And so it goes...

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a new era in dudes writing about food, or so we believe. What began as a partnership in gluttony (remember the Baked and Wired 28” Pizza challenge which the two of us, erm, annihilated) is now playing itself out to its logical conclusion, wherein we, Abbas and Pranav, go to our favorite food places and write about them. Since there has to be a name given to this partnership (because fuck, have you heard of dudes writing about food without getting their monikers in a twist?), we’ve decided to call ourselves, “Drunk On Petroleum”, after something one of our favourite authors, Kurt Vonnegut, wrote. We were going to be called something serious and refined, maybe bordering on self-congratulatory even, but decided not to pander to these false notions of grandiosity of who we are. Of course, there’s also the logic that if we’re Drunk on Petroleum, we can permit ourselves a little fun too which is of nearly primal importance to those involved in this enterprise. 

Our primary aim here is to not just write about the food on an individual, component to component basis. Why? Mainly because everyone and their third cousin and his illegitimate kid are writing about food tastings.They’re doing it like people write “revert-back”wala emails to their bosses which feels slightly criminal, although to be fair, not as criminal as the unholy mating of Biryani and Pizza that Domino’s tried a few moons back. Besides, we don’t think we’re suited for this sort of cluster fuck review style, week on week, because there are only so many ways one can describe the intellectual and social leanings of a sauce. So, fuck. That. Shit. Also while 'Isle of deep fried salmon fillet with aromatic spices, mint emulsion of mayonnaise, finger lime and crispy skinned potato wedges sprinkled with rock sea-salt' sounds like a great description, at the end of the day, it is just a pretentious way of describing fish and chips, and if you write like that, we fart in your general direction.

What we’d prefer to do is to represent the means to the end, which in this case would be the food. We want to delve into the inner workings of this behemoth that is the restaurant industry and slather ourselves in the goo of its content. Heck, this business has art, passion and good ol’ capitalism in a sort of ménage à trois for the sometimes thankless customers. Our aim would be then, to take things slow, to write things long form like the old days, a time when people didn’t break into convulsions, when confronted by texts that are more than 160 characters. We will throw in some pictures because we recognize that people need pictures like lifesavers in a sea of text and also because sometimes, especially with the right lighting, you might get a picture that will save humanity. We will, unlike religion, not appeal to a lot of people, which means we will reside on the fringes of most societies where logic, and science, and art and other forms of debauchery, hang out sipping cold ones.

The first place that we will begin with will be Zamu’s Place.