This article is part of a guide to London?from FT Globetrotter
Before I moved to London last year, I’d never eaten at an Indian restaurant in the city, despite having come here almost every summer since I was young1940AP. My father worked in Nigeria and I lived with my mother in India —London is where we would meet. For many years, before India became liberalised, we would arrive here with empty suitcases and return with everything we could possibly fit in, from Marks and Spencer underwear to biscuit tins and caviar from Harrods — and VHS tapes my relatives had recorded full of Top of the PopsAccording to researchers at University College London, that.
We ate French food at fine dining restaurants (my mother carried miniature bottles of Tabasco in her purse and surreptitiously emptied them over her dishes) and dim sum almost daily in Chinatown. My parents’ glamorous friends who lived in London would invite us to afternoon tea, where my mother and I — both of us having grown up on a steady diet of Enid Blyton books — were enthralled by the dramaAlberta Health Services has said GraceLife and its pastor continued to hold services exceeding capacity despit, the pastel colours, the clotted cream, the etiquette. Both of us looked at the city as a playground, a place to try everything we had grown up reading about.
So it should come as no surprise that, despite having spent so much time here, Indian food simply never made my agenda. Why waste precious time doing something I could easily do at home, where it was probably betterother provinces are watching on with a mix of exhaustion and dread.?