Green

The stairs lead downstairs, and the sidewalk above slopes perpendicular to the steps, downwards to my left. This street, the one I just crossed, has many vehicles, cars that speed up, motorcycles that wind and turn, even bicycles. There are always many more vehicles, both going down the slope and coming up, when you are hungry.

Stepping in, after walking in a door held open by a guard, wearing a dark green outfit, thick black belt, dusty black nepali topi- the hard kind, not the dhaka one. He salutes.

Inside, it is green. Green walls, green window frames, a darker green line about three fourths the way up all the walls and pillars. There are picture frames on the walls, golden frames. Pink lining between the frame and the picture, which is a painting. Birds, done in water colors- some pecking up, some looking down. Evenly spaced and on all sides.

The tables here are brown, and look like paneled floors- thick, and with a thin wooden wooden strip on all sides. The strip looks newer than the rest of the table- this is an old place, maybe fifteen years. But popular. The meals are served on beige plates,which are more brown than gray. They have a green border, and have the logo on it too, to one side. A round logo.

The tea cups are also typical. They have been copied all over this city. Beige, with a green border at the lip, sitting on a saucer which is the same color, and has a green line touching the rim, all the way around. The cup is neither tall nor fat. Just right. Porcelain, I think.

The tables have now been scratched up with the notes of lovers, teens, and who knows who. They are discolored now, and look worn. The table and the chairs are connected. Wooden chairs sitting on metal poles, connected with a painted steel frame on the ground to the table top also on a steel pole. The chairs don't move and you don't usually see the metal frame.

They bring the water first, always. Thick glasses, wider at the top than the bottom. The water is never cold, but just so- almost warmish. But before the water comes the napkin which is also beige and almost looks dirty. And wrapped inside is a fork and knife. The waiter wears pink, a green checkered bowtie, green vest, green pants, and the black topi. Short. Sometimes, they are even deaf.

To my left are windows, but the view is not clear. Lots of trees, bushes and leaves. Along this wall, at the end of the windows, the kitchen begins- white clad cooks mulling about inside. The food has arrived now. A steaming plate of meat wrapped in dough, twisted at the top, very hot. About 12 per plate. This is also distinctive. One plate usually means 10.

Looking out in the distance to the right, and upwards, people walk by. You can see their legs. Or if they are short, more of their body. The eyes move to the food now. I can taste it without eating. I am not sure how much of the taste comes from the yellow achar, served in a small steel bowl, and how much from the dumplings themselves. The Momos here are juicy, but you don't get the juices unless you can put it in your mouth in one go. The other option is to bite a little off, suck the juice out and then dip into the achaar and eat the rest at your own leisure. Time to eat now.