Chai & Kathi Roll Lounge

Jen and I drove down to Indianapolis to visit our daughter and son in law, and we decided we should probably eat something. What? Where? Hell if I know. Luckily, I've built a machine specifically to make these difficult life decisions for me. GastroMob Randomizer to the rescue! A couple of clicks later and the culinary gods had spoken. Looks like we're eating Indian food tonight, baby! Our destination was Chai & Kathi Roll Lounge on the southeast side of Indianapolis. We walked in and the place was empty. Dead empty. Not another customer in sight. Obviously we'd arrived right in the middle of the dinner rush. Good thing we beat the crowd. The young lady behind the counter told us to look over the menu and ring the bell when we were ready. Simple enough, except there was one of those QR code menus, which I hate. I don't want to conduct a business transaction with a sticker on a table. I want to look at food, ask stupid questions and occasionally point at something I can't pronounce. But fine, I'm a modern man. I can operate a telephone. We scanned the code, made our selections and placed our order. It turns out she hadn't expected us to use the QR code. That's usually used for takeout web orders, not for people dining in. We were both confused, standing there like we'd accidentally wandered into the wrong restaurant's ordering system. She told us the food would take about twenty minutes to prepare and asked if we were sure we wanted to wait. Sure! Twenty minutes for freshly prepared food? I'm not defusing a bomb here. I've got nowhere to be. Then she explained that most people order takeout and asked if we'd like ours to go. Now I'm starting to wonder if there's something about me that suggests I'm not welcome in polite society. I mean, there are plenty of reasons, but she couldn't possibly know them yet. Finally I said, "If you don't want me here, just say so." Oh, no no no! She was just trying to figure out how we wanted our food served. She assured us we were welcome to sit down and they'd bring everything out. Ahhhhh. Well, that makes considerably more sense. Here I am thinking I'm being politely evicted from an empty restaurant when this poor woman is just trying to figure out if I want plates or styrofoam boxes. Plates please. I ordered samosas, paneer with spices and vegetables, and a chai. Jen and I settled in, and the food started arriving. First the tea, then the samosas, then the paneer. And let me tell you, that paneer was the star of the show. Paneer is a kind of Indian cheese, and whatever they were doing to it with those spices and vegetables, they were doing it right. We shared everything, talked, ate and generally enjoyed ourselves. Jen was particularly impressed with the tamarind chutney, which I'm fairly certain she'd have happily eaten with a spoon. Meanwhile, the place started filling up. Mostly Indian folks, some coming in to eat, others gathering in little groups, chatting, playing pool or just hanging out. What had initially looked like an abandoned restaurant was turning into a neighborhood social club. Everyone seemed comfortable, friendly and completely at home. I liked that. We were the outsiders, but nobody made us feel like outsiders. Just two people enjoying some good food while everybody else went about their evening. Then, without warning, gravity decided I'd been having entirely too good a time. One second I'm sitting there enjoying the atmosphere, the next I'm looking at the fucking ceiling. My chair collapsed. Not tipped over. Not rocked backward. The damn thing surrendered. Just gave up on life and deposited my substantial ass on the floor like a sack of potatoes. There I was, sprawled out in the middle of this lovely little Indian restaurant, staring upward and contemplating the series of decisions that had brought me to this exact moment. Somewhere between the paneer and the floor, my dignity had left the building. I started laughing. What the hell else was I going to do? Several people immediately came over to help me up and make sure I was okay. Which was genuinely nice of them, especially considering I had just interrupted their evening by attempting to demolish the furniture with my ass. Physically, I was fine. My ego may require surgery. Now, in my defense, I inspected the wreckage and those chair legs looked like they'd been attached with a couple of staples and a prayer. I would very much like to blame the structural integrity of the furniture. This has NEVER happened to me before. I've sat in thousands of chairs throughout my life and until tonight, every single one of them managed to fulfill its contractual obligation. I'm not going to pretend I'm some delicate little flower. I'm a fat guy. I know I'm a fat guy. I've been working on it, but apparently I need to double down before I become a legitimate threat to the seating industry. The whole thing was so absurd .You can't plan this shit. C'est la vie! Overall, 8/10. The food was delicious, the people were friendly, the atmosphere turned out to be wonderful and the experience was certainly memorable. I'd absolutely go back, if only for another helping of that paneer and tamarind chutney for Jen. I might eat standing up next time.