We were aimlessly walking the beach one night, and we kinda took pity on the mildly sycophantic owner who looked pleadingly at us to join us in his shack. We should have known better, as we were the only customers all evening, and to that end we’d broken our golden rule of only eating where other diners are in evidence!

The place was dimly lit, and the menu was almost impossible to read (thankfully we were carrying a torch, which made the job a little easier). Plastic tablecloths advertising kingfisher beers adorned the plastic garden tables. We originally sat in comfortable wicker chairs, but opted for the higher plastic garden chairs to give us a better height for eating from–it’s hard work when you have to peer over the side of the table from a lowly position! The odd, low-wattage lightbulb hung from the raffia roof, and a tear in the plastic tarpaulin gave us a tantalising glimpse of the star filled sky above us. Tinsel and mock vegetation had been wound around the supporting bamboo struts (perhaps the remnants of Christmas celebrations!) and, in attempt to bring a touch of class, strategically placed potted plants were dotted around the shack’s interior.

I was eagerly awaiting our Onion Pakora starter and confirmed with my wife what a pleasurable experience eating on the beach can be. You just can’t beat the sound of the sea and the feel of fine talcum powder sand through your toes. It’s a magical experience that I’ll never cease to enjoy. The Pakoras arrived, and disappointingly we had to ask for serviettes (the way I eat Pakoras can be a messy business), which were promptly brought to us in a Kingfisher plastic serviette holder. There were a dozen round deep-fried battercakes, crammed with hot onion and accompanied by a great dip. This was surely a good start to the meal, and we sat back to enjoy the theatre of the beach whilst we drank our beer and awaited the main course. Unsuspecting tourists were hotly pursued by Thomas’ staff in an attempt to coerce them to eat there, and the lonely hawkers were aggressively seen off by the shack’s staff in an attempt to protect us from unwelcome harassment.

The meal arrived: Allo Mutter, vegetable biryani, and four chapattis. It looked great, but tasted very strange. The Mutter had a distinct and strange aftertaste, and the biryani smelt unpleasant in an indefinable way. We toyed with the food–ate a little, and then chewed on the chapattis (they were fine). But it was really too unpleasant to eat, and the waiter looked bewildered. We muttered something about not being too hungry, paid the bill, and escaped. The next day, Dehli Belly struck–courtesy of Thomas’ Beach Shack Restaurant. This was a dining experiences that would put anyone off eating in the primitive environment of a beach shack—this is a place to avoid!