I want to love Baba Palace because they were so sweet to me. I dropped in on my walk home from work one evening — I really do need to walk home more — knowing there was no food at home and I really should feed myself. I knew Baba’s was an Indian and Pakistani place, and I am a fan of all things Indian and Pakistani. But there on the menu — all over the menu — is falafel and stuff. And you might know I like my falafel too. So I was a little confused and conflicted, but after talking it over with the guys at the counter, they suggested a chicken dish from the Indian/Pakistani menu. Honestly, I have no idea what sort of chicken dish it was. I thought they said Chicken Masala, but it was like no Chicken Masala I’ve ever had so maybe my memory is out of whack.
That’s a joke, by the way.
And then it was time for me to go and get my food. (Baba’s offers counter-service only, apparently.) I must apologize to my nail technician who was on the other end of my garlic naan bread breath approximately 45 minutes after my visit to Baba’s. Sorry! The chicken was good. It wasn’t bad. It was like eating someone’s grandmother’s food. You just can’t say no to it, you know? It’s hard to point at faults because the guy behind the counter — Baba himself?? — was just so darned sweet and wanted me to like my food so badly.
The Verdict. Sigh.