August 15, 2009
Love in The Times of Swine Flu
This week has been so surreal that it has been impossible to even think of writing about anything else other than H1N1 and the swine flu.
I had been writing my piece on swine flu over the last three days, trying to highlight in a slightly funny and sarcastic manner, the ongoing mass hysteria, the ridiculous reaction of the Government and the medical authorities and the siege-like mentality that we have gotten ourselves into; all caused by one puny, single-stranded RNA virus. I had woven together a thread that ran through multiple facts; that H1N1 is just a mild influenza virus like any other "flu" virus, that masks are of no value in the routine scheme of things, except to make people look like they are on chemotherapy, that Tamiflu does not prevent infection, but at best reduces its effect and spread, that hand-washing is a much more effective technique in prevention and spread and that the media-focus on the deaths has been one of the prime reasons for the escalation of the whole issue.
Despite the sarcasm and irony, the article was very depressing.
By the time I had finished the final edits on that piece, it was time to go from my office in Prarthana Samaj to the one in Lower Parel. I usually take this opportunity to get some much-needed shut-eye, but on Delisle Road, I suddenly woke up to an escalating cacophony of shouting people; these were raucous "dahi-handi" breakers passing by in trucks. Then, as soon as I reached Ganpatrao Kadam Marg, I was stuck in a huge traffic snarl. G K Marg is now a busy arterial road that connects Worli Naka to Tulsi Pipe Road; despite this, there were at least four "handis" that had been strung up across the main road. Obviously, someone ahead was trying to break one of them and all traffic from both sides had come to a complete halt. Then, in typical Mumbai style, a couple of cars went past our stalled two lanes to create a third one, thus further blocking the incoming traffic and adding to the chaos. I got out of the car and walked the 200 odd meters or so to the office; handis, traffic, people yelling; it felt great! This was the Mumbai I was used to!
On an impulse, I picked up the phone and asked my wife out to a lunch date; just like that. And just like that she said yes and in an hour we met at one of Mumbai's best-kept secrets, "The Tasting Room", which is on the first floor of "Good Earth" in the Raghuvanshi Mills compound.
With some lovely Yellow Tail Merlot giving company, I ran through their vegetarian specials for the day starting with an amazingly fresh asparagus and chevre salad, moving on to a subtle mint-flavored zucchini soup, then to a delectable beet and feta risotto, while sampling parts of my wife's cottage-cheese polenta and then ending with a "just-right" ginger and vanilla creme brulee; it's been quite some time since I've found food such as this to die for and it was worth every bit of the "pigging-out".
In times like these, when the world around us seems to have lost touch with reality, when bandit-like masked people seem to be sprouting all around us and overrunning our city and common sense has taken a beating and a back-seat, it felt great to walk out into the bright afternoon sun with a satiated sense of having reclaimed some sanity and a semblance and sliver of normality.
Posted by bhavinj at 06:30 AM | Comments (0)
February 28, 2009
It's Not Just About Rs. 90
It’s just Rs. 90, but the request stops you cold. You think it’s a joke and walk in. A couple of hours later, you come out and hand over the valet slip. You are asked to pay Rs. 90. Incredulous, you blurt out, “You’re kidding, right?” But you already know they’re dead serious and so you hand over Rs. 100. Your car comes and the man returns with your valet slip and a Rs. 10 note. In disgust, you ask him to keep the Rs. 10 as well. You get into the car and drive away, with an irritated feeling that’s difficult to explain, but makes you wonder why a hotel of this standard has to behave in a manner that completely spoils the mellow tranquility of good company, food and wine.
And while you keep chewing on this incident all through the ride back home, a couple of neurons suddenly fire away and the truth of why they charge Rs. 90 and not Rs. 100 dawns on you. “It’s the tip, you fool”, your charged mind tells you. Some manager has probably realized that irritated or not, the chances are that you will not take back the Rs. 10, and thus the drivers will not be deprived of the usual tips that valet drivers in other hotels get.
Your wife thinks it may be a temporary phenomenon. It’s a new hotel and probably still finding it’s feet. But when you go a month later and hand over the car keys to the valet, you realize that your wife was sorely mistaken. It rankles and irritates.
