As an Indian, stepping into a restaurant promising Home Style Kerala Food sets my expectations soaring—like a coconut tree reaching for the sky. And why not? I’m here for prawns so immersed in spiced coconut broth that they might as well have been marinated in it for generations. I want a chicken curry that doesn’t just smack my face with heat and spice but gives it a Bollywood-worthy slap of joy. And the raita? It should be a cool, velvety oasis sprinkled with crisp cucumber jewels to soothe my taste buds after the curry’s fiery festival.
But alas, at Toddy Shop – a fantastic name, by the way – those dreams withered like a stale dosa. My hopes were dashed when the prawns swam out flavourless, the chicken curry merely whispered, and the paratha? Oh, the betrayal of a frozen paratha when my soul craves the flaky embrace of one made fresh!
Even my husband, who after years of consuming real-deal Indian cooking, has achieved honorary masala connoisseur status, left deflated. The service was lukewarm, the flavours tepid, and – dare I say it – no brown hands in the kitchen crafting the culinary magic.
Look, it’s not that I’m against innovation or other cultures making Indian food. But when the result is less “Kerala masterpiece” and more “spiced-up mediocrity,” I can’t help but mourn.
Thank goodness for places like Dishoom in the UK, where the curries sing, the spices dance, and authenticity isn’t just a word on the menu. One day, Australia will get its Dishoom moment – a place where you can’t wait for the next bite of that chicken curry. Just… not today.
Dreams dashed, but hope simmers on.
Boundless and Unfiltered 