upgraded, and relocated and upgraded again.  I was addicted to their Chicken Tikka Masala.  The chicken pieces were rather dry, but the glorious orange sauce they were simmered in was sublime — rich, smokey, and buttery.  Mop it up with a freshly baked naan.  Beats sex any day.

Since then, however, Naan & Curry have expanded into an empire of sorts, with branches all over the Bay Area, and their quality (at least at the O’Farrell Street location near Union Square) is disappointing.  I want to say disgusting, but it may be too harsh of a word.  I will say that I was disgusted the last two times when the Chicken Tikka Masala pieces tasted sour.  I know they offer a lot of variety for the price, from salads to fruits to vegetarian options, but they don’t seem to execute any of it well.  Maybe the quality only suffers at this location because it is a buffet service, and the other locations where you still order a la carte still cooks delicious Indian.  But I do not dine at Naan & Curry any more.  I don’t think I will ever dine there again.  Success has made them not only complacent, but lazy and sullen.

It’s like the heart has gone out of their cooking, and you can taste it.

The place you *must* go for Indian is right next door.  The Sultan. I was hesitant to check it out originally because I thought it would be too expensive.   With white cloth napkins over handsome mahogany tables and an overall very clean, very understated elegance, just their ambience is heads and shoulders above N&C.  Another reason why I stuck with N&C for so long was that, unconsciously, I was drawn to the dinginess of their first location in the Tenderloin.  The appeal of the get-your-silverware-and-plates-yourself service over dirty linoleum floors, when coupled with excellent cooking, suggested an authenticity — as if Indian food is enhanced when being served in a decrepit, flourescent lighted setting.  Once the excellent cooking is taken out of the equation, however, you are just left with eating mediocre food in a dirty environment.

What surprised me about The Sultan was that for the huge step up in ambience, you are only paying two dollars more per buffet.  And the food is superb.  They offer roughly half the selection of N&C, but you will notice the thought and care that go into each dish.  They bring freshly baked naans to your table, and replenish it as you need more, as opposed to cooking a big batch and letting it sit in the steam table.  Naan is one of the delights of Indian cooking that should only be enjoyed hot and fresh out of the Tandoori oven, with a trace of butter?  oil?  running down the blistered center.  It is cotton candy for adults, but don’t eat it cold.  I don’t — they become heavy and dull.

There’s an Indian lady wearing a chef white jacket who surveys the dining room periodically, observing what her patrons are eating, and what’s left on the plate.  It is this attention to details — this subtle but unmistakable mark of someone who cares — that sets The Sultan apart.  She seems like a mother feeding her guests homemade food.

The last couple of times she was just sitting in a corner because the business was slow.  I believe this is  partly due to the economy and partly because people are still going to N&C for volume rather than quality, price over merit, and “slumming” it rather than treating themselves to what’s genuinely better.

The business was solid today.  There were quite a few large parties.  It made me happy to see that quality work is acknowledged and appreciated.

 Print This Post

Tags: food