You talk about this with your friends, some of whom are aghast, some amused. Some go to the hotel, just to see for themselves, whether this is true. Some are annoyed and others pass it off as an American idiosyncrasy. For some, “its just Rs. 90, forget it!” but many others are upset and say, “they have serious guts to take Rs. 90 after I’ve spent a good four-figure sum on the food.”
I must be honest though. The first time I went to the Four Seasons on E. Moses Rd in Worli, I was so upset that I refused to get into the car and went to see the lobby manager in charge. He was probably so used to this by now that he didn’t miss a beat with his polite answer, “Sir, we are different. We are the Four Seasons. We believe that each service has to stand on its own.” I looked at him, completely at a loss for words (which as you know by now is a big deal for me) and before I could come up with an apt retort, he said “And believe me sir, every hotel in Mumbai will start imitating us soon.” I couldn’t believe his guts and I just turned around and left. The Taj, the Oberoi, the ITC Grand…they will start charging for valet? The very thought...
The funny thing is that when I got out of San-Qi, I just couldn’t wait to tell all my friends about the great multi-flavored edamame and the brilliant vegetarian makis. The Rs. 90 incident just blew that thought away. And at least till six weeks ago, nothing had changed.
And I sometimes wonder, whether the reason why Phoenix is so popular as compared to Crossroads earlier and Atria now, is due to the simple fact that Phoenix does not charge for parking, whereas Crossroads used to and Atria does!
One wonders!
Posted by bhavinj at 02:19 PM | Comments (0)
January 03, 2009
What Olive and Indigo need to learn from "badam-nu-shaak" and "idli-stew"
I had a "must-attend" wedding reception to go to, at the Turf Club/Racecourse, on Monday. I also had a friend visiting from New York, with only Monday night to spare for dinner. To make the best of a complicated situation, we booked a table at the Racecourse Olive. The plan was to wish the couple and then walk across to Olive for dinner.
As luck would have it, in the late evening, my friend called to say that he was down with a bad cold and he wouldn't be able to make it. Disappointed, we canceled the table at Olive and decided to have a quick, light meal at the reception and to then call it an early night.
But fate usually has a trick or two kept in reserve, and in retrospect, it was downright amazing, how a supposed moment of disappointment could turn itself around and become a moment of pleasure. As things turned out, not only did we not miss going to Olive, we perhaps had a better dining experience, as well!
As soon as we finished wishing the couple, we made our way to the buffet. The layout itself was unassuming at first look, especially since most weddings these days anyway feature large spreads, with multiple tables or stalls serving a variety of different cuisines. However, once we started sampling the food, all comparisons ended.
In most weddings, irrespective of the cuisine, the food at all counters pretty much tastes the same; Punjabi, Punjabi Gujarati, Punjabi Chinese, Punjabi Italian...basically oil and masala drenched Punjabi food, with a slight twist, depending on the cuisine concerned. This one was different.
I am going to exaggerate a bit here, but that's just to push a point. Imagine having a Trattoria, a Golden Dragon, a Muthuswamy, etc, all in one food court. The risotto was actually better than in most so-called Italian restaurants; the pizza slices were just right; there was something called an "idli-stew" that I, of Matunga Udipi restaurant lineage, had never heard off or sampled before in my life; there was a divine "Indian" dish called "badam nu shak", which again was a first for me; there were above-average dim sums, in three flavors, including one great tasting Jain one...I can go on. We approached the cuisine like a tasting menu (Bellissima style, but without the wine pairing), trying just one little portion of each item, but I still had to pass over most of the Indian dishes, including the Amritsari dishes that my wife thought were the highlight of the spread, for lack of gastric space.
And imagine...this was all vegetarian, a good part of it Jain-compatible.
Sure, this kind of wedding spread doesn't come cheap. But then our fine-dining restaurants are also exorbitantly overpriced for a vegetarian dining experience that nowadays probably needs to be a little redefined and perhaps shaken up a bit; if this city has to depend only on mass wedding caterers (and perhaps Ms. Vijaya Venkat and her team to a certain extent) to invent and reinvent vegetarian dishes, then it is time that the Olives and Indigos of this city came up with better and more interesting vegetarian menus, like Alinea (www.alinea-restaurant.com) or Green Zebra (www.greenzebrachicago.com), which even though located in the US of A, present a vegetarian dining experience, that has no equal in this country.
