Lapses of lingy…

Have moved to my new place, finally, on Sunday. It’s a cosy sort of house, with two rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, loo and a balcony. It’s on the groundfloor, and we have lots of foliage (by Mumbai standards ie), within the compound.

Birds chirp, the ironing man hollers and the bai, she chirps too. She’s this robust looking, very determined Maharahtrian woman who is trying to make me improve my Hindi. In return, she is planning to learn English. She has two college-going sons and a drunk for a hubby. But she puts up with his drinking because he never raises a hand. Besides, she has no family. This bit of information is de ja vous. It seems to me like most lower class women work very, very hard and the men seem to rest on their wive’s meagre earnings. Sad, but true.

The previous bai Savitha is 25, has 3 little girls and a hubby with no job. She works very, very hard and is chirpy in spite of  all the hardships. One day she decided to visit with the girls. She was very late for work that day, and had apparently spent about an hour dressing them up in their Sunday best. We had bag of chocolates and soft toys ready for them. It was kind of cute.

Other than that need to buy a cupboard. The room looks to empty without it, and feel like I am suspended in mid-air, currently. Went cupboard-shopping yesterday, just off SV road Bandra station. You have a couple of odd looking shops with cupboards in all sizes and colours (red too!) lined up on the outside. These are Godrej rip-offs at about 1/4th price, and they serve the purpose pretty well.  

I did a little survey. There was this one very, very cheap brand selling a cupboard for Rs 1,900. The sales chap said in Hindi, ” Yeh sastha hai, lekin 2 mehine me kalass!”

Oks! That was off my list. A better quality one comes at Rs 2,200 and if you go shopping after 9 pm when they are about to shut shop, you get a Rs 100 discount

Visited another friend who has just found a new place, the chap who might been by roommate. He has rented all his furniture — nice stuff, that’s all wood. Wooden furniture always lends a touch of warmth and class to any place.

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Saw Brokeback Mountain on Sunday night. It’s one of the most simultaneously moving and disturbing films I’ve ever seen.

Even as I type these words, a shiver runs down my spine and I feel my lips curling up into a squirm. And sleep just totally eluded me that night. Scenes from the film and the signature tune (which is rather haunting) kept reverberating in my head. 

I felt slightly peaceful only post discussing it with my colleague Raja, who reviewed the film and empathised completely.

I wouldn’t mind watching the film all over again — in a better theatre though — where the sound is good and one doesn’t have to strain their ears to understand that western twang that eventually becomes so endearing.

There were two young chaps sitting next to me, holding hands. It was kind of sweet.

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One of my favourite channels on television is Discovery’s Travel and Living.Was surfing the other day and stumbled upon Floyd Week, a food show anchored by none other than Keith Floyd that mad chef who concocted local delicacies at exotic locations around the world, sipped wine every step of the way and added quite a bit of it to his food as well, in that wonderful show called Far Flung Floyd, one of my all-time favourite food shows, which used to be telecast on BBC.

The man seems to have aged and mellowed down a wee bit, however his sense joie de vivre is rather infectious and the humour hasn’t died down either.

This time the destination was none other than my hometown…Goa.

I was quite delighted to see his take on Goan cuisine, and in fact learnt how easy it is to whip up rechado masala, vindaloo and some sort of green masala that made chicken seem more appetising that ever. I think it was chicken cafreal.

He touched upon Portugeuse influences on Goan cuisine and how they introduced the local chilli which is hot as hell, why vindaloo is called so (vin for wine which is used to make the local pungent vinegar and aloo is potato, which is supposed to be used along with other vegetables in any vindaloo preparation) and more tidbits.

His first make-shift kitchen was set up at Betim besides the local fish market. There were woks, little prep bowls made of the leaves of some local plant (I foget the name) and ladles make of coconut shells (used in most ancestral homes).

A crowd of fishermongers and other locals gathered around him looking on with intrigue and curiosity, as if a magic spell was going to unfold any moment.

Floyd said something to the effect of ” I am doing exactly what they do at home everyday at home, and yet this immense interest because I am a foreigner”.

Next he walked through a couple of plantations and talked about local spices like curry leaves and ginger and stumbled upon this chap who was making fenny. Then we got to know all about the cashew fruit and why the seed is so damn expensive – one seed to every fruit is not a good ratio.

