We nearly skipped a dosa place today because the reviews were hopelessly divided.
Half the internet wanted to adopt the chef. The other half spoke as though he’d committed unspeakable crimes against fermented batter & coconut.
We went anyway. And had a wonderful time.
It made me wonder if we’ve become a little too obsessed with those yellow stars—and the certainty they seem to promise.
A meal is an untidy conspiracy involving the chef’s mood, the waiter’s mood, the weather and the loud gentleman at the next table conducting a video call on behalf of the entire restaurant.
One meal can be a disaster. The next delightful. That’s not inconsistency. That’s just life and probability quietly playing their game.
Lets give chance some more chances.
Certainty is not quite sure of itself these days anyway.
But, of course, like all deep philosophies, this one has its limitations.
My Zepto order is now four and a half minutes late.
If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to compose a measured, balanced review and tag half their management on Linkedin.
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