![]() ![]() ![]() I can't imagine my parents flying from New Jersey, where the options for Indian food are much broader and of better quality, and taking them to a restaurant that charges $4 for a samosa and $8 extra for a half-plate of achaar. ("Make sure to pick a good one!") We're joking. ("Make sure to stay all day!") We refer to it when we go to the movies. ("Make sure to show up hungry!") We bring it up when we buy passes to a hot springs resort. My family and I often joke about paisa vasool, a Hindi or Gujarati term for getting your money's worth. ![]() These restaurants may be by us, but they don't feel like they're for us. When you're the only Indian person in an Indian restaurant, you know something's off. Others, including several of the city's best known spots, are expensive and serve small portions of ordinary dishes, turning off many South Asians. It's not that they're not spicy enough, they're not spiced enough. Some restaurants, catering to a more mainstream (read: white) palate, lack the dynamic flavors that make the best Indian food so layered. In a city where international cuisines thrive in all their regional glory, it still surprises me that the options for Indian food are so limited and muted and hard to find. Along the way, I've developed feelings about the state of Indian food in Los Angeles. Since moving to Southern California a year-and-a-half ago, I have spent an inordinate amount of my free time searching for Indian restaurants I could love. ![]()
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