Having in mind that politics is only part of the Armenian life and that not all our readers are interested in it, I will try to do my best to write about other things and events that surround us.
Yesterday after the walk down to Baghramian street I felt hunger in my belly and wanted to figure out that how to make it (my belly) happy. There are plenty of restaurants and cafes around for different tastes and budgets, but I prefer homemade food. My fridge, to whom I gave the name �the Stalin fridge� since I believe it comes from that era was totally empty, therefore we had the choice to either get something from the store which, is right on the ground floor of the building where I live or try to force myself to enter to one of those food establishments. When we were walking down towards Hanrapetutyan square and it started raining the agony of choice start killing us. We could go to Monte Cristo and have a delicious dinner or go and cook at home. We decided to do the second and pop-in to a liquor store right next to HSBC bank for a bottle of red wine. On the door of the store there was a direction sign showing us to walk 70M down the street. I am sure we walked more than that and ended up next to an Indian restaurant. The Indian looking guy (Armenian) with a mole on his forehead (I am sure it was natural, and probably he was given the job thanks to it) opened the door and gave a positive answer to my question whether the chief is an Indian. The dinner that my companion and me enjoyed was pretty nice, even though I could feel that the kitchen was lacking a number of important spices. It was important that the food was served to both of us at the same time so none of us had to stay hungry and stare to the other persons food. They had draft Kilikia and since I thought that only Kotayk comes in drafts it was suspicious but it went down smoothly. The other thing that was very suspicious was the size of chicken tikkas (each one of them had a size of a medium bird) a very vivid characteristic of Armenian cousin. My guess is that the chief either is not an Indian or he/she adopted the traits of his/her new home. I was too full to storm to the kitchen to find it out. Next time perhaps.
Yesterday after the walk down to Baghramian street I felt hunger in my belly and wanted to figure out that how to make it (my belly) happy. There are plenty of restaurants and cafes around for different tastes and budgets, but I prefer homemade food. My fridge, to whom I gave the name �the Stalin fridge� since I believe it comes from that era was totally empty, therefore we had the choice to either get something from the store which, is right on the ground floor of the building where I live or try to force myself to enter to one of those food establishments. When we were walking down towards Hanrapetutyan square and it started raining the agony of choice start killing us. We could go to Monte Cristo and have a delicious dinner or go and cook at home. We decided to do the second and pop-in to a liquor store right next to HSBC bank for a bottle of red wine. On the door of the store there was a direction sign showing us to walk 70M down the street. I am sure we walked more than that and ended up next to an Indian restaurant. The Indian looking guy (Armenian) with a mole on his forehead (I am sure it was natural, and probably he was given the job thanks to it) opened the door and gave a positive answer to my question whether the chief is an Indian. The dinner that my companion and me enjoyed was pretty nice, even though I could feel that the kitchen was lacking a number of important spices. It was important that the food was served to both of us at the same time so none of us had to stay hungry and stare to the other persons food. They had draft Kilikia and since I thought that only Kotayk comes in drafts it was suspicious but it went down smoothly. The other thing that was very suspicious was the size of chicken tikkas (each one of them had a size of a medium bird) a very vivid characteristic of Armenian cousin. My guess is that the chief either is not an Indian or he/she adopted the traits of his/her new home. I was too full to storm to the kitchen to find it out. Next time perhaps.
posted by Haig at 4:35 PM
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