We keep eating at Namaste because the food is so good, and because it’s impossible to get a seat at Lotus of Siam anymore. Three times in the last month we’ve driven to Commercial Center (on Monday and Tuesday nights), and seen a line out the door at Lotus, while this food goes begging for customers. (note: Omh Singh, we just found out, is no longer at Namaste.)
And we’d be less than honest if we didn’t mention that, as happy as we are for Saipin and Bill Chutima and their staff, it’s somewhat disheartening to see cab after cab deposit wave after wave of half-drunk turistas in front of Lotus (lots of beefy conventioneers with women who’ve seen too much “Sex and the City” – still swishing their cocktails as they stumble from the taxi in their nineties hair and spiky heels) and watch them stagger into Lotus because someone back home knows someone who told them that they heard from somebody who read somewhere that this little joint in Vegas was the greatest Thai restaurant in the country.
Yeah, it kinda pisses us off, the same way it does when we’re at a wine party with some true oenophilic aficionados and someone breaks out a Maya ’97, Pichon-Lalande ’82 or J. J. Prum ’70 Trockenbeerenauslese and some half-in-the-bag nimrod or nouveau-riche floozy insists on a taste and then pours a big friggin’ glass of the stuff for themselves and drinks it like it’s f*cking soda pop while shouting in a drunken slur: “This is AMAZING!” or “This is F*CKING AWESOME dude!” even though THEY DON’T HAVE THE SLIGHTEST F*CKING IDEA ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH WHAT THEY’RE F*CKING TASTIING!@#!@#$%*&*
But I digress.
Namaste is all that and a bag of chips when it comes to top drawer Indian food, and just like Lotus, it deserves to be mobbed by the know-nothing, mob-following, half-potted hoi polloi.