Tucked behind a Jiffy Lube in Newark, Spice Hut is an unpretentious, sinus-clearing South Indian restaurant that can reduce you to tears. Not only because the complex curries — such as its creamy, tart vegetable korma and sixty-spice chicken chettinad — are hot enough that beads of sweat will roll into your eyes, but also because its dishes move you to a certain private joy. Such catharsis comes cheap: A four-item combo, large enough to feed two, is less than ten dollars. It’s financially practical enough that one can order something a little bit different, like gobi Manchurian, from the Indian-Chinese section of the menu, or battered chunks of cauliflower, fried and drenched in a sweet spicy finger-sucking sauce. It’s enough to blind you to the formica tables, disposable plates, and handheld vibrating devices that alert you when your food is ready.