Anyways, my dear Floyd is touring India, so am looking forward to more food into at his  next destination.

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Contrary to all this bruhaha about conserving Indian values, culture etc by writing off Western influences, our own indigenous Holi is an intensely sensuous festival. You have men and women splashing colours, getting drenched with water to the bone whilst sporting stark white and drinking bhaang, a mixture of milk and marijuana, that can make you quite heady. And hey, it’s not the upper class alone who indulge in such shenanigans. You have people from the middle classes right down to the lower stratas who for a day, sometimes more, play the fool with colour, water and bhaag.

Yesterday, I attended a Holi party, a filmy-do, courtesy my new journalist roommate, who does the Page-3 circuit off and on. It was at a 5 star hotel in the suburbs. I went more out of curiosity than anything else. Bumped into a couple of friends and ex-colleagues who resembled ogres and goblins under splashes of majenta, red, blue and green. There was a rain dance in progession.

I was dressed in an immaculate salwar kameez, and was a little hesitant about messing it up. But I friend dragged me onto the dance floor and I had a whale of a time messing around with a hose pipe, Holi colours and gyrating to remixes of Rang Barse and the rustic beats of the Dol.

Actress Pooja Bedi looked her usual fiesty self in what I thought was a green sari. It was actually white and had turned green with colour.

I also noticed lots of caucasian women dancing with gay abandon. At first I thought they were guests, but strangely all of them wore similar looking skirts with a symmetrical edges. Then I realised they had all been hired as ‘props’. They were supposed to dance and spray bhaang into your mouth using these little sprayers which resembled aeroplanes. Bet they are getting payed a fat packet to have a good time. Not a bad way to make some pocket money.

The food was most forgettable. But we got nice luxurious headed massages sponsored by some oil brand. That was relaxing to the hilt.

I received a phone call and couldn’t hear a thing. So, I retreated into a corner. While chatting, I peered over the wall and suddenly saw the beach. There were tons of people trying to peep over the wall and catch a glimpse of the action on this side.

They were also muddied with colour, were splashing about among the waves. Not too sure what that signifies enviromentally, but they looked blissful. Could be the bhaag or the waves.

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The last time I played Holi was an absolute disaster. A bunch of us escaped the city to Goa for some sun and seafood.

We were on the beach, flinging colour and water balloons at each other. Then we headed home, whipped up some bhang, drank ourselves silly and then headed out on bikes.

I was riding pillion, and my friend who was manning the bike, did wheelie, and I laughed rather loudly. Then he did another, and we laughed again.

Then he did another – on a turn — that’s when we fell, and I wasn’t laughing.

I gazed down at my leg, it looked rather white. Suddenly blood started oozing from the fairer looking area. The flesh bloated up — it was kind of gross. There was no pain, though. 

My two friends on the other bike were laughing like absolute embeciles, until they saw red. A little bell went off then, and we they started scrambling about the place.

They sat me on a bike and we went home. In a drunken stupor they went looking for a doctor. There weren’t any in the vicinity, as everything was shut, because it was a Sunday.

Finally, they picked up medical supplies and dressed the foot which looked like a bleached whale. I couldn’t walk for 2 weeks, and of course, all fun and frolic in Goa was nipped in the bud. Sigh!

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Hey people, have started my own eating out group. Do join in if you have the time or inclination to write about your gastronomic adventures.

Other than that, yesterday brought more food my way. First, we (my buddy Alan and myself) headed for the brunch at AD Singh’s Olive. It was a fashion-related event and there were some designers and models in attendence.

Laycelles Simmons, looks sooooo good I could hardly take my eyes of him. He is of course married, as are all the good-looking and remotely interesting men these days.

Other than that, designer Nandita Mahtani was in attendence looking very trendy-cool in a pair of stylish black shorts, a feminine white sleeveless top, a necklace with lots of baubles, and flat pumps of some sort of animal print (not real people). Nice style sense.

There was another designer called Anupama, who spokeslots of sense, but was dressed in a very ghastly sort of outfit. I asked her for some personal style tips and she recommended a skirt with a bias-cut in vibrant colours, slim fit basic tops and eye-catching necklaces and bracelets. She hopes to see me at the Lakme Fashion Week in the same. I of course asked her very candidly what, er…was a bias cut. She patiently explained. Maybe I will practice her advice.

