I am a person that loves to eat. My family loves to eat. My friends love to eat. We all love Indian food. Not any more.
If I had the choice between repeatedly slammed in a fire-door whilst Joan Rivers stood by and offered advice, or eating at this restaurant again, I would choose the door/pretentious bitch hell. My order was bland and tasteless, whilst my best friend retched in horror and gasped for water as one of the dishes in his vegetable thali was spiced so excessively that if liquified, it could fuel an aging celebrity several times around a track, in a reasonably priced car. Then kill them hilariously in a ball of fire, as it would be 400% more flammable than rocket fuel.
The staff were dead in the eyes and served our orders late and inaccurately, taking the time to argue with us when we innocently raised concern that key parts of our meals were missing. Such as the curry.
The decor was something that the marquis d' Sade might have dreamt up, or perhaps his autistic cousin, with the same perverse leanings but the taste of a peasant. The carpet in the place should perhaps have been warning to us, almost inducing an epileptic fit in one of the more sensitive members of the group.
Every single aspect of the evening was ruined by the discourtesy of the staff, their general incompetence, and the complete disaster that was the food.
I cannot think of one redeeming feature of the restaurant, am just thankful that so far I haven't suffered any ill effects, although haven't yet had confirmation of the same from my friends. The only person I would recommend the Indian Paradise to would be LINDSAY LOHAN. They would deserve each other