A Letter to Every Indian Buffet

Dear [insert every Indian buffet in Los Angeles],

We need to talk.

My wallet’s having a hard time right now, and every time I open it, I seem to turn my head towards you and wonder if it’s upset because of something you’ve done. I know it can’t talk to me but I know for a fact that you’re taking advantage of it. Exhibit A: one time, I even looked in the fridge to find that it was FULL of food and thought: “I’m going out to eat Indian today,” and drove off. It’s not like you guys are Whole Foods-level pricey, but the expenditures add up.

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On the flip side, my iPhone and my computer are crazy about you. I see that every other search that pops up is “best Indian food near me” as I scroll through my history, and that’s not including the hundreds of images and restaurant reviews from Yelp, all on top of the blog recipes I search for regarding tandoori and chutney. My Instagram and Tumblr likes feed are laden with tikka and saag bhaje. Every other Pinterest recipe is a curry one. Don’t even get me started if you ask me where I want to eat tonight.

Here’s the thing, though. It’s not every Indian restaurant I’m annoyed with. It’s their little frame of time where they they serve a variety of all-you-can-eat buffet dishes for a reduced price and set you loose to go crazy on the nom-nom-noms. I walk in starved and I walk out with a food baby that looks like I’m 28 weeks into bearing a watermelon….pair of twins. Even after I brush my teeth for bed I can still taste the spices in my mouth. Customers get annoyed that I go in line so often, waiters look at me like I’m crazy: how can a little Asian girl fit ALL THAT FOOD into her body?!  My family and friends see that I have an unhealthy obsession with Indian food.

 

You’ve sabotaged my life. I want curry at every meal–yes, even breakfast. The Indian Food aisle in the grocery store is now my favorite section. You make my breath smell like onions. I see you in my dreams. You’ve influenced me to look up every single tikka masala recipe there is known to man. I now refer every Saturday as every “I-hope-I-get-to-eat-Indian-food-sometime” day and it’s not a good sign. I ACTUALLY like some sort of Asian dessert: carrot halwa. (I looked it up too. It’s full of butter and sugar and now I feel like my pants are going to bulge just thinking about it. Thanks a LOT.) Might as well start speaking in an Indian accent.

So to every Indian buffet I’ve been to and know exists out there, you are in BIG BIG BIG BIG trouble. I’ve had it and I’m moving on. Sure, there are no Thai buffets in town but their reduced-price lunch specials will cover up just fine. (Besides, this recipe got me HOOKED to Thai curry now!) Either we compromise something or I just might have to cut you from my life. I know that I’ve said it before, but I’m serious this time when I say that I’m done.

Ugh, who the hell am I kidding. You are just like a puppy that always poops on the carpet and looks at me with its adorable little puppy eyes so I have no choice but to forgive it. Plus you make me feel so guilty if I were to just abandon you and move on with my life. See you next Saturday.


6 thoughts on “A Letter to Every Indian Buffet

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