Alan has just coloured his hair from Javed habib and was having second thoughts about his new look. Anupama said he has a Jamaican/Creole sort of look, which he took very happily. So now he has a ‘hot Jamaican’ chip on his shoulder.

Next, the food.

Had raw oysters for the first time EVER. And they were DIVINE! Wanted to have some more, but each comes in a shell the size of a monster, and two monsters on my place would reveal my true gluttonous nature to all the fru-fru crowd.

There was an absolute feast of seafood — squid pizza, calamari salad (squid again), shrimp salad, a tuna gravy etc etc — the BEST I have ever tasted.

And NOTHING was spicy or greasy. Yup, this was the best bland food I have ever tasted. And definitely the best seafood.

For dessert, I nibbled on my favourite fruit — kiwi. The Tiramisu was excellent and everything else was slightly forgettable.

Evening we headed for The Tasting Room, a new wine bar located, surprise, surprise at Meera’s and Ankur’s favourite place — Good Earth.

Good Earth is a home accessory and furniture store that smells and looks divine. The prices are not so divine, but a trip to Good Earth is good enough, if you have a keen aesthetic sense. Some parts of it reminded me of a Chemistry lab, as the walls and ceilings have that ‘cracked-up paint look’ and you have lots of glassware, some of which resemble beakers and testtubes. Some of the stuff and arrangements have a Moulin Rouge feel about it (which appealed to Alan, a lot) –  flamboyant.

I had a glass of pink-coloured Zinfandel, popped a few strawberries into my mouth and then then found a cosy (and expensive) sofa to lounge on. I wonder what happens if you drop something on it. Do you have to buy the damn thing?

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About a year back on my last B’day, I took a few friends to Lemon Grass, which by the way happens to be one of my favourite restaurants in Bandra.

This place serves the most delicious Thai/Pan-Asian food ever, at non-exhorbitant prices. It’s not exactly cheap either but somewhat affortable to mere mortals like me. Plus the decor looks like something out of the Flintstones and they play fantastic jazz/world music, so full points for ambience and food.

Anyways, coming back to my B’day, I took this motley crew of individuals to Lemon Grass – Fashionista Meera, funny man Vivin, baby photograher Ankur, dentist with a sharp, witty tongue Sana and moi.

Everyone was in a garroulous (and gluttonous mood). We ate, drank and made merry…until the bill arrived. The final figure seemed a lot more than I expected.

I quickly scanned the menu for dishes and realised that these were the exact dishes we ordered — the problem lay with the count per dish.

There were two extra gravy dishes, two extras desserts, and so on and so forth. This phenomenon is known as ’padding the bill’ — which means you add some extra figures to a dish or two thinking that no one will notice. Except that in this case it was more that a dish or two.

Anyways, I called the waiter and asked him to check it. Within about 60 seconds he had brought the ‘right’ bill, which was Rs 1,000 less.

Vivin refused to take this lightly, and this was a good thing. We demanded an explanation and received quite a few within the next few minutes.

A. The bill was delivered to the wrong table.

Though intelligent minds sometimes think alike I wasn’t buying this.

B. The cashier was a new chap and had messed up.

Okay, so why are you NOT apologetic?

Finally the manager arrived and tried the wrong bill number on us once again. But by then this supercilious attitude had really frustrated us and we were belligerent.

Finally we stormed out, after a heated exchange of words. We even warned some tables in the vicinity to check their bills.

Anyways, the point of this penning this experience is not to strike Lemon Grass off your list of favourite dinning places. Shamelessly, I still continue to go there, especially for a few dishes, which unfortunately do not know how to spell.

But so that you may scrutinise your bill ALWAYS and be savvy consumers.

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There’s a new haunt in town — The Tasting Room. This place is going to specialise in wine, and yeah, you get to sample lots of stuff — for free.

This place will also conduct workshops to educate savages like moi on the finer nuances of wine. So, you’ll learn which wine compliments which type of food etc.

What’s to be seen is how the prices fare.

I am highly suspicious of any place that charges a bomb – unless of course the food is so delicious, so succulent, so non-greasy yet delicious, so full of subtle flavours, that the tastes are etched in your culinary tastebuds forever.

In fact anyone who can make food that tastes great without smothering the ingredients with a barrel of oil and slapping on lots of spices, is a true culinary genius.

