I am at home looking over the brink of a precipice, and I know that if I jump, there is no return. Let me clarify: My parents are watching the 2011 British Curry Awards on the telly.
Here is the 4-1-1 via their website (that’s right, big time): “This year’s British Curry Awards exceeded all expectations, and showed why this continues to be the most significant event of its kind on the spice industry calendar.”
Yes, you and me both didn’t know about them. But now we do, and are sworn to the opposite of secrecy.
It is everything you could dreamscape and more: tuxes, big spectacle of a theater, montage of the year’s advancements in curry and restaurant stemware, though surprisingly bland acceptance speeches considering everything the nominees have been through already (Try telling people you are a professional curry, just try! You’ll see, you’ll all see!)
Much to everyone’s horrified delight, in between awards distribution, there was a breakdance performance performed by what looked like a World Cup soccer team, which felt appropriately global. There was also a comedian who did a 45-SECOND set, during which he covered the injustice of fruit and the difficulty of cheese. Cruel network! The biggest upset of the night was that there was no Spice Girl Reunion against all odds.
One guest said it best: “How could you not enjoy an evening like this?” Truly, magically rhetorical.
And a personal plug here. Big ups to BEST CURRY IN THE SOUTHWEST: Spice Lodge in Chelton!!! I was rooting for you from the moment they announced you won!
That’s it for the breaking edge of spice reporting. Curry on, gentlefolks!