New York minute/Early October 2008
The lame: Baluchi’s in the West Village, where an Indian-craving friend and I wound up after deserting a wineless new Thai place whose web site promised a full bar and where the food was only slightly better than the service, which sucked the big one. Ironically, Wally had said as we walked up and saw it was all but empty: “At least they’ll treat us well.” First they gave us a crappy table right by the kitchen door, but my consort was wise to insist we move once he arrived. And then cobwebs were forming on our menus by the time we were able to order. The wine “list” was a few varietals on a table card, with neither producer nor price produced; we tried to order a bottle of sauvignon blanc but settled for glasses of pinot grigio from the dim bulb in a waiter’s uniform. The naan was not as bad as I’ve had elsewhere, and the chana masala and vegetables jalfrazie had nice-enough sauces. But we were a long, long, long way from Chola. Or even Sixth Street. WIGB? Not even at gunpoint.