BOMBAY, India - When Hitler’s Cross restaurant opened four days ago in a Bombay suburb, local politicians and movie industry types were on hand to celebrate beneath the posters of the Nazi leader and swastikas.
“It’s just to attract people. There is no intention to hurt anyone,” said Sablok about his spacious restaurant, which serves pastries, pizza and salad in Navi Mumbai, a northern suburb of Bombay, which is also known as Mumbai.
— Associated Press

What a warm welcome I received from Bombay’s latest eat-out extravaganza: Hitler’s Cross. Yes, the 20^th-century Dean of Mean has been honored by the nation who brought us Ghandi, surprisingly with his own restaurant. India, a part of the world that Hitler would have decimated if he wasn’t so busy screaming from his balcony, knows what it’s doing. Never before has a restaurateur decidedly chosen to single-out a genocidal maniac as a conduit for selling buffalo wings – until now. That’s right. India, a rapidly growing industrial nation, does far more than just answer tech support calls. It also opens up Hitler-themed restaurants.

Of course, Jewish Indians are already De Furherious – all ten of them. It’s understandable why a Jew would find such an establishment offensive. What’s not understandable is why the same Jew will wait in line at 6 a.m. to get discounted tickets to The Producers.

Rather than protest, I decided to use my frequent flyer miles to travel to Bombay and check out the Nazi-themed restaurant for myself. I figure that, if anything at all, it is kind of treat to be able to be Jewish and eating in a place dedicated to Hitler. What better way to annoy him and his followers. Sometimes I’m disappointed with the way my people handle anti-Semitism. Instead of annoying the shit out of anti-Semitic people the way we do to our own family, we make it obvious that we’re the ones who are annoyed.

Rule Number One: The Annoying Person Always Wins.

So I was a little nervous when I walked into the restaurant because I have a conspicuously big nose and wear a yarmulke. But, sure enough, I was quickly greeted by a smiling S.S. host with a faintly slurpee-mongering dialect who informed me that I could eat in either the Auschwitz or Krakow sections. I asked about Berlin and he begrudgingly agreed after putting a yellow band around my arm.

There in the Capitol section I saw some big names hobnobbing over politics and entertainment. Gunter Grass shared a schnitzel and curry with Mel Gibson. Louis Farrakhan traded barbs with Jake Abramoff.

As I sat alone in my booth, waiters, food-runners, and busboys all greeted me with the traditional raising of the right arm. This was supposed to give customers the feeling of being in Nazi Germany, but it forced many waiters to accidentally drop their plates.

I had to try the pizza, which the menu promised to be as good as the kind Mussolini’s mother would make for the Axis Powers. I don’t know if it was the Third Reich microbrew beer I was nursing, but something in that restaurant made me gassy.

Eventually, I had to go the bathroom. It was covered in stylish swastikas from floor to ceiling. Before leaving, I took out a sharpie and drew a Star of David on the wall. Actually, I drew four of them. The pizza was really good.

28/08/2006
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