Memory is a funny thing.  Have you ever experienced a meal at a restaurant that you found outstanding… one where the chef achieved what he or she set out to accomplish – you know, food made with love.  Then, you return to the same place and wonder what happened?

Well, there is an Indian restaurant in Suffern, NY called Priya that I used to frequent about 10 years ago.  I ate there on occasion, when my ex was working late, or busy (he didn't like Indian food).  Everything about this restaurant shined.  From the creamy, smooth mango lassis to the piping hot garlic nan.  The tandori chichen arrived as a bright red beacon on a sizzling hot plate, just bursting with flavor, yet retaining a moist juicy texture to the meat itself.

For whatever reason, I hadn't been back to the Indian restaurant in several years.  My life and patterns shifted with each new job, new home, new life change… before I knew it, five years went by since my last visit.  

This weekend, my cousin Michele and I decided to go to the Indian restaurant for dinner.  We arrived around 4:00pm on Sunday.  An Indian man seated us in a center table, near their beautiful wooden screens.  I looked around and quickly realized that we were the only people in the restaurant. 

We sat for some time before ordering our food.  I wanted to re-live my past experiences, so the two of us began with mango lassis, which were much thinner than I remembered.

Michele ordered a spiced spinach and cheese dish, and a curried chickpea dish that loosely resembled spicy falafel, while I ordered a goan shrimp curry and garlic nan.  The brought us the bread first.  I ripped a piece off from the cluster within the basket to find it warm, soft, but filled with powdered spices — like the pre-made spice mixes you would by from MCormick in the grocery store.  I tasted the bread and immediately noticed the absence of garlic.  A good garlic nan has big pieces of steaming hot garlic pouring from it's air pockets – this nan was bare.

I watched as two Indian men and a pregnant Indian woman entered the restaurant.  There were unusually quiet.  All three had a grim, solemn look to them and no one spoke.  The ordered quickly, and received their food as we were sitting with our nan.  

Our food finally arrived.  Both the chick pea and the shrimp dishes (coconut, ginger curried shrimp) came out in a similar-looking deep brown sauce.  The spinach dish looked rather dark – as though it had been cooked for a long time.
Our rice had the light fragrance of jasmine that I love from an Indian restaurant.  The shrimp were overcooked and tough while the curry had a strong coconut flavor to it, which almost redeemed it from the muddy mess on the plate in front of me.  The spinach dish had an undertone of pleasant and wonderful spices, which was dulled out from overcooking.

The other table had finished as we began our meal and by the time we were done, their table was cleaned – leaving no trace of their sullen existence.  

While Michele and I left feeling sated, my desire to re-experience a delicious Indian meal went unsatisfied.  So, now my search for good Indian food within Orange County, NY has begun.