We ordered Shimlas, our bellies rattling like a pair of maracas in a Santana solo. It was one of those days where a salad just wouldn’t cut it. We were hunting for meatier game, something with a bit more grit. And boy, did Shimlas deliver! Eventually anyway…..as Uber Eats were a bit flaky.
I ordered the chicken donner kebab, nestled gently in the fluffiest naan bread you ever did see. And when that bad boy hit my taste buds, it was like a symphony of culinary joy – think Mozart, but if Mozart was a chicken spinning on a vertical spit. It was a masterpiece of moist, delectable chicken, seasoned to perfection with what I can only assume were magical spices imported from a far-off kingdom. This kebab didn’t just walk the walk, it talked the talk, samba-ed the samba and possibly even moonwalked.
Now, the chips, ah the chips, that’s a slightly different sonnet. They were…how can I put this delicately…the Tito to the chicken’s Michael Jackson. Yes, they were present, they were part of the band, but no one’s buying tickets just for Tito. They were the stoic background dancers to the Beyonce of my kebab. Not terrible, mind you. They played their starchy role, but they were no prancing prima ballerinas. They were more like the third string understudies on a midweek matinee. There, but not quite all there, if you catch my drift.
In conclusion, Shimlas, I salute you. You took my hunger by the reins and guided it through the wild plains of Deliciousville. For the kebab, you deserve a standing ovation and possibly a dedicated fan club. As for the chips, let’s just say, next time I’m going full Beyonce – no Destiny’s Child. Until then, keep spinning that magic chicken, Shimlas. You’ve got this reviewer hooked!
