The Chilli House, Dublin Road, Belfast
Today at 12:32
A few minutes after we exit the restaurant on an otherwise pedestrian Tuesday evening, I’m standing at a short hop across the road awaiting a big pink bus to ferry me home — my gob is still buzzing, and my brain processing, what we’ve just consumed. That doesn’t happen all that often.
Taking a tangential side step, however, I still have clear memories of forking out pocket money for a French-to-English translator about 30 years ago, during the annual camping visit.