We entered the building- hungry, thirsty and tired from the Dilli sun (and a little bit of shopping on the side). The elevator didn't work so we walked up four flights of stairs. My ex-smoker friend was not happy.
Sam's Cafe, a little spot on a roof-top in Paharganj, even features as #4 on Lonely Planet's 236 Things to Do in Delhi. I had heard (from here and there, of course) that this place was worth having a bite at. We took our seats on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and looked at out at the skyline of Delhi. The fan whirred hesitantly above us.
My friend decided that she wanted cheese and tomato toast, and I decided to go with falafel, seeing as this particular area of Dilli is teeming with Israelis. As we waited and chatted, I looked around. A dusty picture of a saxophone on the wall, a group of 'Lonely Planet travellers', a man behind the cash counter, and a few waiters milling around. Our drinks arrived- a lime soda and cold coffee- the former with no sugar, and latter with too much. I couldn't drink the coffee, so I sent it back. The waiter explained that 'the new guy' was responsible for this mishap. He picked up the phone at the counter - 'Arrey budhhu, cold coffee kisne banaya?!'
Meanwhile, Round 1 of the toast arrived, and it wasn't toasted- instead, it was two slices of mildly warm bread with a slab of cheese and tomato slices in the middle. As Round 1 was rejected, I felt a pair of eyes drilling into the back of my head- my friend informed me that one of the waiters was staring at me. As I turned around and enquired as to what was so amusing about me, he told me he was fascinated by my headband (it happens to have some feathers on it). Round 2 arrived- we could tell it had been dumped on to a frying pan and reheated. My friend's request for cutlery was met with one of the waiters coming over with a knife and fork, wiping them on this brownish orange t-shirt, and handing it over to her. She smiled, said thanks, and ate.
As we chatted and polished off what we could of our meal, a young employee turned off all the fans. The whirring noise stopped. He took out a jhaadu and began sweeping. We laughed, lifted our feet, paid the bill. Lunch time was officially over, and we headed out into the jungle that is Dilli again.
Another day, another story.
As the world marches in protest, here in Dilli, the small stories of my life piece together-loud Punjabi parties, an unsigned contract, a new flatmate, an old friend, an empty gas cylinder... I hope the winter brings some comfort and joy. Oh, and the falafel was excellent.
My friend decided that she wanted cheese and tomato toast, and I decided to go with falafel, seeing as this particular area of Dilli is teeming with Israelis. As we waited and chatted, I looked around. A dusty picture of a saxophone on the wall, a group of 'Lonely Planet travellers', a man behind the cash counter, and a few waiters milling around. Our drinks arrived- a lime soda and cold coffee- the former with no sugar, and latter with too much. I couldn't drink the coffee, so I sent it back. The waiter explained that 'the new guy' was responsible for this mishap. He picked up the phone at the counter - 'Arrey budhhu, cold coffee kisne banaya?!'
Meanwhile, Round 1 of the toast arrived, and it wasn't toasted- instead, it was two slices of mildly warm bread with a slab of cheese and tomato slices in the middle. As Round 1 was rejected, I felt a pair of eyes drilling into the back of my head- my friend informed me that one of the waiters was staring at me. As I turned around and enquired as to what was so amusing about me, he told me he was fascinated by my headband (it happens to have some feathers on it). Round 2 arrived- we could tell it had been dumped on to a frying pan and reheated. My friend's request for cutlery was met with one of the waiters coming over with a knife and fork, wiping them on this brownish orange t-shirt, and handing it over to her. She smiled, said thanks, and ate.
As we chatted and polished off what we could of our meal, a young employee turned off all the fans. The whirring noise stopped. He took out a jhaadu and began sweeping. We laughed, lifted our feet, paid the bill. Lunch time was officially over, and we headed out into the jungle that is Dilli again.
Another day, another story.
As the world marches in protest, here in Dilli, the small stories of my life piece together-loud Punjabi parties, an unsigned contract, a new flatmate, an old friend, an empty gas cylinder... I hope the winter brings some comfort and joy. Oh, and the falafel was excellent.
Hahaha. Sam's Cafe. Yep, been there too. Think it is an old Stephen's haunt. Not sure. Don't even remember who I went with... remember it having more firangis than desis at the time. Heh.
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