I don't think I have any valid justification for the unconscionable length of time between my blog posts, so I won't justify it. I know...I know.
But in any case, today, December 20th, 2011, is an important one for my cousin Ambar...his 21st birthday! After puberty, the way different cultures divide people by age is really so arbitrary. At 18, a man can fight and die in war, serving his country, but cannot legally throw back a few beers. Anyways, I'm getting political and that's not the intention of this blog post.
It was a pleasant birthday, consisting of many 30 Rock episodes, errands run in an Audi, and a delicious dinner at an Italian restaurant called La Spiga.The dinner was (and I do not say this lightly) phenomenal. The ambiance of the restaurant was extremely interesting; from the outside looking to be a small, intimate environment. But in fact the inside was large and lofty, with high wooden-beamed ceilings and spread-out tables. The dim, romantic lighting invited groups to engage in quiet, intimate conversations and the decorations were simple but elegant.
Oh, but the food! I have been to countless Italian restaurants--hell, I've been to Italy!--but the food I had at La Spiga was some of the best Italian food I've ever had. We started out with a simple, biscuit-like flatbread that we dipped in oil to whet our appetites, then ate crispy fried cauliflowers while we waited for our main course to arrive. We shared three dishes at the table. The first, gnocchi with marinara sauce, was delicious potato-saucy goodness. The second dish, Tagliatelle al Burro di Tartufo, was comprised of flat noodles with white Alba Truffle butter. The noodles were perfectly cooked, the buttery sauce was light and infused with delicious spices, and the dish was quickly consumed. The last dish,Tortelli di Zucca, was just...wonderful. The butternut squash filled pasta exploded delightfully in our mouths after we bit them, the sweet and savory flavor of the squash tantalizing our tastebuds as we swallowed. And of course, for his birthday, the waiters brought out a beautiful, fresh tiramisu cake for Ambar's (and our) consumption.
Before I dug my spoon into the cake, I thought about Ambar's previous birthdays in India and the traditions he would have been subjected to were he there. Deciding he needed a little bit of the Indian birthday treatment, I dipped my finger in the whipped cream layer of the tiramisu and dabbed it on Ambar's face. "Happy birthday, the Indian way!" I proclaimed. Ambar half-smiled as he painstakingly wiped the frosting off his face. "Hey, at least I'm not subjecting you to birthday bashes," I reminded him. "Very true," Ambar responded.
This prompted a discussion about the ways in which birthday-celebrators are tormented in India. I recalled from my 19th birthday in India this past July, when my cousins slathered my whole face and neck in chocolate frosting from an expensive Indian bakery's cake. The frosting dripped onto my shirt and took over ten minutes to wash off (though the oily, buttery sensation on my face remained until I showered the next day). It turns out that wasn't so bad. During one of Ambar's birthday parties in India, he was subjected to the cake treatment and had a bottle of Coke poured over his head!
In addition to this, birthdays are not completed in India unless the birthday boy or girl has undergone "birthday bashes" from numerous family members and friends.This sadistic tradition consists of a family member or friend approaching the birthday victim from behind and thumping them on the back, the number of hits depending on the age of the victim, plus one for good luck. I've walked away from birthday bashes rubbing my back in pain.WHY? What is the purpose of this?
In any case, a very happy birthday to you, Ambar. I'm really glad you didn't have to undergo Indian birthday terrorism on your 21st birthday.
Love,
Kanch
But in any case, today, December 20th, 2011, is an important one for my cousin Ambar...his 21st birthday! After puberty, the way different cultures divide people by age is really so arbitrary. At 18, a man can fight and die in war, serving his country, but cannot legally throw back a few beers. Anyways, I'm getting political and that's not the intention of this blog post.
It was a pleasant birthday, consisting of many 30 Rock episodes, errands run in an Audi, and a delicious dinner at an Italian restaurant called La Spiga.The dinner was (and I do not say this lightly) phenomenal. The ambiance of the restaurant was extremely interesting; from the outside looking to be a small, intimate environment. But in fact the inside was large and lofty, with high wooden-beamed ceilings and spread-out tables. The dim, romantic lighting invited groups to engage in quiet, intimate conversations and the decorations were simple but elegant.
Oh, but the food! I have been to countless Italian restaurants--hell, I've been to Italy!--but the food I had at La Spiga was some of the best Italian food I've ever had. We started out with a simple, biscuit-like flatbread that we dipped in oil to whet our appetites, then ate crispy fried cauliflowers while we waited for our main course to arrive. We shared three dishes at the table. The first, gnocchi with marinara sauce, was delicious potato-saucy goodness. The second dish, Tagliatelle al Burro di Tartufo, was comprised of flat noodles with white Alba Truffle butter. The noodles were perfectly cooked, the buttery sauce was light and infused with delicious spices, and the dish was quickly consumed. The last dish,Tortelli di Zucca, was just...wonderful. The butternut squash filled pasta exploded delightfully in our mouths after we bit them, the sweet and savory flavor of the squash tantalizing our tastebuds as we swallowed. And of course, for his birthday, the waiters brought out a beautiful, fresh tiramisu cake for Ambar's (and our) consumption.
Before I dug my spoon into the cake, I thought about Ambar's previous birthdays in India and the traditions he would have been subjected to were he there. Deciding he needed a little bit of the Indian birthday treatment, I dipped my finger in the whipped cream layer of the tiramisu and dabbed it on Ambar's face. "Happy birthday, the Indian way!" I proclaimed. Ambar half-smiled as he painstakingly wiped the frosting off his face. "Hey, at least I'm not subjecting you to birthday bashes," I reminded him. "Very true," Ambar responded.
This prompted a discussion about the ways in which birthday-celebrators are tormented in India. I recalled from my 19th birthday in India this past July, when my cousins slathered my whole face and neck in chocolate frosting from an expensive Indian bakery's cake. The frosting dripped onto my shirt and took over ten minutes to wash off (though the oily, buttery sensation on my face remained until I showered the next day). It turns out that wasn't so bad. During one of Ambar's birthday parties in India, he was subjected to the cake treatment and had a bottle of Coke poured over his head!
In addition to this, birthdays are not completed in India unless the birthday boy or girl has undergone "birthday bashes" from numerous family members and friends.This sadistic tradition consists of a family member or friend approaching the birthday victim from behind and thumping them on the back, the number of hits depending on the age of the victim, plus one for good luck. I've walked away from birthday bashes rubbing my back in pain.WHY? What is the purpose of this?
In any case, a very happy birthday to you, Ambar. I'm really glad you didn't have to undergo Indian birthday terrorism on your 21st birthday.
Love,
Kanch
