I ate at a new Indian restaurant last night called Bombay Talkie. They should call that shit Bombay Hungry. I dropped $50 and left the joint starving. The drinks were good and the interior was interesting enough, but each plate had like 4 skinny girl bite-size pieces on it.
Maybe I have high, lowbrow expectations when it comes to Indian food. When you can kick it hardcore on 6th street in the East Village and gorge yourself for less than $20, why bother with the haute shit?
There should have been a disclaimer on the menu along the lines of: "Hey, Fatty: Hungry? Looks like your ass is always hungry. Listen, walk across the street, and get yourself two slices from Ray's Pizza. Then come back and join us!"
The waitstaff was also utterly confused. I was served by no less than five different people, all of whom had seemingly never worked in a restaurant before. Some of them were so nutty, I wasn't even sure they had even eaten in a restaurant before.