Of Meats and Mugs

The nice things about non-vegetarian menus in Bangalore is the variety of dead animal on offer. Unlike Delhi where the odd prawn dish acquires the status of a delicacy. I was satudying the Mojo menu while waiting for a friend the other day and the thought struck me. For the uninitiated, Mojo is the slightly more snazzy cousin-beerbar of Pecos (which is a historic ruin off Brigade Road today) near the Brigade Road and Residency Road crossing. It attracts mostly yuppy rock type youngsters in Guevara T-shirts, peeping Boxers and goaties and appropriately hot arm-princesses. There is a grey-haired, poytailed gentleman planted there all the time, I think by the owner, so as to be able to lay claim on some anti-establishment type authenticity. On my recent nightout there, a group of old-left or staunch-right looking men in white dhoti kurtas appeared suddenly. Coming back to the menu though, it boasts the Mallu-Mangalorean-influenced beef curry, prawn curry which are accompanied by crisp dosas. The chilly beef and chilly prawn are commendable too. The menu displays various other concoctions based on squid and crab, once you get bored of beef and prawn. I would think no meat-eater will order chicken here, once they have they have gone through this resplendent list of dead animal. The Sunday English breakfast (of Pecos fame)comprising bacon eggs and mashed potatoes is highly overrated, I have concluded after digging it for years. But appams and stew are definitely worth a try for Sunday brunch.

The other dead animal menu that corroborated my thoughts on Bangalore meat-eating cultures is at the Windsor Pub. An excellent brain and onion fry. And a beef fry (which is sort of lie alu bhruji in beef, super) and the fish fry and the keema something.The liver preparation with too much curry patta was a disappointment but can be washed down with beer. Like Mojo, Windsor (potted in a deceptively un-pub building next to some Bank, near Cantonment Station, off Miller's Road)is home to the boxer-peeping, headswingingtotheDoors, ponytailed boys as well as some Kannadiga moustached macho men.

Meat-eating in Bangalore is definitely recommended to indiscriminate meat-eaters.

Koshy's fits all

Koshy's in Bangalore (the non-AC section) is a quaint picture containing groups of check-shirted-moustached men drinking rum, balding man-in-the-corner reading Mallu newspaper over coffee and yuppy-alternative-twenty-somethings engineering sexual chemistry over beer.

What is interesting other than the fact that it serves chai-coffee and alcohol under the same roof is its food menu. You get a a most gratifying prawn-curry-rice and beef-curry-rice here. And an interesting mushroom toast (saute'd mushroom and onion on bread). And the typical alcohol accompaniments like french fries and gobi machurian. With a distinctly Mallu fragrance, it also carries the stamp of the old lackadaisical Bangalore of endless ups of coffee.

It is a rare one-size-fits-all place. You could have breakfast here, and lunch, and tea and finish with rounds of beer. You could go for a date, a work-meeting, an old-friends-catchup, a quiet solitary read. Bang opposite the new Hard Rock Cafe, Koshy's stands at one end of St. Mark's Road in solemn fortitude.

Eating down the menu

Zalgirious is not only the name of a popular basketball club or the street where I lived, but was also the name given to the restaurant where I earned a few frequent eater kilos - simply called the Zalgirious Kavine. With indoor and outdoor seating options, pretty waitresses, nice drinks and great food, I have no shame in admitting that close to the end of my Baltic sojourn, I had consumed - patiently and with stealth, every single item on that five page menu. Most often I did not know what I was getting into, with English translations and bilingual waitresses hard to come by. Most often, the results were simple, surprising and pleasant.

One of the simplest, the "Mother-in-law dinner", a meat and potato preparation, was simply excellent.

Quite naturally, I was very excited to know there was a carp grill (L) on the menu, but the experience of eating it did not match up to the anticipation. Not that it was bad - it was more than decent, but served with rice and fancy salad, it seemed tame in comparison to everything else they had to offer. The chicken kiew (R), for instance. Avery juicy cutletish thing, served with fries and salad, it is a a very popular meal throughout Vilnius, and Zalgiriuos Kavine clearly makes one of the best.

But it wasn't all good all the time. I was looking for a pleasant breakfast when I ordered the harmless sounding ham pancake. Little did I know that these pancakes would come swimming in, and be filled with butter. I felt giddy in a not so good way after I ate this.

I could go on about Zalgirious, but I'll restrict myself to the pictures I have. And I will leave you with some nice dessert. This wheat thingie with a creamy filling is called the Napolean snack.

Paella at Barcelona (not the city)

Paella, a Valenican rice dish, seems a distant cousin of the biriyani, and I enjoyed a fantastic meal of it at Barcelona, a restaurant tucked away among the maze of unmetalled roads between Zalgirous Avenue and the Europa mall.