Else, who knows! All interesting, vegetarian, fine-dining in Mumbai, may one day be available only at weddings or in Ms. Venkat’s lunch dabbas!
Posted by bhavinj at 09:02 AM | Comments (0)
December 13, 2006
Storm in a coffee cup
This has appeared in today's Mumbai Mirror.
Expresso in my childhood days meant a frothy coffee with milk, halfway between a cappuccino and latte, that used to be served in movie halls and theatres. At home too, this was made on special occasions as a treat and like the new Bru ad, the fun was in getting the froth all over your face. Growing up, I then learnt to appreciate the dark decoction that Amma used to make, with milk and sugar, at least 10 shades better than similar stuff available in the Udipi joints in Matunga.
Traveling abroad in the mid-90s brought me in touch with Starbucks and I slowly learnt to differentiate my espresso from a ristretto. My all-time favorite drink however, remains the caramel macchiato, a signature Starbucks drink. Though, all the coffee I otherwise drink is black, without milk and sugar, the caramel macchiato, with vanilla, milk and caramel is the one exception.
Somewhere down the line, heavily influenced by Starbucks, came the Barista chain. The outlets were an immediate hit, with well-trained baristas who knew their coffee intimately. The Shivaji Park outlet has been my favorite. Sitting out, watching the world go buy, while sipping one Doppio after another, used to be a favorite past-time. This was the nearest Barista, until the one at Sion came up, a few buildings ahead of Sion Hospital. Despite this outlet being so near, it never had the ambience of the Shivaji Park outlet and the baristas were also less knowledgeable and though it hoped to be a coffee pit-stop for those on the way to the suburbs and beyond, it was never open early in the morning, when you were going to Lonavla or Pune and the take-away coffee, in any case, came in horribly thin cups, often too hot to hold properly, with lids that didn’t fit…I’ve spilt coffee on my lap at least twice.
A few years ago, on a trip to Dubai, I saw a Starbucks outlet and right next to it, a Barista outlet. It was a proud feeling, much like seeing a Jet Airways plane at Heathrow or Changi.
But, Barista never came to Matunga. CCD did. And how! When it started, it was the new kid on the block, loud (it still is), but with attitude, and obviously aimed at the college crowd. The coffee was cheaper, not as as good, especially the espressos, which were bitter and yucky. The service was slow and the food passable, and yet the college kids loved it. The juke-box was a hit, as was the outside seating, which also allowed girls to smoke.
And then Barista screwed up. It dropped its prices and started playing loud music. Instead of aiming higher, at the 40plus generation, which felt CCD to be too loud, they tried to become like CCD. And the last few times, I’ve been there, there seems to be a distinct deterioration of services…the baristas are undertrained, the espressos are bitter, granitas have not been unavailable and a couple of times, even the air-conditioning wasn’t working.
On the other hand, CCD has become more and more vibrant. Their espressos have improved, as has the food. They now sell their own brands of chips and cookies (my daughter loves their eggless chocolate chip ones). And most importantly, they sell specialty coffee powder (which, as I have earlier mentioned is far superior to the stuff locally available in Matunga), and now we even get single estate (like single malt) coffees, some of which are excellent, especially the new dark roast. It’s a pity the Monsoon Malabar is no longer available.
What does this have to do with Matunga? Most big brands don’t come to Matunga, because they don’t see potential. Barista didn’t see potential and CCD did. One is doing great and the other, at least for me, is no longer happening. Maybe there’s a lesson in there somewhere?
Posted by bhavinj at 11:19 AM | Comments (0)
September 17, 2006
South Indian cuppa vs the French press
This was published in today's Mumbai Mirror.
My first memories of coffee are of drinking Mom-made, cold Nescoffee at home. Expresso in those days was the frothy hot coffee you got at fun-n-fairs, from “Expresso” machines. And black coffee, was what I used to make, using two table-spoons of instant Nescafe powder, in boiling water, trying to stay awake at night before important exams.
