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Cheap Eats
By Dan Leone
Ghosht story THIS IS NOT an obituary. As my beloved buddy Brad pointed out more than once over lunch, he's not dead. He's moving to Denmark .... Death. Denmark. –Death. Denmark. The stand-up comedian in all of us might be tempted to leave it at that, but I am practically obliged to carry it further. Beyond ha-ha. Beyond ho-hum. Beyond who-what-when-where and how-much-it-costed. You see, I've got a word count to consider, and only so much to say about Al Hamra Pakistani and Indian Restaurant on 16th near Valencia (pretty cheap). Whereas death ... Whereas Denmark ... But Brad doesn't believe in death, he told me over pappadam at Al Hamra. Don't quite recall how we'd gotten onto the subject, but it sure did make me uncomfortable. This not-believing-in-death business, it starts to sound a little too much like spirituality, which begins to remind one of religion, and then the next thing you know you've got suicide bombers, Bible Belts, Gaza Strips, and God's favorite football team. Whereas if we could just all start facing the fact of death as death, people as people, Dallas Cowboys as Dallas Cowboys, and the New York Yankees as the epitome of everything that's fucked-up about the universe ... Where was I? Oh, but I know where Brad was coming from. He doesn't believe in death. That's cool, coming from such a finely tuned philosophical head as his, so I spared him the rant and just said, "Brad, that's funny," I said. "That's very interesting, because I don't believe in Denmark." No, he was serious, he said. I don't remember what he ordered. Something vegetarian with spinach in it, like sag paneer ($5.99). I got a tandoori chicken leg ($3.50) and bindi ghosht ($5.99). He said that death is only really death to the living; he knows this, that when you die your consciousness carries on in some other form, in some other plane or realm. "Such as Denmark," I guessed. Brad's going to Denmark. Went to Denmark, by the time this hits the street. His wife is going to grad school there to learn how to deliver babies. (How ironic is that?) A four-year program. Then, according to Brad, he'll be back. "So let me get this straight," I said. "When you die and go to Denmark, you're not really dead. So not dead that you can just ... come back? You believe this? You believe in life after Denmark?" "I don't believe in death," he said. I do. I think that life is meaningless enough without pulling away its one sure thing. Without any actual ultimate ending, the past just piles up and the future never stops calling. Shut the fuck up and leave me be, sayeth Lord Exister. Whose alter ego, the Cheap Eats Guy, really very thoroughly enjoyed his bindi ghosht. That's the lamb curry with okra. Coulda used maybe a little more lambs in it, but, hey ... The naan was good. The rice was good. And the chicken leg kicker was OK – just a wee bit heavy on whatever seasoning they season those chickens with before they go into the clay oven. Now Brad has been Al Hamra-ing me for months now. That's how much he loves (loved) the place. I hated to burst his bubble, but now that he's dearly departed, I don't mind saying that selling me on Al Hamra was a doomed idea from the get-go, just like the old Indian Burial Grounds Real Estate Company. I rode all the way down there on my bike, chained it up out front, and turned and saw the number over the door of the place: 3083. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood tall, and the big curly ones on my ears sent bolts of head lightning from one side to the other. Jesus H. Christ, 3083 16th St.? Here stood the Sincere Cafe! Ten years ago I'd have been inside, eating fish and chips for $2.99. Five years ago I'd have refused to review a restaurant that dared to enter into business on the premises. I'd argued for a memorial: a building-sized sandwich-board tombstone saying simply: Fish & Chips, $2.99. Poor Al Hamra. They didn't know. Probably most people who live in the Mission these days don't remember the Sincere Cafe. Or do and didn't like it. Probably many people consider good, reasonably priced Pakistani and Indian food in a nice, bright room with a colorful mural along one wall and mirrors on the other ... I don't know, an actual improvement over mostly bad, supercheap Chinese and American grub in a dank, fluorescent-lit dive. Let go, Danny Boy. Al Hamra Pakistani and Indian Restaurant. 3083 16th St. (at
Valencia), S.F. (415) 621-3935. Daily, 11:30 a.m.-11 p.m. Takeout available.
No alcohol. American Express, MasterCard, Visa. Wheelchair accessible.
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