* Well, that was short-lived. Apparently, the staff kept saying Mina had gone back to Bangladesh when really she was setting up shop at Angon in the E. Village. Mina is now shuttered due to months of rent non-payment and who knows what else. (8/20/04)
I threw up in my hat minutes after eating here, though I don't know that it was Mina's fault since I did have a pounding headache prior to entering the restaurant. But it's hard not to let the aftermath taint the dining experience. And what an experience it was. I'd heard how idiosyncratic a place this was, small staff, small kitchen, every dish different every time ordered, long waits for food, forgetful service, etc. The sort of quirks that tend to plague places revered by people in the know food-wise. I could deal. At least I thought so, but after almost an hour with no food and everyone around us antsy because they were also empty-tabled, I started to get nervous. And my stomach was starting to hurt, out of hunger I figured. And everything I tried ordering: a fish dopiaza, then a goat curry, not to mention anything made with eggplant, they were out of. I'm so easygoing when it comes to dining, particularly at the lower end of the price spectrum, I'm not going to bust anyone's balls over $6.95. But all the events would've driven a diner with average expectations bonkers. I honestly couldn't tell you what we ended up eating because by that point I was feeling very ill. There was some meat, some somosas and some rice. It's a blur. All I know is that by the time we made it the block to the car I felt sicker than I have ever felt in my life, no exaggerating. I've never been that sweaty, nauseous and consumed by severe head pain (and I'm used to migraines). This wasn't a migraine, it felt like a tumor was trying to free itself from my brain. So, yes, we made it all through back streets twisting from Woodside to Carroll Gardens (we had the darndest time finding the BQE) and made it to the industrial borderlands of Columbia St. before I lost my dinner (and probably my lunch). The amusing part (thought not at the time) was how earlier that week James told me he didn't like this particular winter hat, and I was like fuck that, I'm going to wear it more now just to spite you. But full of Indian-spiced spinach, there was no way that wooly barf bag was going back on my head. This wretched retching went on all night long. I was totally poisoned. But like I said, it couldn't have been from Mina because I was already starting to fade when we initially sat down. So, I don't want to write Mina off, but it might take me a little convincing for a return visit.
Mina * 48-11 43rd Ave., Sunnyside, NY