Curry and Beer: A Love Affair

I had a lovely curry with a couple of mates last night at the Mother India in Glasgow.

This is my first curry during "no alcohol January" (my annual period of abstinence, imposed in the vain belief that it will help me live until the age of 143, thus allowing me to achieve all of the things I could have achieved if I hadn't spent the first 43 years of my life eating cheese and spending too much time on the internet).

The first curry in January is a significant test of will power, for - just as peaches love cream and as surely as Torville needs Dean - there is nothing like a lager to go with a curry. As a man who likes a beer, I can heartily confirm, that the best beer in the world is the first pint of lager at a curry house. It is, in fact, the platonic ideal of beer. There, in its sensuous cold loveliness, beads of condensation running down the smooth surface of the glass. Irresistable.

Almost irresistable. Except to a man of iron will. Like myself. I had a diet coke.

A diet coke.

A diet coke. Whilst every other selfish curry guzzling glutton gulped down pint after pint of Cobra. Smiling. Like they were enjoying it.

I had a diet coke. Did I mention that?