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I find room service in hotels oddly comforting.
Flying in, taking a hot shower, donning a fresh robe and thumbing through the room service menu as your hair dries in the chilled AC air.
The tv displays a boring welcome screensaver while the remote hides in a leather binder.
Flying in, taking a hot shower, donning a fresh robe and thumbing through the room service menu as your hair dries in the chilled AC air.
The tv displays a boring welcome screensaver while the remote hides in a leather binder.
You begin to wonder about the level of commitment you have for the in-room meal.
The heart wants butter chicken and naan but the brain quickly reminds you of the discomfort in sleeping in a room smelling of curry.
The heart wants butter chicken and naan but the brain quickly reminds you of the discomfort in sleeping in a room smelling of curry.
Fatigue adds to the confusion and just when you begin to flirt with the fringes of the menu, the poorly made Thai curries or the Nasi Gorengs, you quickly flip the pages back to sandwiches.
It reminds you of the choices we often make in life. You forego the temptation of the exotic for the comfort of something familiar.
Also, no one wants to get sick with poorly made satay.
Also, no one wants to get sick with poorly made satay.
But the sandwich menu offers no clarity.
Why would you order a Mumbai road sandwich when you are from Mumbai?
The chicken burger seems inviting. With a chocolate milkshake. With that little vial of Heinz ketchup and that tiny bottle of Tabasco.
Why would you order a Mumbai road sandwich when you are from Mumbai?
The chicken burger seems inviting. With a chocolate milkshake. With that little vial of Heinz ketchup and that tiny bottle of Tabasco.
And just when your heart is set on the chicken burger, the club sandwich knocks seductively on your door.
With its crispy bacon and its refreshing tomatoes. The beautifully dry sliced chicken and a fried egg. Which you will ask them to add, as always.
With its crispy bacon and its refreshing tomatoes. The beautifully dry sliced chicken and a fried egg. Which you will ask them to add, as always.
The club sandwich wins. It’s not the first battle it has won. It strikes with surprising regularity. In cold hotels with pristine sheets and dimmed table lamps.
You ask yourself if you’ve become predictable. Boring even.
You ask yourself if you’ve become predictable. Boring even.
You console yourself. You tell yourself that you’re a creature of habit. You hate change and it’s okay to play it safe and not be disappointed.
Why would you want a butter chicken stain on your white robe or fingers that smelt like naan all night?
Why would you want a butter chicken stain on your white robe or fingers that smelt like naan all night?
There’s a knock on the door.
“Room service”
You adjust your robe, hide the dangling bits and open the door.
The trolley rattles in. Wearing a steel cloche like a crown. The plates are warm, the silverware is frigid and the napkin is starched.
“Room service”
You adjust your robe, hide the dangling bits and open the door.
The trolley rattles in. Wearing a steel cloche like a crown. The plates are warm, the silverware is frigid and the napkin is starched.
You feel like a king. An emperor.
You open the vial of ketchup with a clack and use the knife to scoop it all out.
And as you take the first bite, you are wary of that toothpick.
You wipe your mouth on the napkin. Unashamedly. Ketchup stains soiling the white.
You open the vial of ketchup with a clack and use the knife to scoop it all out.
And as you take the first bite, you are wary of that toothpick.
You wipe your mouth on the napkin. Unashamedly. Ketchup stains soiling the white.
And once you’re done, you’re happy that you ordered what you did.
Even though it wasn’t a particularly great sandwich. The toasted bread scratched the roof of your mouth. It became sloppy at the end and your robe has crumbs.
Even though it wasn’t a particularly great sandwich. The toasted bread scratched the roof of your mouth. It became sloppy at the end and your robe has crumbs.
But it made you feel comfortable. And the pomp made you feel posh.
The room is finally cleared and you tuck into the tight sheets. The tv remote beckons.
The room is finally cleared and you tuck into the tight sheets. The tv remote beckons.
