The Well-Fed Bong

Yesterday's ride, to a neighbourhood I had not visited in a while, threw up some interesting spots. Huffing away at my trusty bicycle, I ended up after a while at Yari Road, that part of Mumbai where Kolis still proudly live in villages and drying fish competes with filmstars for attention. Its also the new cool street for restaurants populated in generous numbers by PYTs and Shahid Kapoor clones. The first place that caught my eye was a bright purple wall that announced its new-age credentials by casually blending and being too cool to spell – Chaicoffi I seem to remember it being a Barista in the past; the new avatar was … well … a new avatar of a coffee shop, mixing desi beats into the very hip and fancy cofeeshop.  Cutting Chai, Brun Maska, Keema Pao, Sev Puri all happily cohabitated with Quattro Frommagi Pizza, Cafe Latte, Marzipan Carrot Cake.   I ordered a masala chai and a cous cous upma (just the kind of arty farty thing most restaurants mess up royally). A ...

Sunanda's mother Aunty Esme briefly tempted me off my diet with the most sinful combination of all that is not allowed; potatoes, meat and deep fry. With superhuman exercise of  will, I restricted myself to just half but the drool covered the entire floor. The object of temptation was something that landed up from foreign shores, but became distinctively Indian – in this case East Indian. Its the Potato Chop. The actual item is rather simple, a mashed potato shell filled with mince of some kind, coated in breadcrumbs and fried. A great potato chop is a perfect balance of the fatty smooth goodness of the potato contrasted with the crunch of the outer crust and the chewy, spicy flavour-burst of the mince inside. Maybe it was all that self control, but yesterday's potato chops were the best I've had in a while. The potatoes seemed more luscious, the mince juicier, the crumbed outer more perfect.   I find the naming of "potato chop" quite amusing. The East Ind...

Its always wonderful to find a hidden find, tucked away in hard to reach places but still worth reaching. One such was Indian Accent , a restaurant folded carefully into a nook in a gated community of quiet lanes and expensive bungalows. The Manor Hotel that houses the restaurant is itself a silent, comforting place with kurta-clad staff, cozy lawns  and understated decor. How did I find it? Embarassingly enough, like half of India I read Vir Sanghvi. And BBC's new Good Food Magazine . And the Times Food Award. I and fellow culinary explorer Atul headed into the recesses of Friends Colony; it took us a few wrong turns before we were settled into the dying minutes of lunch service. Napkins on lap, cellphones on tablecloth, we sat down to the serious business of studying the menu. Too late for the tasting menu, a la carte it was going to be. I liked the name, it seemed to imply that the food was like your global desi – hugo boss suits and frequent flier miles, but with a desi ta...

Back on the bicycle after ages (and still on my goodboy diet) I find myself speeding through the non-veg dens of Mahim towards safer vegetarian territory in the heart of Sena land - Dadar Shivaji Park - and a break at one of those rare places in Mumbai to serve Maharastrian food. Stuffed into a corner beside better-known, branch-in-dubai oriental sibling Gypsy Chinese is tiny Gypsy Corner. Unlike the average misal-vada-poabhaji place that passes for Maharashtrian food in the city, Gypsy serves full meals with names properly ending in "chi" or "li" (nope, still no chinese). Malvan fish restraurants abound in Mumbai and Kolis have their Festivals but the Ghatis, prevented from lounging on the beach by the Western Ghats, have their own vegetable, mutton, chicken choices all spiced up with loads of coconut and some very nice local chillies. While Mumbai pretends that all of Kolhapur cooks only one kind of vegetable, the Marathas tickle their tastebuds with quite an arr...