I'm going to need a 12-step group to let go of my compulsion to consume Naan. This Indian bread marvel magic amazement is too much. It's too much. I can't not eat it. And wheat really messes with me, having decided to jump on the gluten-free bandwagon with the rest of my hippie friends.
No. There's not a song in it. There's just magic bread and all the varying chutneys, pickles, raitas (yogurt sauces) and all manner of everything creamy and holy to slather on it. I could be talked into being an Indian food critic. No, I have no background to draw on, no sophisticated palate in this realm, and I'm not sure I'd even enjoy the critique even if the Indian people would offer anything other than mildly annoyed amusement at my attempt. Nope. I would just really love to get paid to eat Naan.
Meanwhile, here's a picture of Dave at the Red Fort. It was astounding. But I used all my good adjectives on the Taj Mahal and the Naan. So you'll have to settle for a visual and imagine accompanying flowery language. (It was spectacular, though. It really was)