Catch 22: Or Why I Can't Finish Reading A Food Review

Guess the taste: raw beef, eggs and potatoes

In my entire life, I have never been able to finish reading a food review. Sorry Naresh, sorry Iain, sorry Guy (the food reviewers that I worked with) - not even yours, not even the ones that I may have joined you for the food to. 

It is not because I don’t care for food. I do. I really do. Bad food upsets me. Bad service upsets me. Bad ambience upsets me. Which is why I was permanently upset in London - the food quality was so poor in general. 

Today, while reading a review in the toilet of a seafood restaurant Dimitri’s by some Mr Michael Harden in the latest Melbourne Weekly, I finally figured out why. 

It is because most of the review is just gibberish to me. 

Here’s a line out of the review. “There will still be the superb spakonita made with wild greens, the semonila-dusted calamari served with auso aioli, French toast made with baklava and the brilliant gigantes - large tomoatoey baked beans served with poached eggs, loukaniko sausages and feta, all examples of the modern Greek approach that owner Jim Karabagias does with intuitive flair.” 

To begin with, I find my comprehension hiccuping four times in that one sentence - at “spakonita”, “auso ailoi”, “gingates” and "loukanikos”. And each time I hiccup, my interest in the review falls a few notches unconsciously. (In all, I hiccuped nine times in the tiny half page review). 

Besides, even when I do recognise all the ingredients I find it tough to imagine them together - French toast made with baklava? Now there are people who can simply put unlikely ingredients together in their minds and conjure up the taste. They are usually contestants in MasterChef. To the rest of us, the words describing the dishes are simply gibberish until we actually taste them. And if we can’t imagine the taste, how will be know that we will like the taste? 

The only time a food review comes to life for me is when something goes wrong with the service - the staff is rude, or the food comes too late or the bill contains an unexpected charge. Because human F-ups are something we all can relate to. 

The problem is that food reviewers want to bring to you interesting new restaurants offering interesting new foods in interesting new ambience. But newer the foods, ingredients and atmosphere, the more I hiccup, and the more I lose interest. 

And that is what I call a Catch 22.

On Tayyab's and the paucity of good Indian restaurants in London

Another one bites the dust

Sid's and my perennial search for a good Indian restaurant led us to the famed Tayyab’s this weekend. I had reasons to be optimistic. Whenever, we mentioned the general hideousness of Brick Lane's Indian fare, people whispered of Tayyab’s as an authentic alternative. And the Time Out London Food & Drink guide had nice things to say about it.

The snaking queue at the restaurant gave us more reasons for hope. Though the chaos was not conducive to a relaxing night, it was a positive indication of the kitchen’s efforts. Luckily for us, we were the only people in line for a table-of-two and found ourselves seated soon enough and being served by a polite, dishy-looking Pakistani émigré waiter, his soft Punjabi accent yet to be sandpapered away.

Unfortunately, he turned out to be the dishiest thing in the restaurant that night. My guess is that the saag gosht, fried daal and paneer tikka that we ordered were very tasty when they were initially made, but each subsequent reheat through the day had taken something off the flavour. So by the time it reached our table at eight in the night, I could almost taste the oil and spices crying in protest against the day's torture. The naans were tasty but without the reinforcement of good curry they couldn’t save the night.

It is really funny that the closest we have come to truly yummy, value-for-money Indian food in England is at a Burmese restaurant (Mandalay on Edgeware Road) and a Nepali one (Yak Yeti Yak in all the way in Bath). 

Sid says that the popularity of any foreign cuisine is inversely related to its authenticity. The reason our Nepali and Burmese restaurant have been able to maintain their high standard is because they are the only ones in the market – a small niche clientele is enough for them to survive. But the more ubiquitous a cuisine gets, the more a restaurant finds itself pandering to popular tastes in order to attract patrons – even if it means playing fast and loose with authenticity. So it is to the very popularity of Indian food in London that we can blame for our inability to find a good Indian restaurant in London.

But that is our theory. If you have any others, feel free to share.

***
On the most interesting Indian place we have found in London, Dishoom in Leicester Square, read this.

Bring on the Biryani: Or how I saw journalism get its mojo back

Inside the toilets of Dishoom

I have never really believed in the power of journalism. Of course, I had heard of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein and had even dutifully watched All the President’s Men during university years, but five years of working as a journalist cured me of the notion that anything I wrote changed the world by even one-tenth of a percentage point.

