Food from the hills

I wasn’t sure what to expect as the giant Buddha eyes peered out at me from across the street.  They watched as I made my way to the door, and seemed to hold their lingering stare as I stepped across the threshold into the warm embrace of the Tibetan Kitchen at Spring Hill.  Inside, the Tibetan Kitchen was abuzz with table-upon-table of diners, and my eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other in search of a familiar face.  Having been stood for a few minutes unable to find my group, I was now hopeful of having one of the service attendants come to my aid.  But they seemed run off their feet serving meals and clearing tables, and failed to catch my eye.  I decided to wait outside.