Year of Eating Differently (85): Vita Ingredient, Wardour Street

Wandered past here the other day. Was in a rush to get off work early today, so couldn't go for a sit-down meal anywhere. Nipped in here instead and was frankly nonplussed by the vegan offerings. If everything is priced by the scoop it's just, well, mealy-mouthed to a heartless wage slave like myself. Where's the price differentiation to determine the price sensitivity of the customers? Eh? Where's Tim Harford when you need him?
So, got back to the office with a cardboard box with four scoops in it. As any good mathematician knows, you should HEDGE YOUR BETS which is why I picked up some Cheddars (BBQ flavour) and a Yorkie (it's not for girls!!!! apparently) as well on the way back. Had two scoops of rice - very good: nutty with fruity overtones. Had one scoop of noodles - indifferent, but hardly offensive. Had something called the Medium Chakra, which was an infestation of seeds and mulch and cracked grains that was so utterly disgusting that even the Cheddars and the Yorkie didn't ameliorate the symptoms much.
An hour later, the whole of the office started vibrating. Possibly this was God's judgment at me defying his vegan bounty. Then there was a thunderstorm. Then I felt like I was going to be sick. Then I got stood up and was left with nothing to do all evening. That is all.

Year of Eating Differently (53): Hannan's, Great Church Street

In an utter rage today, despairing and blindly lashing out at the world. Partly due to a weekend in Gothenburg, but also because as a consequence my phone doesn't work and the nice man in the Vodafone shop told me to whistle for it.
To calm down, went to Hannan's to order some curry for me and ver ladz; the Bollywood on the TV was turned up to 11, but it was prepped nice and quick, and came in very cheaply (under a tenner for two curries, rice and naan).
No photo today (since the camera is broken) and maybe a point or two down because I was the only person in there (I have a phobia of empty restaurants) and also the TV was too loud. And it's a bit rice heavy. And I'm grumpy today.

Year of Eating Differently (51): Glo, Paternoster Square

Many years ago, even before Mr Cushtie was a gleam in Mr Cushtie Snr's eye, or indeed shortly before Mr Cushtie Snr and Mrs Cushtie were Mr and Mrs, Mr Cushtie Snr proposed to the future Mrs Cushtie in Paternoster Square. So there's some kind of significance to this location, even if it may seem a bit of a cheat to nip out of Soho for lunch. However, I was back at my desk within the standard hour, so I think this can count.
No such emotional significance to Glo, however. It's just ok, poking its head above mediocre for just long enough to not earn censure. For some reason, I've recently lost my tolerance for places where you pay in one place and then collect your food elsewhere - I think the problem may be that these City boys are less capable of queuing than the meedja whores of Soho, and so I kept getting elbowed in the back or side, and thus had to struggle not to indulge my inner rage.
Here's lunch
Plus, the City boys are happy to pay over the odds - I got curry and rice for seven pounds something, and when you order 'fresh lemonade' you would expect it to come in a glass, not in a plastic bottle. Am I being overly snobbish here? The curry itself overpromised and underdelivered - not at all spicy, and although it began by tasting quite fruity, pretty soon that flavour deserted it. And there was either too much rice or not enough curry, but either way halfway through the meal I was left with half a bowl of dry rice. Hmmph.
On the other hand, it's well lit, pretty fast and, perhaps because it's individual stools rather than benches, doesn't quite feel like the whole Wagamama-lets-go-back-to-school experience. Although speaking of which, a visit to Lexington Street may be on the cards soon...

Year of Eating Differently (47): Lazeez, Dean Street

Curry at lunchtime is always a bit disorientating. Should you go and get bent utterly out of shape on Kingfisher, mop up the dregs of booze with a poppadom, and then slink back into the office? Or be civilised, eat your chicken tikka masala without recourse to booze and somehow feel the experience isn't entirely 'sincere' because it's not the same as those halcyon days with the rugby club back at 'uni' when you competed to steal items of crockery from the curry house?
Most confusingly of all is when your bosses' boss (or maybe his boss, but who wants to spend that much time traversing corporate hierarchy diagrams?) takes you all out for lunch. You might have been expecting to get a sandwich from some hellhole on Oxford Street, but instead we all troop down to the Soho Theatre, and thence down into the basement where there's a very passable Indian restaurant.
There's a mindbendingly expensive restaurant over the street (the Red Fort) which we'll deal with at some point, but it's best paid for by somebody else's expense account, so not today.
Anyhow, the menu's not bad at all. Not much vegetarian stuff - one 'platter' which consists of four different sauces, some rice and some bread - but nobody complained about the chicken/lamb/prawns/seabass on offer, and I was full up by the end of it, to the point that when I went off to shorinji kempo that evening, I didn't feel like I was going to die. Well, actually, I did but that was probably the cumulative effect of not enough sleep and too many missed dinners this week.
Oh, and we had homemade limoncello afterwards back at the office. That could never be a productivity boost.

Year of Eating Differently (33): Soho Thai, St Anne's Place

Was going to go to a different Thai restaurant, but it was closed this lunchtime. Anyhow, Soho Thai's not bad; had the Pad Khing Tao, which was something with vegetables and ginger, and less MSG than I've come to expect. Place was really very noisy for a Friday lunchtime, and the decor suggests, well, that they haven't finished decorating yet. It's also quite expensive (£30 for lunch for two, but that's what Mastercard is for, right?)
Oh, and just to feed the stereotype, I'm hungry again already, and it's only been 15 minutes since I stopped eating...

Year of Eating Differently (5): Imli, Wardour Street

If it wasn't for this project, I could probably eat for the next week at Imli. It describes itself as 'Indian tapas' which sounds terribly pretentious, and not very helpful. However, without wanting to denigrate any of the other Indian restaurants that I've eaten in, it just feels a lot cleaner experience-partly down to the presentation of the food, all on gleaming white plates, and partly the decor and the menus (almost wrote merchandising, which shows what a soul-less marketing drone I'm becoming) which are all bright orange and brighter white.
So the popadoms don't come plate sized, but pre-cracked into pieces about the size of your palm. The dips (which include a great peppery one) come in a white china tray, rather than the usual four round metal pots, and the lunch platter (which I ordered because I was feeling indecisive, rushed for time and had a woman sitting on the other side of the table that was more important to concentrate on than just idling through the menu for twenty minutes) was great - five different dishes in one, plus rice, and the stand-out at Imli, which is the hot lime sauce. (I'd say more about the individual dishes, but being somewhat distracted means I failed to keep notes - what a trial it must be for anyone ever reading this unreliable narrator approach to restaurant reviews...)
Wine was served in a highball glass, which I found a little odd. The thyme lemonade is disgusting (but don't let me stop you trying it) - stick to either booze or the fresh lime drink, if you want to be back at your desk and not slumping over your keyboard by mid-afternoon.