Updates on the Tasting Room, next Monday.

Meanwhile domestic concerns are mounting. I predict that by the end of next month I shall be broke. I need to buy:

~ Television

~ Fridge

~ Cupboard

~ Computer table

~ One bedside lamp, which must be tall and ideally have a body made of rot iron and a stylish lampshade.

~ A gas cylinder + stove

~ Curtains + Curtain rod

~ 2 mattresses

Phew! The sweat beads are mounting. All contributions — in cash or kind — welcome!

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I HAVE A NEW HOUSE!

I HAVE A NEW HOUSE!

I HAVE A NEW HOUSE!

Caravan Serai

Attended an office dinner last night at a restaurant called Caravan Serai. It’s a part of Golden Orchid located on a turn on Wakefield Road in Bandra.

Somebody said it served good food. That person must be killed.

The food is grossly over-priced (lucky me, I wasn’t paying).

Warning for mere vegetarian Pooh: This next few lines will not be easy for you to digest.

They serve all sorts of kebabs. The jumbo sized prawns were far from fabulous, but the very idea of devouring mammooth size prawns is exciting. There was some lobster too, but it was invisible under a pile of vegetables, I think.

The decor is very Arabian – curtains of baubles hanging about the place, miniature figurines placed strategically in front of soft lighting, concrete walls in beige — nice but predicatable.

I’d say you could give this place a miss for its lack of unique character in terms of decor, forgettable food and ridiculous pricing.

Crepe Station

Yet another place which I think is very overated is Crepe Station located just off Carter Road. Popped over with a friend. I ordered some sort of pasta which had — ‘exotic’ vegetables – as mentioned on the menu. These consisted of mushrooms, zucchini etc.

However, the exotic veggies were all buried under a debri of pasta, which had just a smidge of dressing/sauce. I put dollops of tomato sauce to liven up the taste – but that’s not a healthy practice, culinary-wise.

I started eating and felt like I was downing a pitcher of carbohydrates. What I would have preferred is more veggies (exotic or not) and a little less pasta and maybe more herbs.

Mae Be

Crepe Station is sandwiched between Baskin Robbins and Mae Be,  a cosy little joint, which serves continental food. Mae Be is reasonably priced and serves a decent spread. I have a sneaky feeling, though that all their dishes are conveniently Indianised.

They even have a low-calorie steak, which is not bad at all.

Kareem’s

On the right side of Mae Be is Kareem’s (after skipping the DVD store), which serves decent kebebs, though the gravy dishes are pretty greasy. 

Kwik Wok

Next to Kareem’s is Kwik Wok, a Chinese place and every foodies nightmare. They have very few people serving, so you need to wait eons before getting anything on the table. Besides, they don’t bring out the main course at one shot. There’s a trickle of dishes –  very infuriating for any ravenous person. The only time I have ever been there, I wanted to make a kwik exit. Surprisly, the same people run Kareem’s and Kwik Wok. That should explain the ‘K’ fixation.

Toss & Grill

Coming back to Baskin Robbins, you have Toss & Grill, which serves a bit of everything. A forgettable shawarma, roasted chicken, biryani, etc.

Brownie Point

Just in front of it is a tiny food kiosk which sells brownies. It is called Brownie Point and serves THE MOST DIVINE brownies ever, along with variations, which involve such fattening, but delicious things as chocolate syrup, dollops of ice-cream, hot chocolate and more.

Tangy Tamarind

On the left (when facing the road) is Tangy Tamarind, which serves lots of snacky stuff. The chicken wings are very crispy and priced at Rs 50. Not sure if they serve chicken any more. Was surprisedthat it was empty the other day. They also served lots of Mexican stuff, which I hear is a weight-watchers nightmare, since it is loaded with cheese and mostly deep-fried, often at least two times over!

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Something good may happen to me today (no Sandeep, this has nothing to do with meeting a good Goan Catholic boy, you one-track-minded-thing). Fingers crossed.

Other than that, have started singing at the Indian Army Institute on Sunday evenings. It’s a nice experience for now. This eccentric jazz pianist accompanies me. The place has an old world charm about it and the army-types enjoy jazz, country etc.

There’s this batty colonel who loves to take on the mike, except that he can’t carry a tune. So, he relishes his 30 seconds of fame and then hands me back the mike.  

Entertaining.

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