My niece Abby turned eight, and my sister threw her a small lunch party at Tamarind Brasserie. Abby is a little bullet—brave, brimming with vim. It feels as if her childhood is a leash holding her back.
The last time I came here, it was still Dari Garden Restaurant. Tamarind is a rebirth, and a better one. The grounds stretch out in green folds—lawns, indigenous trees, fountains, the kind of land you’d call “sprawling” without irony.
