Tucked away at the end of NYC’s Indian row is a place called Milon. Jefferson turned me on to it. He said, there will be men in front enticing us to come into other restaurants, but only go to Milon.

I took his advice with a grain of salt, totally unprepared for the psychedelic experience on 1st Avenue just off of 6th Street. Milon is a thin hallway of a place, tables are arranged tightly and the ceiling is covered wall to wall with shimmering paper lanterns and red chili lights. Jay, the wee one and I had a whole feast for $45, and the food is great!

I’m glad we arrived early. The place filled up quickly, and after we finished there was a long line on the street. Men from other Indian restaurants kept trying to lure the people into their (empty) place, but the people standing in line said they were willing to wait for a table at Milon. I don’t blame them.

No, the wait staff did not hit on me. Motherhood must remind them of cows.