Raj Mahal

Hey folks, Jon here. I had no intention on writing this blog post. You see, its not every meal that makes its way to this site. I have neither the time, money, or culinary prowess for such an undertaking. Tonight, I ate at Raj Mahal, with no intention of blogging the details afterwards. However, I feel obliged to you, my good readers, to tell you a little about my dinner. No restaurant has ever given me such mixed signals, so intensely liking and disliking a place at the same time. 

We arrive at Raj Mahal, located on East 6th Street in the heart of what is affectionately known as "Curry Row". Since I moved to the East Village, I have been itching to try one of these places, and so I did. Through a cursory glance at various internet publications ("menupages.com", "yelp.com", and the like) I decided upon Raj Mahal. Unfortunately, I don't have photos for you. Sorry, I'll try and be as descriptive as I can. Really, it wasn't the food that was so remarkable about this place, it was everything else. 

Okay lets start with the positives. If you've ever walked through this part of the East Village, you know the scene. Over-anxious Indian men crowd the sidewalks, yelling and grabbing at anyone that crosses their path. I've even seen some of them get into fights, out do-ing each other by offering prices, specials, sexual favors... they really want your business. While its certainly true there is something charming about that experience, it often falls upon deaf ears and cold stares. This is New York City after all. So, to approach with the intent to enter, made me feel like I was doing something good. They were the Babu Bhatt to my Jerry Seinfeld. 

Inside I was immediately overjoyed at the sight of two Indian men playing a sitar and a drum. Personally, I love this sort of thing. It could be my love for all things George Harrison, my fascination with Eastern philosophy,  or both. I often tune into the classical Indian or Iranian stations on Itunes and tune out. Suffice to say, that was awesome, and I may go back, just to ask if I can jam out with those dudes. 

But perhaps the thing that I loved and hated the most was that it was truly a wormhole into Mumbai. Everything about this place was 100% authentically Indian. On one hand, thats great. I often remark that I love New York City because of this very phenomenon. Nowhere else in the world shares that ability to instantly produce such a multitude of authentic global cuisines. Most of the food we ordered had a very homemade feel to it. It was almost like eating in somebody's kitchen on any weekday night in India. The Chicken Sobzi was a well flavored stew, which was perfect over the buttery rice and some fresh nan. The Chicken Tandoori was good, nothing out of this world, but not terrible. Its burnt orange hue and unique spiciness really demonstrate the classic technique of its traditional clay pot namesake. Most of all, the place wasn't every other post-modern, neo-architectural trendy spot. New York is littered with far too many of those places, replacing quaintness with pseudo style. On the other hand....

I knew something was wrong about three minutes into my meal. My friend alerted me to a sight I wish I hadn't seen. Scurrying its way across the wall behind us was a rather large cockroach. Thats just not something you wanna see while your eating. Suddenly all the charm of this place turned into trepidation. Was I eating something I shouldn't be? Were there more behind me? I was uneasy to say the least. For my friend it was simply too much. He never regained his appetite, and I'm pretty sure he'll never eat at Raj Mahal again. The only thing that comforted me was to pretend like I was in Mumbai, and realizing that far worse natural unpleasantries could be between me and my chicken than one small bug. My only option was to put it out of my mind, and stop being a whiny Manhattanite. But come on, cockroaches? Really? Clean your shit up Raj Mahal, no excuses for that sort of thing in the NYC restaurant biz. The place is rather dingy too, and dimly lit to boot. That's not always a bad thing. It is when there's insects about. Further, the table settings look as if they hadn't been changed since 1975, with glasses and plates that went out of fashion long ago. I can't decide if I like that, or if it goes to its general skeeviness. 

Another thing that was a little unsettling was my stomach. Minutes after leaving I began to feel a little queasy, which was only exacerbated by the realization that my illness could have been directly related to Raj Mahal. On reflection, there was something a little odd about the bone structure of my chicken. I've eaten my fair share of chickens in my day, but I'd never seen one that looked quite like this. It was almost like a squab, or a NYC squab, A.K.A. pigeon. Whatever it was it tasted good, but I'm definitely suspicious as to its origins. 

The bottom line is this; if you are the sort of person that would be bothered by questionable food, less than stellar cleanliness, and general disconcert for modern culinary conventions, this place isn't for you. But if you eat street food all the time, know and employ the "five second rule," and enjoy ethnic cuisine you should check it out. Still, I'm torn on this one. On return to those very internet sites that referred me to Raj Mahal, I noticed something I missed before. All of them read, "great takeout". Until next time, stay hungry. 

Food: B

Atmosphere: Either an A or a C, I really can't say. 

Service: A-

Price: A- 

 

Overall: You be the judge, I'm sitting this one out.