After taking in the rain-soaked excitement of FA Cup First Round day up at Barnet, there was only one thing on my mind. Yep.A rail replacement bus took us down to Archway, the towering junction known for its Irish pubs and stumbling panhandlers. After a swift pint in the Red Lion, it was dinner time. Off we ventured down the hill to Sitara - the Indian Jazz Restaurant.
The week before I had no-showed on a table booking here for my birthday, so was slightly apprehensive about going back. Well, I needn't have been. Ushered to the grand round table, we were treated like kings.
'Is this alright for you lads?' asked the sharply-dressed propreitor, after putting on a graceful Blue Note flute record from 1963. 'I've got loads more of this at home...' he nodded away.
So the jazz mood was set: hot music, dim lighting, walls adorned with smoky Herman Leonard prints and classic album sleeves. Would the cuisine live up to the decor?
An eldery waiter brought over the samosas, presented two to a plate and garnished with corriander and a lemon wedge. They looked smart and tidy, thin crisp pastry wrapped tightly around little triangular parcels. Taking a bite, the innards were marked by a moist texture and a delicate balance of spice and veg. A delicious treat.
With the smooth bassline reverberating away in the background, I gazed at the little samosa, and something dawned on me.
Blue Note on the stereo, biriyani on my plate, and all the wonders of north London nightlife outside. Jazz, curry and Archway: the night had a triangular joy about it. This was matched by the perfect rotational symetry of the samosa. Were the Ancient Egyptians right? Is three really the magic number?
The universe seemed complete. Either that, or I had had one too many bottles of Cobra.
Off we went in search of London hugs.
