The pork? Fall-apart tender, having absorbed the curry’s dark soul. The potatoes? Sponges of spicy regret and joy.
If Dr. Vindaloo were an actual physician, their waiting room would smell like toasted cumin and smoked paprika, and their prescription pad would read: Take one bowl internally. Call me in the morning if you still have a pulse.
Is Dr. Vindaloo for everyone? Absolutely not. The faint of heart, the weak of stomach, or anyone who thinks black pepper is “spicy” need not apply. But for those seeking a euphoric near-death experience followed by a lingering endorphin glow—and maybe a glass of milk the size of a growler—this doctor makes house calls.
Here’s a review for the fictional dish or experience “Dr. Vindaloo” — written in the style of a critical food or culture review. Dr. Vindaloo: The Prescription Is Pain (and Flavor)
In a heartbeat. But I’m booking the appointment for a Friday night, so I have all weekend to recover.
Mango lassi, cold Kingfisher beer, or a handwritten will.