My favorite filter coffee though, was brewed by Jamuna aunty in her kitchen, where a decoction using filter coffee from Mysore Concerns (MC) was always ready, the added milk and sugar, yielding perhaps the best cuppa in town.
Over the years, I have now learnt how to use a coffee-maker with paper filters, how to differentiate between espressos and ristrettos as well as between lattes, cappuccinos and macchiatos. And, for some time now, I have been using a French press, to make my own cup of wake-me-up morning coffee.
A French press needs a medium-to-course grind, which I’ve always been able to stock up on, during my travels abroad or thanks to traveling relatives.
Three weeks ago, I ran out of coffee for the French press.
Assuming that I could always find coffee powder in Matunga, I made my way to MC. Though MC is one of the four pillars of Tamil Matunga, the only time I’d been there earlier, was about 5-6 years ago, when I had tried to get them to grind some coffee beans I had bought abroad. The person at the counter flatly refused, without any explanations and I finally had to use the grinder at home.
This time around too, I didn’t get much help. MC makes a very fine grind coffee powder, which is not appropriate for a French press. No amount of cajoling, asking them to make a more medium to coarse grind, worked (honestly, how difficult could that have been). I still bought their smallest packet, hoping against hope.
Still, knowing it wouldn’t work (which it didn’t, when I tried it at home that afternoon), I decided to drown my sorrows in a mocha at the local Café Coffee Day (CCD) opposite Don Bosco. While placing the order, I saw a tin of “Dark Forest”, a specialty coffee, on sale. When I asked the barista whether this would work in a French press, he was emphatically negative. The coffee was expensive (Rs. 120 for 200gms) as compared to the Rs. 20 for 100gms at MC, but I decided to give it a try anyway.
After a disappointing attempt with the MC coffee, I opened the Dark Forest tin and made a glass of coffee. The aroma was enticing and the cup turned out great. I then went through the literature that had come with the tin, which apart from all the self-praise, including comments from a famous coffee expert, had this line… “Best used with a French press”. Methinks, the CCD baristas need a wee bit of extra training.
So finally, I did find the medium grind coffee that I wanted…and in my own backyard. But the times…they-are-a-changing. Instead of finding what I wanted, from the local famous David, it was actually the multi-chain Goliath, who came through.
Posted by bhavinj at 06:04 PM | Comments (0)
August 13, 2006
A Chinese Tale
This appeared in yesterday's Mumbai Mirror.
A couple of weeks ago, we were returning from a “jagran”, in Bandra/Khar. Luckily, “jagrans” don’t go on through the night anymore and we were able to leave within an hour. It was a Sunday and we thought of eating out in the area…as we cruised along Linking Road, we could see every eatery packed to the gills and with our six-year olds with us, we just didn’t have the courage or energy to wait in line to be fed.
We were discussing our options, when suddenly my wife, in a conspiratorial tone, confessed to a craving for American Chopsuey. And suddenly, as if a partner in crime, I felt the urge to pig out on this dish as well.
It was already past the childrens’ bed-time, so we decided to do a take-out. For people like us, living in Matunga, there is but one logical place for American Chopsuey. Nestled between Koolar and Kamal Towings, in a tiny 100 sq. ft place, with four tables, which at the most can hold fifteen people, Fu-Yong has been around ever since my graduate college days, and therefore at least for the last twenty years, if not more. And John, who oversees the place, seems to have been around for that much time at least. Add in one more waiter, and a cleaner boy and the picture is complete. Though how the waiter is able to serve when the place is full, is one for Ripley’s Believe It or Not.
While growing up, Chinese food was all about American Chopsuey, vegetable spring rolls and sweet corn vegetarian soup. It was only much later, when we first went to China Garden, then at Om Chambers, that I learnt the truth…that American Chopsuey was neither Chinese nor American, but an “Indian” concoction with a “Chinese” taste. I can still remember the supercilious look I got from the maitre, when, in all my junior college confidence, I asked for American Chopsuey, which I then found was not even on the menu.
