Audio By Carbonatix
If Frank and I had ever dated, our first date would have been the time he invited me to eat real, honest-to-goodness Taiwanese food in Richardson. I’ve been a Chinese-and-related food hater for most of my life, with the exception of this one vegetarian place in L.A. where I haven’t been since 1990. Still, against my better judgment, every couple of years I jump at the chance to try some “real” East Asian food, hoping it’ll be different this time.
That time with Frank, it was.
It was in Richardson, and everyone there was Taiwanese. But it was fried chicken. Yep. Not kidding. The menu was in Taiwanese and everything, but the items on it were some noodle soups, fried chicken and French fries. I remember Frank shrugging and saying something that seemed too obvious to be real: that people in Taiwan really do eat fried chicken just like this.
That was something like seven years ago, over the course of which Frank has morphed into the guru of Richardson (at least in my estimation). If, as he likes to say, Richardson is to Dallas what Queens is to New York City–namely, where you go to get saris or money transfers or cheap, awesome, authentic ethnic food–then he is my “in,” my guy who knows every hole-in-the-wall Bengali place and hookah joint. On a hot, quiet Tuesday night, we decided to meet at Dosa Café in Bukhara Grill.
I arrived early and there was no one there, so I ambled up to the
cash register and asked the Indian man behind it if any of the curries
were dairy-free.
“No cream, no milk, no eggs, no butter, no ghee,” I explained, just
to be sure. He stared at me for half a second, then disappeared into
the kitchen behind him. A moment later, he emerged with another man,
this one clad in a black apron. They conferred, and then the man with
the apron pointed to a tomato-based curry on the menu.
“This,” he said, nodding at me. “You can have goat.”
“No, no meat either!” I said, and I think I must have looked a
little panicked, because the first guy scurried back into the kitchen
to invite another man into our discussion. Together, the first two
explained the dilemma to third.
“Ahh!” he said, his face lighting up in sudden comprehension. “The
vegan! You want the vegan!” (Only he pronounced it “wee-gun.”) I was
elated! Understood, at last! They conferred again, and then reported
back: They would make me a special red curry with all the vegetables. I
grinned–but then, ever my foible, I pushed my luck.
“Naan?” I asked in a small voice. I’d been left alone with the man
in the apron, who shook his head mournfully and explained that it had
cream. I asked about pakora, and he disappeared into the back,
returning with the news that I could indeed eat pakora, and also the
samosas. I ordered both, but Apron Man tried to dissuade me. It would
be too much! (Corollary: I represent the obesity epidemic, and
everything that’s wrong with America!) But I promised to take some of
it to go, which visibly pacified him. All told, it wasn’t cheap, but it
wasn’t too bad, either–$21, including the surprisingly delicious cup of
coffee I ordered after the meal.
Frank ordered papri chaat, an appetizer made with fried chips
covered in yogurt, chutney and chickpeas, and a red curry with paneer.
(For all you non-vegan vegetarians, he said it was excellent.)
My personalized curry was good, but not mind-blowing–especially
because I’d ordered it spicy, and it wasn’t…but then maybe Apron Man
was just looking out for me–although well-spiced and thick. What the
curry lacked in fire came through in the pakora, where whole
battered-and-fried Thai chilies hid themselves in with the onions and
potatoes–surprise! The samosas were small and flavorful, with perfectly
crunchy outsides and hot, delicious spiced potatoes within, and served
with a sweet tamarind chutney and a spicy mint sauce. The service
(Apron Man…and I’m considering writing a superhero comic about him) was
attentive without ever being intrusive; sadly, that was fairly easy
with only four people, counting us, in the restaurant.
The décor consists of blue walls with a couple of small tapestries;
the music shifted not-so-seamlessly between Spanish guitar and
something like trance; none of it mattered. This place–or maybe just
Apron Man–totally won me over. If you go, and if you start to explain
that you want some curry with nothing in it but vegetables, just know
that Apron Man’s got your back.
Dosa Café
955 East Campbell Road, Richardson
972-437-1519
