My first ruby in America, Providence, RI, September 2011

I had been craving a ruby murray ever since I knew I had booked my flight back to the civilised country. Unfortunately due to the intestinal cleansing caused by curries and the tight flight schedules I did not manage to tuck into Britain's national dish.

I persuaded G-Force to join my revolution in the same way Basil Faulty persuaded a knackered Spaniard, a slow German and an unknown Brazilian to join the Arsenal. It was a knee jerk reaction. We drove to Rasoi with me salivating like a Republican Baptist in a wafer factory. There was seating outside - a rather upmarket curry house I thought. Anyway, we sat at our table and perused the menu. One Taj Mahal (lager) please. Nice one. One thing about the interior that caught my eye was an island/bar thing in the middle of the dining room. I couldn't work out what it was meant to be. A quick stop eating area? But no one was eating there. People were just standing around. A bar then? But there was no bar staff and I couldn't see any booze. It was as perplexing as watching The England at stupid o'clock in the Rugby World Cup.

After persuading G-Force to do it English style, I ordered the chicken vindaloo and G-Force the chicken biryani. After engaging in some prepradial banter about how the England cricket team made chutney out of the Indians to be the number one Test team in il mundo, we were served our respective dishes. I could instantly tell that my vindaloo had more tomato than a Heinz factory as the aroma wafted into my nostrils. I was worried with my first bite. Outside I was as cool as a cucumber ready to neutralise any capsaicin induced defaulting, but inside I was sweating like a rogue UBS banker on Facebook. I was relieved and also disappointed. The heat did not even touch the sides. There was more heat from an X-Factor panel than from this limp vindaloo. It was more tomato soup than a New Dheli (belly) cleanser. The lentils that came with it was amazing though. Creamy but rough with just enough magic Indian spice to make it IPL rather than Friends Provident t20. The Force's biryani was the standout. Just looking at it made me lust for it like an alleged sober rugby player and a blonde 'family friend'. This was biryani at its best. Not overly dry but not sloppy like an Arsenal back four. It had a superstar quality like an Indian batting line up except that this did not disappoint. The caramalised onion juxtaposed the bland almost generic spiciness with a dash of electricity to raise this biryani to the next level.

The Ho Down says: I will be back to order the biryani quicker than a Zara Phillips inquest.