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| - Disgustingly, disturbingly, delusionally delicious. I'm not an expert in Indian cuisine. More of a point-to-a-random-dish-and-hope-I-like-it type of dude. So I can't measure this up against Indian places in London, or go into detail about its authenticity. I have no standing to be a pretentious prick here.
But where my expertise in Indian cuisine is limited, my experience in eating is very well developed. I have been practicing the appreciation of eating for nearly 27 years. I devote hours every day to food. I practice three times a day minimum. I am a disciplined eater. At times I eat four, five, even six times a day. My dedication is unsurpassed. Sometimes I punish my body to the point where I am nearly puking, because I want to be the best. I am driven, focused, a real go-getter. If eating was a profession, I would have a Ph.D. If the moon was actually made of cheese, I would be Elon Musk, and I would eat that shit. Ocean tides are overrated, give me that moon cheese. Point is, I'm good at eating. Respect my authority.
And what does this authority say about The Dhaba? It's fucking delicious. It's a tongue tickler. A mouth party. I am actually drooling writing this, just giant slobbery drips of saliva pouring out of my slackened jaw like a hungry, retarded St. Bernard. That is the effect The Dhaba will have on you. The faint memory of it will conjure up a memories and feelings from somewhere deep and ancient in the brain, from the lizard parts that mix and mingle food pleasure with other primal urges.
What I'm saying is that thinking of The Dhaba's food makes me want to take it from behind and have my way with it.
I don't think I can be more clear. Go have a foodgasm while it's still legal.
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