|Why the long face?|
I decided to wander about town in search of a decent restaurant. To be honest I wasn't really sure what I wanted. I started first with the internet and keyed in 'Italian restaurants in Dusseldorf' but the best ones, according to Trip Advisor, were a good 25-minute walk away and I really wasn't inspired enough to go on some kind of trek. In the end I wandered out having checked the menu of the hotel restaurant. I've dined here before and it's not brilliant, although in retrospect it would have been fine. But still I wandered, up past the Thai restaurant next door to the Burns Art Hotel and around some of the surrounding streets. I passed Jaipur, an Indian restaurant, and suddenly thought I fancied a curry. If I'm honest, I didn't. I just wanted to get off the street and into somewhere cosy where I could chill for a while. Jaipur wasn't really it, and while I've already broken my 'never eat in an Indian restaurant outside of the UK' rule once before (The Spicy Grill, Brussels, arguably the best Indian restaurant I've ever visited) I found myself breaking the rule again, except this time it simply didn't cut the mustard. First I ordered a Warsteiner but was given a Paulaner – odd when Warsteiner is advertised all over the place – on the menus, outside the restaurant – but I wasn't complaining. Then I asked for poppadams, expecting the usual plate-sized variety but getting instead a couple of dozen mini poppadums the size of a 2p coin. Very disappointing.
I certainly picked the wrong table, right by the door. Every time somebody walked in I got a cold blast of April weather. It went right through me. Decor-wise it was fairly basic: red and beige tablecloths with a bar/servery counter on the back wall and tables in front of it.
The waiter was the height of good manners: polite, friendly, he passed with flying colours.
A hot plate arrived, always a pleasant moment of the Indian restaurant experience, but not today. It was cold. Put it this way, I could easily place my had palm down on it without risk of burning myself. The food followed and, fortunately, it was warm, hot and fine to eat.
I had ordered a chicken Korai with pillau rice and a nan bread and found the entire meal a disappointment. First the rice was a little on the crunchy side (not what I'm used to) and the chicken, while fine, was, I don't know, chewy? Gristly? Not like the prime chicken breast meat I would be served in an English Indian restaurant, and I can't help but compare like for like, it's only natural. Theoretically they should be in the same ballpark, Germany is, after all, a Western European country, just like the UK. The meal was sort of average and I kind of regretted making the decision to cross the threshold of Jaipur, although, that said, I might be completely wrong about the place. I say that because as I was about to leave many Indians came in, virtually taking over the restaurant and to me having so many Indians sitting in an Indian restaurant is the best review an Indian restaurateur can hope to get. So I started to reappraise my attitude towards the place, although I stand by what I have written. Put it this way, I felt reassured about Jaipur's credentials.
At the end of the meal I was given scented 'bird seed' – a kind of Eastern Trill – to refresh my mouth. It did the trick.
The bill was around 26 Euros, which was a fair price for what I'd eaten. Soon I was back on the streets and heading for my hotel from where I now sit, writing this review.
It's just gone 2130hrs, I'm tired and looking forward to my bed, which is next on my agenda.
|I've enjoyed eating a few of these excellent snack bars.|
Arguably one of the most moreish, tasty snack bars you'll ever eat, the Briiggen Sunny Erdbeer Joghurt bar takes the biscuit. I'm guessing that 'Erdbeer' is German for strawberry as the English translation says just that, 'Strawberry Yoghurt'. Either way it's tasty and I'll be getting hold of some more tomorrow. This is serious competition for the Balisto bar.