My cynicism was cemented by the fact that Nandini – the film critic of Time Out Mumbai – would keep sending me to review Hindi films. They would invariably be terrible, I would invariably say so in my reviews, and they would invariably go on to become major hits.  Alright, so film reviews weren’t exactly in league with investigating the president, but if I couldn’t even get people to change their taste in films, how was to convince them to change their leaders.

So I entered my thirtieth year of life convinced of my own powerlessness. And then, Guy Dimond and Dishoom happened.

Now Guy is the food critic of Time Out London, and Dishoom is a new restaurant on Long Acre Road which claimed to be on the lines of a Bombay Irani Café. Last month, while I was doing an internship there, Guy asked me to accompany him for the restaurant review hoping that my Bombay days would come in handy in affirming his views on the place. We sat, ate and concluded that the Berry Chicken Biryani – the signature dish of most Irani cafes in Mumbai – was too dry, and really that ought not to be so. Then he wrote the same in his review, and we all forgot about it.

So imagine my surprise last week, when I was there with a few friends, and we found the whole recipe to be changed. When I quizzed the manager about it, here’s what he said: “some reviews said that the biryani was too dry, so we decided to change the recipe!”

Change the recipe? Change it because of a review? A review that I was – in whatever small measure – a part?

If I could get a restaurant to change its recipe, perhaps, I could change people’s tastes in films. Perhaps, I can change people’s minds about their leaders. Perhaps, I could change the world.

I am ready. Now, if only someone would hire me to start upon the project.

***
With its Biryani fixed, I would consider Dishoom a very welcome and much needed-addition to Central London. It has a contemporary décor, a cool vibe, an eclectic menu (with no Chicken Tikka Masala in sight), and reasonable prices (if you consider about £30-35-for-dinner & drinks-for-two reasonable). No longer will I have to go all the way to Southall or Wembley and suffer the terrible restaurant décors in order to enjoy a good Indian meal with friends.

France, Switzerland & Italy in a day - Or how I learnt to stop worrying and love the pasta

Trapped in translation?

Whatever else I had imagined myself doing in my life, it wasn’t this: having breakfast in one country, lunch in another, and dinner in third. But that is precisely what Sid and I did this Saturday, thanks to the excellent road connectivity of Europe and the marvellous ease of travel afforded by Schengen.

So we started our day with croissants in a village cafe on the French side of the Franco-Swiss border, then drove along the gorgeous winery-lined Geneva Lake in Switzerland and then through (and often under) the snow-capped Alps into Italy to finish the day with dinner in the lively town square of Turin.

I had already been to France and Switzerland (for my views on Indians in Switzerland read here) – but it was my first time in Italy. And less-than-24 hours in the country was enough for me to realise that every stereotype I had ever heard of Italians – was totally and completely true. Yes, they are indeed loud, friendly and colourful. Yes, they drive like maniacs. Yes, they are easy with their honks. Yes, they have the most divine food. And yes, they are not shy about roadside displays of affection – I mean those Italian men were really going for it with their girlfriends in public.

Considering that all other stereotypes had been confirmed, I was completely ready to encounter the ultimate Italian experience: the tourist trap. And when we sat down for dinner at a little taverna in the Latin Quarter of Turin – and the Italian lady started serving us all sorts of yummy things without us having actually ordered any – I thought this is it. I mean, when she asked in her very limited English “Apertifs?” and we nodded, I thought we would get menu cards. Instead, we got a wine for me, a beer for Sid, a plate of cold-cuts and cheese, and a basket of bread.

It didn’t help when Sid recounted a story he had read of a Japanese couple landing up consuming fish worth €2000 in a restaurant in Rome without quite realising it until the bill arrived – the Italian waiter had been just a little too helpful, you see.

The only saving grace was that the two girls sitting next to us had been offered exactly the same food. Taking courage from that, Sid & I decided to just relax and play along. So we took our time with the wine and cheese, and tarried over the pasta and the icecream-in-chocolate sauce that followed. (No, we hadn’t ordered that either.)

