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| Yes, that massive |
Never go to a restaurant where a shuffling, badly-dressed man turns out to be the maitre d'. He is Satan ushering you into a hellish experience. The outdoor space is so dark you can't read the menus, so dark that you can easily fall into the wide gaps between slabs on the floor that cover a dank water body. Against your better judgement, you sit and order a starter and a main course. The waiter brings the wrong order.
When the right main finally arrives, described as a "massive roast chicken" on the menu, it turns out to be a couple of pieces stuck on a skewer. If you ask the waiter what he means by it, the immortal answer is, "There's another piece under the potato, madam."
Don't, whatever you do, then make the mistake of sampling the piece either over or under anything: It will turn out to be bland, chewy and unidentifiable. Escape before dessert does you in. And pay for the bill with a sinking heart because they wouldn't even have had the decency to either replace your order, or cancel it. C'est la vie.
At least I'll never go to Indiranagar again.
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