Moving house is famously supposed to be the third most-stressful experience after death and divorce (and I must have looked stressed at various times over the past week because lots of people have mentioned that to me), but it also has its pleasures, one being the exploration of your new neighbourhood.
And although I’ve mostly been buried under piles of old wallpaper in the past few days – dissolved wallpaper paste, sugar soap and water do make such lovely congealing blobs, which turn up in the oddest places – I have found a wonderful line of, for London, astonishingly cheap restaurants, in Drummond Street, around the back of Euston station.
There’s a £6 vegetarian buffet with an _excellent_ selection of varied dishes made with palpably fresh ingredients, and the Ravi Shankar, which has a daily “three-course meal”, well meal on a tray anyway, for £4.75. (The only problem with that is it makes the £1.75 salt lassilook scandalously expensive.)
I won’t, however, be able to take a group of editors; there’d be meltdown over the menu. On Sunday I just had to have the “chic pea’s curry”.
I haven’t been a great fan of Indian food for years – two months of being continually, horribly ill in its native land developed unfortunate associations – but I might have to redevelop the taste.
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