A small questionnaire to confirm your misfortune - oops - location
Is the lady at the next table staring at you?
Damn straight you are at one.
Do you smell fish and assorted crustaceans?
Most likely you are.
Does the person at the next table have some sort of questionable, highly fried and coloured meat on the table?
There can be no doubts .
Does every vegetarian meal look the same?
Hell yeah!
Are 4 pages of the menu dedicated to meat and fish and a paragraph to the rest?
You know where you are.
The single guys appear to be of the shady type and pass furtive looks including the waiters.
The plates are plastic.
The kids sound nasal and whine in Malayalam .
The moms too.
The dads grunt and eat.
Everybody and their grandmother eavesdrop on the next table.
You can tell by the table manners or the lack thereof.
Every one looks like a mallu except for what appears to be the odd trucker.
Everyone knows every ones grand aunt if they were to converse , which they don't, conversation is only at ones own table and discreet eyeing and eavesdropping on other tables.
People order the very same things made in their families made better at their homes and served worse at restaurants.
You observe the sheer futility of being a mallu at a mallu restaurant as you try to sip your buttermilk elegantly which is equally futile .
The entire charade is an exercise in futility .
The waiter is a mallu or an emigrant from Nepal or Bihar with a passable mallu accent.
You are drowning in an overwhelming sea of malluness.
The menus are plastic.
You announce your vegan status and it's greeted by the same reception you would have been greeted by were you to say you had AIDS or the plague or say you were a child molester or that you support Donald Trump.
But again, in a Mallu family supporting Donald Trump would be preferable to being vegan.
Your grandmother examines the freckles on your forehead and the menu with the same interest .
Do you parcel the spoonfuls of revolting leftovers?
Say no more you ARE at a mallu restaurant
Do you take home , the half empty bottle of mineral water ?
Can there be any doubt?
You are a mallu and eat mallu food every meal every day every week all your life YET you frequent a mallu restaurant to eat the watered down badly prepared versions of the same.
You mistake the restaurant for someones apartment..
The people at your table crack obscure political jokes in Malayalam that you completely miss the point of.
People speak Malayalam.
You eat on banana leaves despite the evolution of fine china porcelain and silverware.
The tables are covered with plastic.
Most likely you are.
Does the person at the next table have some sort of questionable, highly fried and coloured meat on the table?
There can be no doubts .
Does every vegetarian meal look the same?
Hell yeah!
Are 4 pages of the menu dedicated to meat and fish and a paragraph to the rest?
You know where you are.
The single guys appear to be of the shady type and pass furtive looks including the waiters.
The plates are plastic.
The kids sound nasal and whine in Malayalam .
The moms too.
The dads grunt and eat.
Everybody and their grandmother eavesdrop on the next table.
You can tell by the table manners or the lack thereof.
Every one looks like a mallu except for what appears to be the odd trucker.
Everyone knows every ones grand aunt if they were to converse , which they don't, conversation is only at ones own table and discreet eyeing and eavesdropping on other tables.
People order the very same things made in their families made better at their homes and served worse at restaurants.
You observe the sheer futility of being a mallu at a mallu restaurant as you try to sip your buttermilk elegantly which is equally futile .
The entire charade is an exercise in futility .
The waiter is a mallu or an emigrant from Nepal or Bihar with a passable mallu accent.
You are drowning in an overwhelming sea of malluness.
The menus are plastic.
You announce your vegan status and it's greeted by the same reception you would have been greeted by were you to say you had AIDS or the plague or say you were a child molester or that you support Donald Trump.
But again, in a Mallu family supporting Donald Trump would be preferable to being vegan.
Your grandmother examines the freckles on your forehead and the menu with the same interest .
Do you parcel the spoonfuls of revolting leftovers?
Say no more you ARE at a mallu restaurant
Do you take home , the half empty bottle of mineral water ?
Can there be any doubt?
You are a mallu and eat mallu food every meal every day every week all your life YET you frequent a mallu restaurant to eat the watered down badly prepared versions of the same.
You mistake the restaurant for someones apartment..
The people at your table crack obscure political jokes in Malayalam that you completely miss the point of.
People speak Malayalam.
You eat on banana leaves despite the evolution of fine china porcelain and silverware.
The tables are covered with plastic.
No meal is complete without meat.
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