Friday, January 13, 2006
Red Hair, Freckles, Eat Your Chaat
by venitha
We went originally to try the pani puris, but we fell in love with the location... and the paneer. Bombay Woodlands, four floors below the International Medical Clinic, is a bright cherry lollipop after a shot with a hypodermic syringe. We're now slowly savoring our way through the vegetarian Indian restaurant's menu, and no visit to our doctor here in Singapore is complete without the follow-up reward of relishing another delicious dish.
Our favorite, in the face of fierce competition and robust health resulting in a sadly small sample of the menu - Hmmm...Is that a fever I feel coming on? Don't worry; I'm still hungry! - is the paneer chaat. We may be partial, because it seems concocted just for us: I love garbanzo beans, called chana in Indian cuisine, and Jim loves paneer, the moist, delicate, white Indian cheese.
The chana and paneer flirt seductively, the drum and the flute of Ravel's Bolero, and are animated by the glissando of the sweet and sour tamarind sauce, the crescendo of the thick and spicy mint sauce. Jim is irresistibly drawn into a Bo Derek reverie, and I kick him savagely under the table.
"Oww!"
"You're here in Singapore with me, Jim. Red hair. Freckles. Eat your chaat. If I hurt your leg, I'll help you up to the clinic."
Staffed with pony-tailed athletically-trim Aussies, the International Medical Clinic is a haven of bright smiles and sassy accents. Though there are no Bo Derek look-alikes, a visit there never truly requires scrumptious compensation. It's dealing with the black hole of United Healthcare's international insurance claim process that requires a reward. And unfortunately, even the perfect 10 of Bombay Woodlands' paneer chaat is insuffient: I need a shot of tequila. And make it a double.
venitha
Our favorite, in the face of fierce competition and robust health resulting in a sadly small sample of the menu - Hmmm...Is that a fever I feel coming on? Don't worry; I'm still hungry! - is the paneer chaat. We may be partial, because it seems concocted just for us: I love garbanzo beans, called chana in Indian cuisine, and Jim loves paneer, the moist, delicate, white Indian cheese.
The chana and paneer flirt seductively, the drum and the flute of Ravel's Bolero, and are animated by the glissando of the sweet and sour tamarind sauce, the crescendo of the thick and spicy mint sauce. Jim is irresistibly drawn into a Bo Derek reverie, and I kick him savagely under the table.
"Oww!"
"You're here in Singapore with me, Jim. Red hair. Freckles. Eat your chaat. If I hurt your leg, I'll help you up to the clinic."
Staffed with pony-tailed athletically-trim Aussies, the International Medical Clinic is a haven of bright smiles and sassy accents. Though there are no Bo Derek look-alikes, a visit there never truly requires scrumptious compensation. It's dealing with the black hole of United Healthcare's international insurance claim process that requires a reward. And unfortunately, even the perfect 10 of Bombay Woodlands' paneer chaat is insuffient: I need a shot of tequila. And make it a double.
venitha
