Last night I went with my mom and kiff to Little India for some vegetarian south Indian treats at Udupi Palace, a restaurant in Little India. Something about this relentless heat makes me want to eat spicy food.
We had uppma, masala dosa, stuffed lentil dumplings, and chana masala. Uppma is this spicy cream of wheat dish with mustard seeds, nutty lentils, and vegetables that Uvi, our cook in Delhi, used to make some mornings. Masala Dosa is that big pancake stuffed with potatoes and spices that was my staple lunch when travelling (always around $1, always tasty). Chana Massala is curried chick peas with a tomato-based sauce served with rice and chapatti. Everything was so delicious that I overate, and when we left the air conditioned palace, my spicy, round belly confronted the stagnant heat with much consternation.
The food there is cheap and delicious, and amply compensates for the resto's general lack of atmosphere.
We got home and watched All the President's Men in front of the fan. It made me think about the changing face of newsrooms of the past 30 years. Their clacking at typewriters with carbon copies. The smoking at the desk. The hallways of filing cabinets. At certain points, I spoke out in sympathy for the reporters who broke Watergate: "Those hours at the library would be so unncessary with Google," and "Wow, they have to type out the Whole Article again...they can't just cut and paste!"
Afterwards we drank cool water in the backyard while wondering about this whole Valerie Plame/Judith Miller/Karl Rove thing and the changes in journalism in the face of media monopolies. But I couldn't remember all the facts, so we went back inside and googled to our hearts' content.
