Born in July

This 650 ml bottle of Taj Mahal Premium Lager I'm finishing off right now has a manufacture date of 07/10. Which means that the same month I decided to be a vagabond nomad and travel through the United States, this bottled beer was labeled for export out of India into Sausalito, California, and eventually delivered to New York City. It ended up coming here to this Zagat's-rated Indian eatery in Midtown Manhattan that I also decided to stop into. A sign out front draws me inside with its promise of "free unlimited appetizers" from 4 to 7. Since I'm within that window and not far from my 8:00 destination, it sounds good to me. I've just had two cheese slices further up Lexington and was in need of some more nourishment since lunch never happened for me today.

To my surprise, the downstairs bar was totally empty but for a small dish of Indian mint. As I opened the door, the restaurant name Nirvana made me think of the band whose album In Utero I had just gotten into as a kid when their singer and guitarist killed himself. I'm also thinking of a Robert Plant song of the same name and an album of his called Manic Nirvana. I walked into the place, and their young Pakistani hostess seated me at the empty bar. Another employee swept the floor and paid no attention to us.

After a while, another guy -- not their regular bartender -- takes my drink order and pours me a tall glass of beer, the aforementioned Taj Mahal. He asks me if I want to see a menu and order some food, and I tell him I came in for the "free unlimited appetizers." He nods in acknowledgment and walks away. What?

Unlike the man sweeping who doesn't know what else is going on, this hostess is hovering. She must be hard up for company! Not that it's intrusive to me. I'm all alone, and all she wants to do is tell me about her favorite Italian restaurant in town. It's now a place I might try on Thursday before heading out. But all this talk of the copious amounts of pizza I'll be having this time two days later is making me hungry for right now. Is food on the way? Is it hidden in some corner somewhere and I need to serve myself? I can't ask because the hostess is now telling me her life story: She wants to learn bartending but the guys at Nirvana won't teach her because they just want her to be a hostess. I'm just about to interrupt when a young olive-skinned gentleman brings a full plate just for me. It's some chopped up tandoori chicken on naan with a hint of cilantro or some other spice scattered on top. It's like a 12" pizza just for me! Nice.

Now, the bottle is gone and all that remains are a few more sips in my tall glass. I'm considering a second beer. There's something called 1947. I'd like to see the label up close and decide. After this, I'm going to walk into Chelsea for a show tonight.

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