I have to admit that I was a little worried at first about trying the free food handed out by the Hare Krishna Rickshaw Project. It wasn't fear for my
tastebuds which prompted these misgivings – I was wondering how I would be received. Surely it would be entirely obvious that I was not the neediest of Londoners. Surely I would be subject to a torrent of abuse and angry stares from the genuinely less well-off.As it happened my fears were unfounded, and no one gave me a second look. It was about 2pm when I found the nondescript blue van parked along the side of King's Cross Station, dishing out the grub. I waited in line quietly, feeling slightly uneasy as the exclusively male queue made its way forward. The situation could have looked like something more sinister than what it was: each man filing past a small opening in a generic looking vehicle, reaching in and taking what was being offered. It felt suggestive of something illicit and seedy, which really couldn't have been further from the truth.
I wondered what to do when my turn came up; how to act, what to say. In the end I just said 'the same', hoping to get what I saw the man in front of me having. In fact, he too had just said 'the same', so that he might get what the man before him had had. In times of social discomfort (or free food) it seems I revert to an unthinking, sheep-like state of mind. I suppose I could have distinguished myself from the others by adding a 'please' to the end of my utterance, but that might have given me away as the well-spoken, middle class student-journalist I am.
I received my food in accordance with the hurried, unglamourous way they served it, feeling a little awkward and inept. They wouldn't let me go without thrusting upon me a half-litre of diet ginger beer. They also wanted to give me an extra piece of cake, but I hastily declined.
I stole away quickly with the bright yellow vegetable curry and rice they had burdened me with, balancing my enormous block of cake on top of the plate covering my food. Feeling a little disorientated by the experience, I made my way back across the road to sample all I had been given.
Despite my upbringing in a culture where desserts are traditionally eaten after the savory course, I had to eat the cake first out of sheer necessity. Being that it is given out for free, with benevolent motives, I'd feel uneasy expressing any criticism of the food itself.
Luckily I don't have to. Packed with chunky walnuts and pieces of dried fruit, it tasted very nice indeed. If you really wanted to complain, you could note that it was perhaps a little dry.
On to the main event; the luminous curry with rice. The Hare Krishna website explained that the aim of the project is to distribute 'free hot, nutritious meals to the public', and this dish certainly ticks all of those boxes. The constituent parts of this particular dish were potatoes, peas and chickpeas, all coated in a very mild creamy sauce.
The fragrance and flavour on offer reminded me vaguely of something of a different colour altogether; namely a red or green Thai curry.
Undeterred, and dining al fresco as I was, I hungrily ate everything on my plate, lest it turn cold and inedible. It was wholesome and filling, and I could not have asked for more. The potatoes stood out as particularly delectable, being gloriously soft with a melt-in-the-mouth quality to them.
As my Hare Krishna dining experience drew to a close, I reflected upon the fact that not a shred of propaganda, religious or otherwise, had been sent my way throughout. Absolutely nothing was asked of me, and yet I was offered a hot, tasty meal, an oversized cube of cake, and a fizzy beverage. In a world where everything has its price, this is surely quite a remarkable phenomenon, deserving of our support, not criticism.