I’ve never been the type to let lack of knowledge get in the way of getting a job done and eating at this authentic Indian restaurant was no exception. Malaysia, known for its multiculturalism, is heavily influenced by Indian culture so, of course, I had to indulge in the cuisine. As I sat on the second floor of the Betel Leaf and peruse an array of vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes offered on the menu, I went right past my go-to chicken tikka masala. “Not today, you basic bitch!” I thought to myself. (I was hangry at the time, hence the aggressive word choice directed at myself.)

There in the restaurant, without wifi to look up any of the foods, and at the mercy of my own hangry-ness, I ordered thali and sukumali coffee. (I have no idea how to pronounce any of these, thank goodness this isn’t an auditory blog.)

It turns out that thali refers to the metal plate the actual dish is served on, and the idea is that one plate serves 6 different flavors. In South Indian style, each flavor is served in katoris (small bowls). I also learned that “unlimited thali” exists and I must find out where. I learned all this only after my restaurant experience, when I returned to the hostel that had wifi. At the time of eating however, I was at a complete loss of what was placed in front of me.

Was this a soup or a sauce? Was I supposed to use the spoon to distribute the rice? Why were there two types of breads, one crunchy and one soft, and would it be inappropriate to combine them to make the perfect sandwich; the top hard shell for my gleaming canines, the bottom a soft bed for my molars to gnaw on?

I could feel onlookers’ eyes on me as I tried to navigate my way through the meal. “Is that person sipping the kootu sauce from the katori like it’s soup,” the restaurant owner would think, glancing over to at me in disgust. Mothers would force their children to avert their eyes as I clumsily dip one half of my bread in the poriyal and the other half in the dahi, munching on it greedily. “You see,” they’d whisper to their young ones, “that’s what happens when you grow up in the US.” I was a lesson to be learned from. Uncultured swine. A spectacle to behold.

“Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering what dish you ordered? It looks delicious,” a fellow restaurant patron approached me while I enjoyed my not-coffee-more-like-spiced-chai-tea coffee.

I blushed. This poor woman had mistaken me for someone who knew what they’d just shoved down their gob. But she wasn’t entirely wrong in her assumption. It was, indeed, delicious. I blushed again when I realized I couldn’t even pronounce the name of the dish and embarrassingly I asked her to bring her menu over so I could point to it on the page.

Later I looked up how to actually eat Indian food and I can tell you now I basically did the opposite of everything I was supposed to.

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Lesson: No, eating at that all-you-can-eat Indian food buffet once does not make you an expert.