Salivating Over The Hot Buttery Bread

Yes yes yes.  I'm a failure:  not a total failure, but a failure nonetheless.

I cheated again, a little bit.  If you can call almost a whole peshwari naan a little bit.  Its quite a big bit really, I suppose.

You see I met the lovely SJ for a quick glass of pre-holiday red, just to limber up in time for our hols at the weekend.  However, after the first glass we had another, then finished the bottle.  As you do.  Now at that point, bearing in mind the huge, delicious and totally Ferriss friendly lunch I'd had only a few hours before, I should have said "nighty night SJ, it's been a blast - see you at the airport on Saturday, mwah mwah!!!".  But I didn't.  Instead, I said "Curry?".

Now things could have been much much worse.  To find said curry we had to walk past Strada (Italian restaurant), a number of pubs (one of which does fabulous fish and chips, doncha know), Yo-Sushi, Gourmet Burger Kitchen and numerous other fine eateries.  However, curry, I thought, is a pretty SCD option and as we can have daals etc, we won't want bread, right?  Wrong.  Apparently, I did.

So it starts with the waiter offering me poppadums.  "Not for me, thank you Sir", I say.  Two minutes later, his colleague arrives.  "Poppadums?" he says?  "No thanks, as I told you colleague, I don't want your poppodums, thank you".  See, I can be strong.  "How about your friend?" he asks.  Now at this stage I should have declined on SJ's behalf (who was away powdering her nose at the time) but I hesitated, just for a split second but that's it all it took and they saw my weakness.  Seconds later he was back, tempting us once more with his delicious, crunchy, crispy fare.  Oh go on then.

By now we're well into our second bottle of wine.  Not good, I know, but hey, it was red, and that is one of the few pleasures in life Tim allows, and indeed encourages.  Although he does say to limit it to two, by which I assume he means glasses, not bottles. 

Next comes the menu.  I skipped starters and avoided bhajis etc.  No saag aloo for me this time, no sirree.  I hovered over a Chicken Chat Puree, and I almost fell face first into a samosa. But I didn't, as inside was screaming:

I AM A STRONG WOMAN!!! I CAN DO THIS!!!!!!

So I studiously pored over the menu and selected butter chicken and a channa masala side.  Perhaps not the very best option, but nothing that horrendous there.    SJ chose chicken tikka and a daal.  Aren't we good girls?  Then along comes the waiter and we confidently place our slow carb order.  "Rice?" asks Satan.  "No thanks, we're good" we reply. 

But then comes the killer blow.  "Naan?" he enquires as innocently as if he was simply passing me one of those scorchingly hot towels that do nothing but remove the make up from around the lower part of my face making me look as if I have a five o'clock shadow in reverse.  I could feel the tension behind my eyes as I tried to refuse.  My hands became clammy, my heart was pounding with desire for the nutty sultana bready goodness.  I knew not to look into his eyes but I couldn't help it - it was too late and he pulled me to his trap.  Before I knew it I was salivating over the hot buttery bread and the diet was over.

Oh well, there's always tomorrow.