Living off curry for a week is not a good idea

National Curry Week might have come to a close, but sadly certain parts of my body have not.

As I write this mounted on my porcelain throne, I find myself questioning my life choices. One of these would be “why did I agree to live on curry for a week to celebrate National Curry Week?” I’m also praying to high heaven the girl I’m crushing on doesn’t see this story in her Facebook newsfeed later, or it’s game over for me.

My past self would claim “curry is my favourite food, I have at least three a week”, and I also wanted to do this because I thought it’d be a cakewalk from day to day. Afterall, curry is my favourite food. Well, was…

Day One

I ease myself in with a gentle Lamb Rogan Josh. Everything normal so far: no bad stomach, no burning tongue, just a normal dinner experience. But my parents soon learn of the challenge I’ve taken, and they think it’s funny to buy me a Chinese beef curry 10 minutes after I’ve eaten the first. In the spirit of a true student I never turn anything down I can have for free, so I scoffed that slightly coagulated bad boy down and went to sleep, lying on my back to avoid the pain from overfeeding myself.

What even are these?!

Day Two

Onto a Chicken Jalfrezi to start my morning before boarding the train to uni. The walk to the station was fine within itself, but it’s only when you’re sitting next to a complete stranger you are aware of how much gas you’re capable of passing between stops. Safe to say I had the carriage to myself for most of the way there, and on the way back as well. I knew deep down in my gut trouble was coming, and it was going to come soon.

I never thought I’d grimace while eating the food of the gods

Day Three

I decided upon taking up this task I’ll vary the types of curry I’ll be punishing myself with over the week, from microwave garb to Indian takeaway quality. The big mistake was amping up the spice levels each day, falling into the classic alpha male trap of ordering the Vindaloo in front of his friends and family to seem like the big dog, only to find himself pinned down by his arse on toilet for an entire morning.

This time I decided to strategically place my curry consumption mid-afternoon, so I only have to eat in one sitting and I’ll feel full before going to sleep. Out comes the King Prawn Pathia.

I’m not even sure that this was actually beef

Day Four

Out comes the King Prawn Pathia again and everything I’ve ever eaten in my life ever. I miss the first train to Birmingham, so I awkwardly penguin walk to the next platform, only to find myself struck by the need to use the toilet, again. Ah, the dreaded train toilets. Nothing like trying to hover yourself over a urine spatted seat as the libration and vibration of the train make a most unhappy marriage.

A brief reprieve was found in the guise of a prawn Balti, and later a chicken Bhuna – #MildCurryLove.

It looked the same on the way out

Day Five

The worst of it was over. No need to go to university, just sit in bed with a hot water bottle and pray to God I don’t make the house bathroom look like THAT scene from Slumdog Millionaire. Lamb Karahi, easy.

This also looked the same on the re-entry

Day Six

The calm before the storm. I decided to go big and order from my local Indian Takeaway, aptly named Curry Club. In comes the starter, a Lamb Chaat (also aptly named), and a Lamb Tikka Madras. I decided, much to my mistake, to wash this down with a can of Monster. Thus the seeds were sown. Pro tip: don’t mix energy drink and spicy curry.

Too much

Day Seven

Delhi belly hits hard, and fast. For the remainder of the day I’m incapacitated by my foolish short sightedness. Suddenly my dissertation doesn’t seem so important, the thought of failing my third year modules are a welcome reprieve. I’ve put on half a stone, broken out in spots, and have the gaunt expression of Skeletor.

But in memory of Ryan Dunn and the true jackass spirit, I buy myself a Vindaloo and pray I don’t end up in the ER from third degree burns to my sphincter.

Yummy

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil

Now I’m here, perched precariously on the toilet seat with the words “Armitage Shanks” printed backwards on the small of my back, feeling the cold ceramic kiss against my buttocks, gazing down into the liquid abyss, and wondering where it all went wrong. To add insult to injury, I’ve been invited out later this week by The Tab team for a curry night. Luckily, I’m going on a date that evening, so bullet dodged.

Like all things in life, the most joyous things are best when they’re savoured. By all means, have more than one curry a week (they’re relatively cheap from the local store), but not every night. You CAN have too much of a good thing.

Was it worth it though? YES.