I was dared to eat a Vindaloo and ended up in hospital
It was that or lose an eyebrow
Most people know Garam Massala on Cotham Hill for its BYOB policy and its admirable ability to tolerate riotous sports teams. However, I will forever remember it for the time I chose eating a Vindaloo over losing my eyebrows, and ended up in hospital.
I suffer from a severe nut allergy, making me one of those friends who always has to ask about the food on the menu and is cautious with certain cuisines. I have suffered with anaphylaxis my whole life, but have never before used the mysterious weapon I have to carry around, the EpiPen, until my Tuesday night at Garam.
I was “claimed” to order a Vindaloo at my friend’s birthday curry, so at the mercy of my eyebrow, I agreed. Although I didn’t ask the waiter to make sure my curry didn’t have nuts in it, I checked the ingredients online to make sure it wasn’t life threatening.
Midway through the meal, I started to feel like neo-Kylie Jenner/ Angelina Jolie, as my lips were slightly more puffy than usual. This usually happens to me when I eat curry, so I reassured everyone I would be fine and could definitely make it out to Lounge. If I’m being honest, I quite liked my new look. It was the perfect medium between looking like I was a character in the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” and Bruce Jenner.
Lounge at this point in the evening seemed irresistible, so we all staggered over to the Triangle for £1 VKs and a few shots of Toffee Vodka. After getting past the bouncers and waiting on the stairs in thorough anticipation to hear the best/worst Top 40 of the week, I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Initially I thought it was the sweat-polluted wave of air coming from Lounge, but then I realised it was the curry and I had to find my friend to take me to hospital.
I called a friend who hadn’t come out to the club with us and told her to call an ambulance. By the time I’d joined her to wait for it to arrive, my vision had blurred and I looked like Hitch after he ate shellfish.
While we waited I tried to get my friend to stab me with the Epipen but that only caused a lot of panic and confusion as we were all far too drunk to handle the situation.
Luckily the merry Bristolian paramedics soon arrived to cart me off to A&E and give me drugs to make me look less like Donatella Versace.
I was discharged the next morning, and had to do the weirdest walk of shame of my life all the way back to Stoke Bishop in the morning, wearing my clothes from the night before.
By the time I eventually got home, I’d realised something: maybe my eyebrow would have been a better sacrifice than a night in the Bristol Royal Infirmary.
A massive shout out to Georgia McGladdery and Ross Deuchars for coming to my rescue, and to Matt Simpson – Happy Birthday bud.