Manzil

On an aqueous Friday evening me, my monogamist, her ex-homeboy kinsperson and his consort in marriage scheduled a peregrination to Manzil - an Indian eatery on the Kings Street. The weather holocaust could not 'dampen' one half of the syndicate's spirits since post currith we had contracted seats to witness the next chapter of the apocryphal future historical factoid star trek. I and the consort quavered in fear of the perceived cinematograph debacle.

After being heralded into the first class lounge (a la carte - turn right at the ingress) which was brimming with 2 other bipeds I vexated that we may have blundered into one of the 95% of oriental restaurants in Aberdeen that had fizzled the councils cockroach latency criterion. Mercifully it seems that the only reason this congenial establishment was not replete with the voracious masses was because the gummous condensation on the windows made it look like a brothel.

A congenial attendant took our outdoor robes and vowed to return them at the end of the meal as well as furnishing us with the leatherbound book of pubulum for consumption. I was ecstatic when said carhop also beseeched us for our drinks order pronto - the ice cold pint of Cobra was ambrosial. The milieu of the restaurant is choice and made me confident that this was an upper-crust establishment and that I wouldn't be suffering the trots later in the evening.

The group ordered the typical poppadoms and dips to stimulate our gustatory cells. These were amiable, but any Indian hash slinger who couldn't make this dish should have his hands chopped off and all manner of spices rubbed into the wounds. I then proceeded to order a post-starter starter all for myself. This was the prawn stuffed poori. An meritorious choice by me. The dish could have passed as a main dish such was its voluminosity. The Chapati was wonderfully light and the prawns & sauce were also premium. I can't delineate any more minutia since this all took place 14 moons ago and I'm blessed with a very enthralling life and cursed with a short memory.

On to the main course. After skimming the novel that is the main dish section of the carte du jour I plumped for the Chicken Tikka Tandoori. This too was a great choice. Ample chicken was served on a sizzling adumbral dish with onions, a substantial side of sauce and pilau rice. I poured the whole lot into my sorry stomach which by this time was ready to cannonade. I decided to cease eating, I didn't think the manager would appreciate my internal organs and sanguine fluid festooning the walls. The chicken was nice and supple, the sauce very tasty.

And what of your fellow diners I hear you cry? Truth be promulgated, I didn't hark to them as I was too occupied in the art of overeating. What I can impart is that they too much relished this feast. Unfortunately the ambience of a destitute restaurant could not be further enjoyed as we had to skedaddle to catch the inception of Trekkie's delight, so we left without paying...

...

...just ribbing. Our host bestowed us with a bill for £98 which covered a poppadom starter pack, 2 starters, 4 mains, a fat dough of naan, 3 large white wines and 4 Cobras. I was pleasantly surprised at the price and my bodies pleasantry chemical imbalance was further exaulted when my spouse organized 10 percentage points depreciation due to her status as a novice disciple of beauty. Well done Manzil, i'll be backs.