Flavoured with saffron and what else, and embellished with all manner of seafood including prawn and mussel, I was told that that the bit of ever-so-slightly burnt rice sticking to the metallic pan in which it is cooked (and served) is considered a delicacy.

The meal started with some nice ham served on melon, but it paled into insignificance as soon as the paella appeared and invaded the senses with its colour and aroma.

Foodies!!

Read this rant from Manuel over at Well done fillet.

...Foodie. Oh sweet Jebus and all the other super best friends can anyone save us from foodies? There are people who go out for dinner who can tell if the meal is good or bad. Then there are people who appreciate good food and can tell the difference between sea bass and sea bream and can pronounce everything on the menu properly. Then there are the foodies. They can name the farm the meat came from. They know the captain of the boat that caught the fish. They know which fucking field the kale was grown in. Fuck they know what kale is! They talk about the scene in Tokyo or New York right now and drop names, first names, of celebrity chefs like they were personal friends. The foodie is always middle class. They have a vegetable patch in their garden that they never shut the fuck up about and no meal would be complete without them telling you about the simply gorgeous salad they made the day before. They are bores. Talk about sucking the very life out of something that should be enjoyed not made into a chemistry class. I love my food, hell given the chance I would love yours too but lets keep things in perspective. I'm sure Gordon would agree.

Creamy mushroom soup served in a loaf of bread.

Yes, you read that correct - served in a loaf of bread. What you are supposed to do is - understand the piece of bread that serves for a lid as a spoon, and proceed to use that to have the soup. And once the soup is over, you can eat the loaf of bread as well. If you are very hungry. At this point, I must stress the quality of the Baltic bread - excellent at every restaurant I have stepped into.


For someone like me with limited entries on the passport, it was shocking how much the humble bread can augment your meal. But even the better heeled companions insist it has something to do with the Baltic weather and agriculture.

I had the soup at the Cili Kaimas on Pilies, part of the Cili empire one sees all over Vilnius. Watch out for twin stewardesses Aliona and Margarita.

C R Park holes-in-the-wall

I had only heard the popular folk tales about holes in the wall in CR Park, which serve Authentic Bong Food. Since I am packing up from Delhi soon, the Delhi Nostalgia trips had to include a visit t one such how-in-the-wall. This one is opposite CR Park Market No. 2 and is called Ma Taara.

Maa Taara is a large canteenesque hall in a basement. With Mashimas, Boudis, Poltus,Tutukis, Dilli arty kids looking for subaltern food, Cal artsies looking to simulate Ghar ka Khana. The specials on the day are mapped in bold bengali letters at the back. It is presumed you know the script when you walk in. The menu shows up names of myriad fresh-water fish other than rui, ilish (hilsa), chingri (prawn). You will be familiar with the full range only if you have been brought up in a predominantly fish-eating family. Which I am. So I knew the jargon. And felt very jingo and in-the-loop, especially in the company of my Cosmopolitan Bong friend, who knew nothing.

We went there once last week, and had tried Tangra Maach and Muri ghonto. With alu bhaja (potato chips basically). The main courses were greasy and spicy. Ghar ki yaad aane wali types.
We returned to prove our loyalties, last night. And ate prawn malaikaari.

The food evoked a particularly Bong relaxed afterburp sensation. Like the cares of the world became more trivial.

It's also easy on the pocket. If a no-frills eating place is your thing, and you yearn for fish sometimes, go there. Preferably, take a Bong along. I am wondering if I should go tonight as well.

Svyturys beer and smoked salmon snacks

Having hardly spent two days in Vilnius, it is difficult to proclaim with any confidence that Torres is the best place in the city for an afternoon beer. What I can say is this: if there is another place in the city that can do this and more, I will be a very happy man.



It is not about the quality of the food or the excellence of their beer. Good, no doubt, but what gets Torres my certificate, is simply their real estate and the extreme relaxation one feels in sitting under the sun with a beer, contamplating the wonderful view of the parks and woods and streams and what not. I needed constant reminding that I was still in the middle of a capital city.

I had never had fish in any non-cooked state previously, but any apprehension that I had vanished soon after I placed the first morsel in my mouth. Forget the smell, forget the lack of spicy embellishment, it is all about the fresh taste and smooth texture - served with cheese and olives. Someone like me would find it difficult to appreciate any culinary dexterity in it, because the dish never appeared to be more than the sum of its parts. But I guess it was a leap I was not adventurous enough to make. Perhaps my continuing love-hate affair with European cuisine also played a role. Best enjoyed with Svyturys. Of course.