Embarking on our journey back to Boston, we stumbled upon the illustrious India Restaurant nestled along Hope Street in Providence. Enthralled by its lofty 4.8-star rating and an army of nearly 6,000 reviewers singing its praises, we braced ourselves for a gastronomic extravaganza of legendary proportions. Oh, how naive we were.

The façade of the establishment exuded an air of grandeur, complete with valet parking and an inviting ambiance. We were greeted with warmth and ushered to a table with a view of the outdoors, setting the stage for what we foolishly believed would be an epicurean adventure for the ages.

Alas, dear reader, our hopes were dashed upon the rocky shores of culinary disappointment as we delved into the heart of the matter: the food.

Opting for vegetarian fare, we were coerced into trying the chana masala, a dish that turned out to be a tragic mockery of its authentic counterpart. Frozen chickpeas languished in a lackluster pool of tepid spices, leaving our taste buds yearning for the vibrant flavors we had anticipated.

But let us not overlook the libations that accompanied this culinary misadventure. The virgin piña colada, a beacon of hope in a sea of mediocrity, proved to be nothing more than a tasteless slushy masquerading as a tropical delight. A complaint led to a replacement, which, to our dismay, was even worse—a watery abomination that defied all expectations.

And what of the mango lassi, you ask? Ah, the mango lassi, that supposed bastion of Indian refreshment. Yet, it too fell short of its mark, offering little more than a lukewarm embrace of mediocrity, devoid of the fresh vibrancy one would expect.

But fear not, dear reader, for amidst this culinary wasteland, a lone hero emerged: the paneer sheesh kabab. Adorned with a side of mushy, cold, and utterly revolting salad, and accompanied by potatoes reminiscent of those found within the humble samosa, the paneer sheesh kabab stood tall as a testament to fleeting moments of flavor in an otherwise barren landscape.

As we bid adieu to this den of dashed dreams, we were presented with unroasted fennel seeds—a final insult to our palates, if ever there was one. In conclusion, India Restaurant, with all its accolades and acclaim, proved to be nothing more than a culinary charade, a mirage of flavor amidst a desert of disappointment. Heed our cautionary tale, dear reader, and steer clear of this gastronomic abyss lest you too fall victim to its tantalizing facade.