I
like to think that we at curry club are an erudite and refined bunch and we’d
think nothing of crossing political, social and cultural divides to bring you
our take on curries sampled from lands afar. And it was with this ethos firmly
embedded in our hearts and minds that a break-away faction of the club headed
East, far-East, in search of the curried Holy Grail.
And
where else better to go than India? Why Singapore of course. The highly
urbanised city state island of Singapore is home to more than 5million
residents and a Universal Studios theme park. Of these 5million residents, some
42% are immigrant workers. Of this 42%, a lot are Indian. Imagine our surprise
then to find that the Indian population of Singapore predominantly live in an
area called Little India. Just like the Little London area in Leeds is home to
a plethora of Cockneys and Pearly Kings and Queens eating jellied eels on red
buses, singing ‘The Lambeth Walk’. I digress.
On
a warm and humid Tuesday evening, we took the MRT (underground) and travelled
the relatively short distance from our central Singapore base to the Little
India suburb. To say it’s like Bradford on speed would be an outright lie. It
isn’t. Bradford is a sh!thole. An absolute filth pit. A wretched hive of scum
and villainy.
As
we ascended the steps of the Little India MRT (underground) station, we were
greeted by a street. It had a pavement abutting a road, which allowed motor
vehicles to travel onwards to their intended destination. Pedestrians generally
restricted themselves to the pavement areas where they could do the same.
 |
| A home away from home |
We
took a stroll around the bustling streets and markets and came across a corner
shop called ‘Leeds Mart’. I interpreted this as a sign that although my fellow
curry club comrades could not be with me in person, they were with me in
spirit…in the form of a mini-mart. I think my excitement at uncovering the
Leeds Mart was lost on the shop’s proprietor. He rejected my requests to have a
photo with him in front of his establishment as I was not willing to make a
purchase from him. I took the picture anyway and made a hasty retreat with the
shop owner’s dulcet Yorkshire-Singaporean tones ringing in our ears shaking his
fist as we descended into the night air.
The Jungle Tandoor, Little India, Singapore.
We
eventually happened upon The Jungle Tandoor. And what a fine first impression
the establishment made. The exterior was adorned with a fake fibre-glass jungle
scene, complete with fake fibre-glass trees, vines and stalking tiger (there
was no hidden dragon). We announced to the guy on the door that we would
require their finest outdoor table and he promptly sat us down. We quickly came
to realise the error of our ways when the daily bin collection pulled up
alongside our table to empty 24 hours-worth of festering food and refuse from
the nearby bin stores. Other interesting vistas from their ‘finest’ table
included a view of the Woodland Ganja store. No points for guessing what was
traded in this outlet.
 |
| Jungle fever |
We
enjoyed the obligatory poppadum’s and pickle tray, washed down with an ice cold
Tiger beer each. For mains we ordered saagala mutton | ghost mutton | a side
order of peanut paneer kebabs | and sundries comprising rotis and vegetable
pilau rice. Although advertised as ‘medium’ the respective currys were both
well spiced and each had a considerable kick. The lamb was tender and
plentiful. The portions in general were also bountiful and Matty would have had
a proverbial bagging-up field day with the left-overs.
Together
with another pair of Tiger beers, the bill came to a not unreasonable (S)$75.
And being quite the philanthropist, I’m embarrassed to say that I also left a
pretty impressive and generous tip.
Once
the Tiger beer had taken its toll on my bladder, I ventured inside to sample
the resplendent interior, which mirrored the fibre-glass exterior
‘jungle-themed’ design. The mixed-sex WC left a little to be desired, which was
missing a flush and comprised a hosepipe contraption connected to a water butt.
Although tempted, I was not about to attempt to understand its workings and
reluctantly left my deposit for someone else to dispose of.
With
a heavy sigh, we made the short walk back to the MRT (underground) station and
bound for bed reflecting on a bloody lovely feed, good service, great company and
conversation.
It’s
pretty remarkable how Curry Club allows us to be taken to all corners of the
globe not only to sample great and different curries but also experience the
hospitality, cultures and lives of our international friends and neighbours. I
believe the next instalment of the Club, takes us to Kirkstall Road bowling
alley. Until then…
Richard 'Rick Listep' Lister
Food
– 85%
Service
– 75%
Night
– 90%
Gas
– 15%
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