Amber Indian Cuisine Gives the Burn

It's hard to find a great Indian restaurant in Madison these days. It's not that there's a shortage of Indian restaurants in Madison, or even that these restaurants aren't good. Many of them are quite nice, providing tasty food in a friendly atmosphere.

But because I am something of a perfectionist, I do not settle for what is simply a good restaurant. I want a great restaurant, and I am willing to go to many lengths in order to find this best of places in which to eat food.

It was a warm night in late February, and I had just come home from a Forensics tournament and wanted to go somewhere for dinner with the family. My mother had heard good things about an area restaurant, and we decided to give it a try. We arrived at Amber quickly and were immediately greeted and taken to our table.

I decided to order the chicken curry, while my dining companions ordered the Mixed Grill plate and vegetable curry, respectively. The food arrived promptly, although we still had plenty of time to comment on the fact that the decor had improved greatly since the building's past as a bad Chinese place and a bad Mexican place.

Here is a picture of the Mixed Grill plate. I was unable to get a picture of the other dishes, unfortunately.

The food was steaming hot when it arrived, and tasted delicious. The portion sizes were plentiful, so much so that there are now three take out boxes living in our refrigerator. The Mixed Grill plate included several shrimp, a few pieces of lamb, and chicken prepared both tandoori as well as marinated in spices and grilled. The plate provided an equal assortment of spice levels and flavors, and was the most popular at our table.

The curries were also delicious. The combination of spices in the sauce really added to the flavor, and the level of spice was right on, somewhere between mild and pleasantly painful. The chicken was tender, and the vegetables were well cooked.

All in all, the atmosphere was great, the service was friendly and helpful, and the food was wonderful. If you're looking for an exceptional Indian restaurant in the Madison area, I highly recommend Amber.

Amber Indian Cuisine

*rising, desperate laughter*

So instead of yelling at the stupid barista with his stupid white boy haircut in the way she would really like to, Chae shuts off the computer, stands, and starts gathering up her stuff. The barista goes back behind the counter, apparently mollified. He looks as though he’s a little afraid of her, which isn’t something she wants to discourage.

This is a fun paragraph in the thing because it's honestly the only snarky paragraph I've written so far that makes sense out of context. And, you know, I too would like to shout at the pretentious white boy baristas that tend to frequent your garden variety cafes. It's just like, no. We get that you're alternative, and far be it from me to criticize your life choices, but please just stop with that haircut. Please just stop.

And, you know, it's fairly indicative of the tone of this thing, which is my complete and utter disdain for anything and everything serious. I kid you not. I try and write angsty, serious stuff, and I fill it in with crappy jokes about baristas. I'm too snarky for this nonsense.

Also, I know exactly what the stupid haircut being referenced is. It's this one.



I hate this haircut so much. You literally look like a paintbrush, son.

Why Do You Write?

Why do I write? I don’t know, why do you breathe?

All sarcasm aside, I write because I have no other choice. And I don’t mean this in the nice It’s-a-requirement-for-a-class-so-I-guess-I’ll-just-have-to-suffer-through-it sort of way. I write because if I don’t write, I get distracted. I start tapping my feet against the cold metal legs of my desk, I click my pen, and my seat partner starts shooting me death glares from across the aisle. Writing is my way of calming myself, of winding down after a long, stressful day. I find it relaxing to worry about the problems of the characters instead of my own problems. (Yes, I consider worrying a form of relaxation.)

I write because it’s a way of escape. It makes me feel better about my own problems. I don’t have to worry about my APUSH test tomorrow, or the fact that I didn’t take notes in Astronomy, or that weird virus taking up 4 gigabytes of space (yes, really) on the hard drive of my laptop because in fiction, every problem can be solved. Everything has a solution that can be attained with hard work, grit, and a little derring-do. Personal flaws can be remedied, and happy endings are meted out fairly. The good are rewarded and the bad are punished. Everyone gets what they deserve.

Real life isn’t always that simple.

I write because in fiction, I can pour all my fears and doubts and insecurities onto paper and no one thinks twice. My demons are the foodstuff of good writing. There isn’t another form of expression that so readily accepts the insecurities of the creator. I can put all my problems on a sheet of paper, tie it up with a bow, and say, “Look at what I made.” Why do I write? Why do you have the right to ask that question? Why do I write? Because it’s the only way I know of telling myself that things aren’t always okay right now, but someday they will be. Someday things will be okay. And even if they’re not, it’s only a few more chapters until my very own happy ending.

Who Am I?

First of all, you're asking the wrong person. I am in no position to give an accurate estimation of my own identity/worth. I am incredibly biased in regards to my value as a person.

Also, have you considered that the question is incredibly flawed? What exactly do you think asking us who we think we are is going to do? This isn't the Breakfast Club. Call me cynical but I highly doubt your question is going to spark realizations about human nature and that we will all fix our fatal flaws and live happily ever after.

Real life is rarely so neat.

There are no picture perfect endings in life. The only ending is death, and that is rarely the happily ever after we seek.

Stories are an imperfect representation of what life is like, but maybe that's why we love them. In stories, everything hinges on one climactic moment, a decision that makes or breaks the world as we know it. Rarely are we ever faced with such a choice, and it is doubtful that we would have the strength to make the choices we adore protagonists for making.

Why do we love stories? Because we can be everything we've ever dreamed of being. We can be the heroes we admire and emulate, not knowing that we are the heroes of our own stories.

Why do we love stories? Because we know we are insignificant, and we know that we can be great.

What does this have to do with who I am as a person? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I frankly have no idea. This all just sort of...happened. Maybe it is because I too am afraid of my own insignificance. Maybe it is because I, too, want to be great.