The Royal Indian Mounted Police may live on another continent but I am vigilant, constantly looking over my shoulder to see if I’m about to be swatted or reprimanded in some way for code violations. This was an exquisite Indianish dinner. Chicken thighs marinated in lime pickle (limes from my lime tree, pickle that I made myself) and pulihora, a rice dish made with chaunk, and some raita made with ho-made yogurt.
I think it was good. The table went silent when we started eating which is a good sign but I was nervous nonetheless. One never knows when the authorities will swoop in and kick up a ruckus.
