Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day (cleanskies) wrote,
Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day

the restaurant dream

Looking outside, it seems the perfect weather to be reviewing garden Shakespeare (my plan for this evening) but I digress:

I dreamed that a crowd of us were going to a restaurant that did really special food, from an unfamilar area of India (North North East?). It was called the Azeeza, which at first I heard as the Aziz (the poshest Indian on Cowley Road - official) and so for a bit I thought it was going to be one of theirs. But we got there and it was very different, in décor and demeanour. The sun had a dusty brightness, and the driveway and parking area were dusty and worn, and so was the building. It felt like a place that had been there forever; that simply was. We were shown to a private lounge, with low benches covered in striped fabric around the walls. We were brought appetisers, but I didn't eat; I just wanted to relax and soak up the atmosphere and perform those usual dream actions that always seem to be clamouring for attention (explore a side tunnel, have vividly experienced but poorly remembered conversations with familiar/unfamiliar people, try to find the party when you've lost it, climb a staircase). The second course came in; a cone of crisp bread filled with crispy fried vegetables. It looked delicious, and I indicated I would have some after other people (I was still not hungry). The restaurateurs were also electronic musicians, and had a room next door set up with instruments. Other people from the party went to play; I listened, and wandered, and looked at the view, over hills which seemed like England but somehow more tropical. As the evening deepened I became hungry, and went to look for the starters. They had long since been tidied away. But then we were called to the main course, which was outside. There was a table covered with pickles and more of the crisp flatbreads, cut into small pieces. But the main food was a huge bunch of different kinds of pods and tubers and other long vegetables hanging from what looked like a washing line. You had to pull them down and peel them apart with your hands (our hosts mimed the actions). I selected an unpromising looking long yellowish thing and pulled it down. It was roasted, and the perfect temperature for the warm evening. Inside, the flesh was buttery and sweet with a tang like fresh herbs and mild spices, wonderfully satisfying and instantly filling. For all the food I had missed, I would not go hungry. I felt instantly grateful; that the food had been so good, the people so good, and everything so accommodating to the distracted dreamer.

Some may have reconstructed from the echoes that timscience and I went to the Hayward gallery and were locked in for the night and left at the mercy of two (thankfully benign) robot beds. It was an interesting night, but I'm still digesting the experience and will talk about it later.

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