We ate lunch at a small curry house in the covered shopping arcade a few blocks from the Museum. It was realy small, like less than twenty people could have dined comfortbley. The large wooden door of the shop opened directly into a dining room that was no more than ten feet wide at the entrance and slowly tapered down smaller as you moved deeper into the room, until you reached the small counter/register/food staging area where a small japanese woman in a black apron took our orders, brought our food, and accepted our money. Behind this counter was the kitchen just big enough for two people to work, and the sound of sizzling oil and chopping knives was just audible over the Billy Holiday music playing in the background. Above the counter on the wall was a large air conditioning unit which must usually provide the dual boon of keeping customers cool, and of wafting the pleasant kitchen smells towards ordering customers. However, today, the cook was chopping onions, and instead of a hint of curry on the subtle breeze, there was a pepper spray of onion. A quick look around the restaurant showed most of the customers occaisionally dabbing their eyes with their napkins. Oh well, the curry was good.