Finally, when the meal was over – and the girls next to us had left – we decided to go up to the till, and check out the damage. I was fully expecting to fall back by a good 40-50 euros.

So we could hardly believe our ears when the lady pointed at the till showing €16. “No, no – we had some wine and beer too” – Sid actually protested. The lady just looked quizzical and said “ci! ci!” 

Part elated and part guilt-ridden at having so awfully presumed on her behalf, we paid our paltry bill and left.
You know those stereotypes about Italians – never believe them…



***
- If you do land-up in Turin and are looking for smashing meal for €16, try Rhumeria Vodkeria on Franco Bonelli Street.
- The comedian Eddie Izzard on Italians

Food for Thought

After months of relentless bad press and political stand-offs, it took one frizzy-haired 35-year-old Australian and her campaign, Vindaloo Against Violence, to restore the image of Australians as friendly, warm people always ready to embrace something new – including lots of new Indians in their country.

It all started on the hot night of January 20th in Melbourne. Mia Northop, a digital media designer, and her architect husband were driving to their neighbourhood curry restaurant in Flemington. The conversation turned to the recent attacks on Indians in Melbourne, and Mia recounted a report she had read that day about Indian businesses, particularly restaurants, suffering because their main clientele – the Indian student community – were reluctant to step out after sunset. What a shame it was, she felt. Then suddenly she said, “What we need is a flash mob – thousands of people going to an Indian restaurant at the same time to show their support!”

The comment was meant in jest but a germ of an idea had formed in Mia’s mind. Why not, she thought. It would give out such a powerful message. The following Friday, she tentatively broached the idea before a few friends she was having dinner with, and they loved it. Mia made up her mind to go ahead with it.

In order to send the message out, she decided to use the medium she knew best – the digital media. In the past, she had often used the internet, particularly the social media, to promote products and services for companies. Now she would use it to promote a cause closer to her heart. She spent the weekend building a simple, easy to navigate website in blue, green and white inviting people to an open event cheekily called Vindaloo Against Violence. The message was simple enough: As an Australian, show your solidarity with the Indian community by eating at the nearest Indian restaurant on February 24. Then she posted the event on Facebook, created a twitter account for it, and cross-referenced them to the website she had built.

Mia believed that the attacks on Indians were the work of a fringe in Melbourne. Most Australians she knew felt a strong repugnance to these attacks. And yet, they had no way to voice their views. The Australian prime minister and the police chief seemed to be speaking for all of them. But given a chance, she felt the silent majority would take the opportunity to show that they cared for the safety of the minority communities.

Her hunch turned out to be absolutely right. Within days, the event had gone viral over the internet with her facebook event registering over 10,000 visits and over 7000 people confirming their participation. Many left messages showing their support for the cause and with helpful tips on good Indian restaurants. Several people have begun planning smaller events – book readings, women organising hand-tattoo nights, Bollywood themed events and outings – to combine with the Indian food. Northop was particularly touched by one email sent to her by an old woman from a tiny country town in Victoria telling her how the people in the town had decided to organise an open-air Bollywood film show to follow the Indian dinner. Her simple urge to get people to eat at an Indian restaurant had tapped into the community feel of the town.

Her event quickly caught on with the Australian media, with all major newspapers reporting it. More importantly, it got a liberal mention in the Indian media as well. After more than a year of bad press, Indians were finally seeing the other Australia – one inhabited by easy-going, conscientious Australians who want to distance themselves from the country’s fist-heavy, gang-happy fringe. In turn, Northop received several emails from Indians showing their appreciation of the gesture.

Indian food, believes Mia, was the best way to get Melbournians together. With its great weather, abundant space, and lively street life, the city has always had a rich restaurant and café culture. All Melbournians consider themselves proud foodies. In turn, Indian cuisine with flavourful curries has caught on in almost all countries that Indians have migrated to. It seemed like a perfect combination to bring all Melbournians – Indians and otherwise – together.

Though, India has always been a part of Mia’s life – her mother was always fond of cooking Indian curries and tandoori chicken, several of her friends and former boyfriends were of Indian origin, and she is a regular practitioner of yoga – she doesn’t consider herself an Indophile. Her initiative was more driven by her concern that the world was getting the wrong impression of Australians. She says, she would have started the initiative if the violence had been targeted at the Sudanese, Lebanese or Chinese communities too. She just wanted the rest of the world to know what a marvellous place Australia was to live in.

