Last night we had an uninvited guest join us in the dining section at Madina: a mouse! Yeah, I guess it was only a matter of time before our glowing review of the place came back to bite us on the cheese. We were halfway through our meal when we spotted the little guy scurrying around the dining room (feels weird calling such a dingy place a dining room, but oh well). He actually did a couple of laps around the whole section. If he wasn't so fast I could've snapped a better picture, but it's a wonder I was able to capture him at all on my crappy iPhone camera.As he ran around the restauraunt, coming within inches of us at one point, we were put in a weird position of being completely grossed out by the food we were eating but also wanting to wolf it down as fast as possible so we could end our paranoid, hyper-alert mouse watch and get the hell out of there. We talked about posting our account here and I realized that if I read this exact post on some blog it probably wouldn't stop me from going back to the restaurant. But there was something about experiencing this in the flesh that really marred our Madina lovefest. My first instinct wasn't even to be grossed out. I just observed the mouse and immediately said "Well, no more Madina." I wasn't initially disgusted. I just knew we probably shouldn't go to a restauarant where mice could be seen running under the tables. Who knows why we didn't expect to see mice at a restaurant on Coney Island Avenue in the first place (no offense, Visions!).
It's just as well that we saw the mouse. We were already falling out of love with Madina. The food was majorly oily. Our stomachs usually felt weird after eating there. And either something happened to my taste buds or their samosas changed. Because the first few times we had them they were the best thing in the world and as of a month or so ago they completely lost their appeal. And after the mouse experience it was really annoying basically being accused of lying by the guy ringing us up who asked us 5 times if we were sure that we only got one order instead of two. Were we unclear when we stated from the beginning that we split one order? How about instead of nagging the customer, go back and ask the person who served us how many plates he made? That interaction went about as well as everytime we order bread.
Katie: And could we have one piece of roti, please?
Them: Naan?
Katie: No, roti please.
Them: So you want naan?
Katie: No thanks, just roti.
Them: You want naan instead of roti?
Oy.