Years later I also realized that “American Chopsuey” is the one dish you never ask for when traveling abroad. In some places, it could mean a mash of chops (a meat dish), in some other parts, a mash of pasta and in Chinese places on the west coast, a bland mix of vegetables, which some people believe is a corruption of “chopped sewage”. Which may not be a bad term to describe the possible ingredients of some of the variants of American Chopsuey dished out by the roadside Chinese stalls that have sprouted all over Mumbai. After all American Chopsuey is just a mix of vegetables, with soya and hot and sour sauce and crispy, fried noodles, thrown in on top, the most important part being its look…as red as possible.
Over the years, Chinese cuisine has amazingly evolved in Mumbai and we get a phenomenal variety of exotic dishes…with bamboo sprouts, mushrooms, black beans, asparagus, tofu, etc, all with fancy names, such as “Buddha’s delight”, “whatever, whatever, Hunan style or Peking style”, or at the end to make something sound really authentic, “Chef’s Delight”. Along with dim sums, lettuce wraps (kind of like bhel in a rotli) and a terrific variety of bean curd based starters.
And yet with all the Lings and Royal Chinas and Shanghai Clubs, once in a while, it feels really nice to just forget all this “authentic” Chinese stuff and to go back to simpler times…to “Fu-Yong’s American Chopsuey”.
Posted by bhavinj at 08:33 AM | Comments (0)
January 28, 2006
Of the idli ilk
This is my new piece that came in today's Mumbai Mirror.
After having been around for 40 odd years, you often start believing that you’ve been there, done that and seen it all. Fewer and fewer things (unless they are IPODian gadgets or large-screen plasmas) get you excited. More and more, everything starts becoming routine. But then…once in a while…something happens….
Being in Matunga, I thought I knew everything that I had to about idlis. I’ve had idlis in all sizes and shapes; from simple idlis to idli-vada combinations, to dahi idli, butter-idli, fried idli, and masala idlis with cashews, etc embedded in them. I’ve had Muthu’s idlis, my Mom’s idlis, cocktail idlis, and the idli-like khottos and mudhos.
I’ve had idlis outside of Matunga, the best ever in Leela Goa, as well as in Kerala, Tamil Nadu, in Gujarat, Punjab, in London, San Diego, Dubai and God knows where else. I’ve had idlis without anything, with sambhar, with sambhar and chutney separately or sometimes even together and sometimes just with butter. I’ve fought with restaurateurs over their coconut chutneys, facing shameful admissions of embellishments with “daaliya” and “chana” or peanuts, as well as incredulous expressions of “how can you even ask if our chutney is pure coconut or no”.
Last week, on a lazy Sunday morning, we decided to go to Anand Bhuvan for breakfast. Wondering what to order apart from the usual idlis and dosas, my eyes fell on a name, written in chalk on a blackboard, in “Today’s Specials”, a dish I had never had before. There was nothing really great about the name itself, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had never before had this combination….a combination of rasam and idli forming a dish called…“rasam idli”. Rasam vadas, yes… rasam on its own, yes… rasam with rice…yes, but rasam idli…that was a new one.
And…the rasam idlis were absolutely to die for. As I put each portion into my mouth, the rasam-soaked pieces would melt immediately, releasing an explosive mix of a difficult to describe but a predominantly tangy mix of flavors and aromas. The combination was amazing and between the two of us, my wife and I finished another plate as well.
I guess it’s all in the combination. Unlike sambhar, which is much too thick, idlis just soak up the rasam. With that, I guess, they become softer and the rasam becomes part of the idli itself. When you then eat that idli, the combination becomes unbeatable.
Its amazing, isn’t it. Nothing fancy, no fusion, just a change from sambhar to rasam and boom!
I am sure that I will be besieged by emails from people telling me that this is a very usual, ordinary experience for many of them and that they have been having rasam idlis for years and years. Maybe so, but it is not listed as an item in most menus (unless I have been blind) and for some strange reason, in the last forty years (OK, 30, to count only the conscious, idli-eating years), I’ve have never had this combination before.
So from now, its going to be rasam idlis, for a long time to come…until the next Nirvanic experience (which I actually had with some home-cooked red Thai curry, but I can’t talk about it, since neither the chef nor the experience was in Matunga or Greater Matunga).
Posted by bhavinj at 06:47 AM | Comments (2)
