We’re back from the chilling frost and misery of a very surprising spring break in the UK. Coming back to Calcutta was like jumping from the freezer into the frying pan, but it’s always nice to be back home, sleeping in your own bed.

Where did I leave off last time? Oh yes, Manchester United. Well! unfortunately it never happened. The formalities were far too much to fit into two days so that was that. Maybe next time!

However, I do have to tell you about a trip to the curry house that I wanted to explain through the eyes of a foreigner. A couple of days after I left off last time, we went to see an old mate of mine. It has been about eight years since I last saw him but in our younger days, we were best mates. He ended up marrying a sweet girl whom we had met during a holiday in Majorca in 1990. They somehow kept in touch after the holiday and if memory serves me well, they got married in 1998. They live in Blackpool — on the North West Coast — a seaside holiday town and our haunt when we were younger.

We reached around midday. I suppose we’ve all changed over the years and I’m going to leave it at that. We went through all the formalities and decided to go for a drive along the coast. A stormy wind was blowing and there was such a heavy rainfall that we couldn’t do much and went for lunch instead.

In the evening, Jonathan said that his mum, stepfather, his wife’s mum Kayla and dad were coming over to meet us in the evening. Since it was Jonathan’s mum Shirley’s birthday, they planned to go out for a curry. This excited me as I’d not been out for an Indian meal in the UK since coming to India, even though I threaten to do it every year. The table was booked for 8.30pm. Everyone assembled and after a few hugs and kisses and some small talk, we all went our way.

The restaurant, for some unknown reason, was called Deniel’s. We were seated in the middle of this packed restaurant (Indian food really does sell in the UK). We were handed the menu and everyone giggled that we two (myself and my wife Pinky) should know what we are doing since we were from India.

Next, something strange happened, something I’d forgotten from so many years away. Everyone ordered a gravy item each and a side dish. For starters, they ordered a round of beer, a pile of poppadoms that came with sweet mango and sweet mint chutney and two garlic and two peshawri naans that were placed in the centre of the table.

A very odd scenario that myself and Pinky didn’t know what to think of. The peshawri naan was smothered in butter, sugar, desiccated coconut, flaked almonds and raisins — very sweet — to which Shirley told the staff that they should put it on the menu as a dessert with ice cream and to prove a point, she asked for some vanilla ice cream and made everyone try some, including all the staff.

Next came the main course, or the curry if you like. In the UK, your average Indian menu is made up section-wise with curries at the top of the menu being the mildest, to curries at the bottom being the hottest, like korma to vindaloo or the hottest being tindaloo.

As the dishes arrived, the first thing noticeable was that they all looked the same — a tomatoey brown — and on sampling each, they all tasted the same too, all with different amounts of spice, chilli and maybe the odd piece of capsicum or tomato thrown in here and there. Some had ordered rice, some chips (the British French fry) and some half of each. This totally non-Indian way of eating reminded me of India, where people still want to order European plated food to share. There they were ordering Indian food as though they were ordering European food, one item each and no sharing. I’m sure I’ll remember this every time someone asks me to cut a spinach and parmesan tart into four to share, even though I’ll still refuse to. Myself and Pinky shared what was left of the garlic naan and a very sad variation of what was supposed to be a Madras curry.

The bill for the eight of us was £200 and if it wasn’t for the wonderful British-made Kingfisher beer (the stuff you get there is so much better than here), the meal would have been a washout.