With her initiative set to be a resounding success, Mia is now wondering where she will eat on February 24th. Perhaps, after all the madness of the month, it will be a quiet dinner at her local Indian restaurant in Flemington, Taste of India.

***
If you are still undecided on where to eat at on February 24, try this lovely vegetarian Indian restaurant called Nirvana Vegetarian Cafe on 486 Bridge Road, Richmond (03-9428-408). It is run by my friendly, talkative mother-in-law and the food is great. On the other hand, she might try to convince you to see light and turn vegetarian.

Veggie Delights

The Sustainable Development Commission in the UK has published the first ever official recommendation for a diet that is both healthy and good for the environment.It concludes that British consumers must reduce their consumption of intensively-produced meat and dairy products and processed foods.

What this means is that they should start eating:
a) More free range meats and dairy products;
b) And as these, in any case, cannot be produced in the quantities of current meat intake – move to veggies, preferably seasonal and field grown.

Of course, it helps the environment. But it will also help tackle the “growing crisis” (Guardian’s words not mine) of diet-related diseases spreading through the UK.

So far so good. But here’s why regulation may not be the best first-step strategy.

Having lived in UK, Holland, Denmark and Germany, I can certifiably say that nothing in the North European cuisines dares to be vegetarian and tasty. Either it is meat based and mouth watering, or vegetarian and tasteless. In restaurants and homes, the vegetarian component of a meal is limited to a leafy side dish – lacking nourishment, proteins and most importantly taste.

How do I know? Through Sid – who having come to a conclusion similar to SDC several years ago, courageously converted to vegetarianism. Since then, his meals outside have been largely limited to pasta salads at dinners at friends’, penne arabiata in regular restaurants and over-priced ratatouilles in fancy ones. (Our saving grace is that we are Indian – and can cook the range of tasty Indian vegetarian dishes at home. But if Sid was European, he would be screwed.)

But surely, Gordon Brown can’t expect the whole of Northern Europe to survive on penne arabiata and pasta salad.

So if the government really wants to encourage vegetarianism, here’s where it should begin: Hire Jamie Oliver to transform the English cuisine with vegetables and pulses in mind this time. Everything else can follow.

***
PS: And stop shaming smelly foods.

London Independent: Cafe Moccha 2

Is it possible to develop a relationship with a café? I am not living in Angel at the moment. So why did I feel that I owed it to Café Moccha and to myself to drop in and have its excellent café latte and greasy omelette just because I was in the area? To not have done so would have somehow amounted to disloyalty.

Café Moccha 2: it stands on Essex Road and is owned by an Albanian with a monkey-cap haircut who harmlessly flirt with anything fetching that walks into his café. Most of the staff, dressed in non-descript black, are Albanians too who speak in a charming rounded-vowel accent, and lovingly eat up every sixth preposition in a sentence.

There is nothing distinguishing about it. It has granite-top tables and metal pipe chairs neatly arranged in rows; clean cream walls with no wall hangings or paintings; and two large televisions always playing an Italian music channel called My Music. (Why Italian? Six months of visiting it every day and I still don’t know). The paper card menu that stands on every table is basic – omelettes, paninis, ciabattas, sandwiches and pastas (most of it greasier than I prefer). The coffees are standard lattes and mochas – though always perfectly turned out.

So why is this place always full, when many others along the road are not? There are groups of mothers meeting for early morning group therapy chats, toddlers stumbling about, black suited men having business meetings, old couples having their daily meals, college students discussing work projects, and lots and lots of single souls tapping away on their laptops like me.

I doubt it is the the food, the coffees, the space, the décor. It is the fact that the café is always busy, but never enough to not have a table for you. The staff is busy but never so much that they don't greet you in recognition or remember what you usually like. You are somehow never underdressed or overdressed for it. And it is not a part of a chain, so you know that you are special to have found it. The experience is not available dime-a-dozen on every street. You feel welcome, wanted, special, accepted just as you are – and it comes with a free, great internet reception. Now, isn’t that all we look for in a relationship?

If I could marry again, I would marry my Café Moccha.

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Cafe Moccha 2: 48 Essex Road, Islington, London N1 8LR. (phone: 07882892493)