'I'm not Italian...I'm Indian!!'

Per the Lonely Planet's suggestion, we set out to find a restaurant that serves up divine Bengali food. It is a bit of an institution, this tiny restaurant with four tables in its small dining area. We set off to a new part of town we hadn't explored yet...and not surprisingly the map only got us to the general area, but there wasn't enough detail to find the exact spot. We start asking around for the street that it is on, and we are greeted with many blank stares or confused looks. One short, somewhat round middle-aged gentleman was quite eager to help us when he overheard our question at the stand nearby. "Ekdalia Road??", I inquired. "Italian?", he responds with deep creases in his forehead and a furrowed brow, "I'm not Italian, I'm Indian! Are you Italian??" As I tell him we are Americans, the creases on his forehead melt away and his tiny mustache sits like a top hat on a huge toothy grin. He shakes our hands and welcomes us before we get back down to business, forgetting about the whole Italian exchange. He figures out the road we are looking for, but thinks we are asking about a person instead of a restaurant. Then the light bulb goes off in his head and he is so delighted to hear that we are going to Bhojohari Manna, to enjoy some Bengali food. In his limited english and exaggerated hand motions he directs us to the restaurant that we weren't exactly next door to. And sure enough it was just as he had described to us. We dined on a delectable meal sampling various small dishes of mildly sweet and tangy Bengali fare and chased it with the most delicious sweets I have tasted on this trip. Just as we were finishing our meal, our friend dropped by the restaurant to check and make sure that we had made it...and that we were enjoying our dinner. The kindness of strangers is ever humbling!