Things seemed to be going well. Well in the way that the days passed with ease and adequate happiness. I felt that this was one of those times I would look back upon with a mixture of envy and wonder, whenever it was that I once again majorly fucked everything up. It was only a matter of time.

In the afternoon half of me was inclined to do something productive and the other half was similarly inclined to drink a glass of wine and noodle around on the internet.

An hour or so later, the wine had piqued my appetite and with much aplomb I set out on foot for Grill Me in Jhamsikhel. Grill Me is one of those residential houses that, with the addition of a sliding door and some cumbersome furniture, has been transformed into an awkward restaurant that looks like a kinky timber baron’s submarine. There were a number of unnecessary fires that, I surmised, might give us some clues as to the curious name of the place. This evening, however, ‘Smoke Me’ might have been more appropriate.

I ordered a lemon soda, another glass of wine, and meat. The lemon soda came out more like a lemon soda poodle. The wine came in a massive glass – the kind of thing that would make a fine home for a goldfish. The waiters swam around like some clean-cut breed of storks. The meat was meaty and satisfying, and the bill was something akin to that of the Nepal space program.

I walked back home with less goodwill than I had when the evening began. Perhaps it was the tiny puddle of wine in the massive glasses, perhaps it was just Jhamsikhel screaming on a hopeless Saturday night. More likely it was the contrived lemon soda, trimmed and preened into a pink shadow of its normally wolfish self.

Overall Score: