You will not make a good death.
(Source: John Burdett, Bangkok 8, p.100, emphasis added)
After a particularly odious meal at Bombay Talk on Oak Tree Road in Iselin (NJ) the other day, we were reminded of the above Thai power curse that seemed appropriate to hurl at the fiends behind this trashy Indian fast food restaurant.
In the gripping novel, Burdett writes that the above curse makes ‘Fuck You sound like a benediction’ (italics in the original). 😉
Shit Hole on Oak Tree Road
Folks, such was our state of despair after a most unsatisfying meal at Bombay Talk in Iselin (NJ) that we were reduced to flinging imprecations at those beasts.
Located on the main Oak Tree Road ‘Indian strip’ in the Mahatma Gandhi Plaza, Bombay Talk has no reason to exist except that some desi Pol Pot in New Jersey felt like inflicting his/her/its sui generis brand of sadistic torture on unsuspecting humans.
Little did we realize the brutal ordeal, nay the very searing of our souls, that lay ahead of us as we blithely stepped into Bombay Talk’s portal.
Giving free rein to our ravenous impulses, we tried South Indian, North Indian and even Indian-Chinese items at this 100% vegetarian fast food restaurant.
Most of what we sampled were stunning acts of cruelty leading us to believe that all reports of Pol Pot’s death were exaggerated and that the Khmer Rouge monster had merely shifted base from the Cambodian jungles to Bombay Talk’s kitchen in Iselin.
While Pol Pot and his bloodthirsty Khmer Rouge comrades inflicted their cruelties wholesale in Cambodia, in Bombay Talk ‘Pol Pot’ and his barbarous apprentices practice their cruelty in retail.
They scoop out the entrails of customers, one diner at a time through hideously bad food that cattle would find repugnant.
Not a Medhu Vada
We embarked upon our ill-fated odyssey with the South Indian favorite Medhu Vada.
Alas, the Medhu Vada that navigated its way to our table was a half-cooked nightmare, the likes of which we wouldn’t serve even to our betes noires Abhishek Bachchan, Ajith, Priyanka Chopra, Kareena Kapoor et al.
If the Medhu Vada was a nightmare, the accompanying Chutney and Sambar were not far behind.
You call this bilge Sambar?
The chutzpah of these rascals!
Surely, the worst prisons in India’s sewer Bihar would add more Dal to the Sambar they serve their involuntary guests compared to the greedy swines at Bombay Talk.
A watery, red-colored, tasteless monstrosity with little evidence of Dal, tamarind or vegetables save onion and tomatoes this was not Sambar but what Macbeth’s Witches were brewing in their boiling cauldron.
As for the Chutney, it was a weird green mess the foul likes of which can only be compared to the sickening vomit that spewed out of Linda Blair’s mouth in the ‘Exorcist.‘
Shit Hole on Oak Tree Road, Iselin, NJ
May You Suffer Eternal Damnation
Mysore Masala Dosa ($7.75) was such a disgrace that we heaped plentiful curses on the Bombay Talk owners that for seven generations they suffer limitless misery that not even daily visits to the local Swaminarayan Temple should alleviate.
Although a little crisp, the Dosa was flavorless, far too oily and the Sambar and Potato-Onion filling inside unfit to be served to hogs.
That Indian restaurants like Bombay Talk exist is a sign of the perversity that has taken hold of the human soul in these dark ages.
Are we nearing the end of the world, is the apocalypse nigh upon us, we couldn’t help but wonder as the foul Chutney, ugly Sambar and flavorless Masala Dosa slowly slid down our gullet. 🙁
From the South Indian fare of Dosa, Idli and Medhu Vada, we moved up country to Chole Bhature, a favorite of North Indians.
Alas, a few bites of the Chole Bhature and we quickly realized these Bombay Talk shaitans do not discriminate – they savage all cuisine equally murderously, letting their ribbed whips excoriate the skin of innocent diners like yours truly.
The medium-thick Channa Curry was a tasteless mess leaving us baffled as to what kind of freaks would serve such tripe to paying customers. We consoled ourselves that the Pol Pot in the kitchen must be working his angst again. By the way, the Channa Curry came with two Pooris, mixed vegetable pickle and a hideous onion Boondi Raita.
Indian Chinese Disaster
As we wearily trudged our way across the Himalayan heights of despair to the Indian-Chinese side of the menu, we had ugly forebodings and were bereft of all hope but valiantly soldiered on in wishful hopes of finding a gold nugget amidst the detritus.
Ah, a fool and his money are soon parted. And such was our pitiful fate as well.
Whoever cooked that Gobi Manchurian (gravy) was most certainly not human. Must be Pol Pot’s apprentices or Ivan the Terrible risen from his icy grave in Russia.
Set in a medium-thick sauce, the partially-cooked, king-size cauliflower pieces were drenched in a surfeit of flour (corn flour??) that we were besides ourselves with agony that one human would stoop to such bestial acts upon another.
As if that were not bad enough, the gravy had a raw onion taste.
Is there no restaurant equivalent of Megan’s Law to put away these serial molesters for life.
Coup de Grâce
Vegetable Fried Rice was the final attack on our tender souls, a coup de grâce if you will.
Brown in color due to the liberal application of soy sauce and containing sparse carrots and spring onions, it was an abuse of all principles of nomenclature.
We had not the slightest doubt that the vile heap of the flavorless Vegetable Fried Rice was what Satan and his minions feasted on in their fiery home in the Hades. Alas, we are mere mortals unused to such satanic cuisine.
Our waiter (the dark-skinned fella wearing a baseball cap) seemed like a clueless idiot.
After ordering Chole Bhature, we were tempted to add Bombay Chat to our meal. When we asked him what Bombay Chat was, the fella was caught off-guard, looked at us blankly and after a few seconds mumbled: ‘You have Chole Bhature.’ 🙁
If this shit-hole of a restaurant Bombay Talk has any saving graces at all, it is in the soft and hot Idlis. Alas, the accompanying inedible Chutney and Sambar robbed us of any joy from the Idlis too.
It must be our Karmic destiny that led us to this revolting Indian restaurant.
Let it not be your miserable fate as well.
Unless you suffer from an insatiable, masochistic impulse to feel the welts from Marquis de Sade’s spiked whip on your tender skin, steer clear of this shit-hole Bombay Talk like the plague.