Chatting with my friend Ole André over video somehow always turns into a cinematic side quest. He lives in the middle of nowhere in Norway, so naturally we ended up revisiting the night he drove half an hour into the city, across fjords and sheep-filled darkness, for one mission only: chicken korma.

He picked up the takeout, got back in his car, turned on the heater, and entered a state of calm usually reserved for monks and people who have finally escaped a group chat. The parking spot had a strict 20-minute limit, and he approached it with the discipline of a man who respects deadlines down to the millisecond. He ate with total focus, glancing at the clock like it was a rival he refused to let win.

Then came the garlic naan. According to him, it was so good it deserved its own passport. He said it with the seriousness of someone giving an official account.

When the clock hit exactly 20:00, he left the spot with the precision of someone who can sense a parking ticket forming out of thin air. Dinner continued on the drive home like it was Act Two of a carefully directed short film.

We didn’t talk about reverse engineering. Not once. Instead, we covered fjord weather, the engineering limits of takeout containers, and the spiritual clarity that comes from eating garlic naan in a warm car while the North winds scream.

That’s Ole André. Quietly brilliant and unintentionally hilarious.