Cafe Cool

No one can accuse Cafe Zoe of being easy to locate.  Embedded deep in the heart of Mathuradas Mills, the entrance tucked out of sight behind parked cars and the local omelette-pao place, Zoe tries very hard to be a 'find'. And succeeds.

 

  

Push past the large door, and you are suddenly transported into a cool, minimalist world of comfortable spaces and calm furniture. The ceiling soars, the sunlight pours in, colourful sofas invite you to laze about and widely space blondewood tables seem meant for gossip. Bunches of bare bulbs hang from unconcealed cables, the bar is made of old crates, a long bare brick wall adds to a carefully cultivated sense of industrial clutter. Cutlery comes in glass tumblers, water and gazpacho in glass milk bottles, salads in tall glass containers that look just like plastic till you touch them. This could be New York – a bistro in LES one of those cool Brooklyn places that have sprung out of gentrification, men in suits mingled with tousled female hair and hippe jeans.

 

 

The food is quintessentially bistro – competent and comforting rather than spectacular. Having run through nearly the entire menu in three visits, I find a good deal to be satisfied with. The melon gazpacho is definitely one of the hits, the salads quite worth trying, the truffle cappelini delectable, the pastas properly toothsome and the desserts (with the exception of a poorly set panna cotta) satisfying. Even the bread is satisfyingly hardcrust.

Go, 'find' it.

Dalmore Dalliance

It was with some interest that I read the invitation Rushina had sent me. The text mentioned Dalmore, and I knew only two pieces of trivia about Dalmore. One was its owner - via Whyte and Mackay our very own Vijay Mallya – and second that someone had purchased in Singapore Duty Free a Dalmore worth about rupees one crore – apparently the most expensive regular whisky in the world. To those who want to do the math, its about one lakh rupees a small sip.

My hopes of coming anywhere near that bottle were understandably slim, but Dalmore makes other stuff worth drinking too. The twelve, the gran reserva and the fifteen were promised but the invitation promised still more - a food and whisky pairing that combined the talents of Mallya's minions with Jamavar's Chef Surender Mohan.

While wine-food pairings are a dime a dozen, this was the first time I was about to try a whisky-food pairing that did not involve a dive bar. Whisky is hardly a stranger to food; the enduring popularity of the chicken tikka derives from its ability to make cheap whisky better. This one was different – Dalmore hardly requires help going down, and Jamawar seemed quite capable on its own as well.

We started with the Dalmore 15; this, in my opinion, is of the finest scotches in the world (in my price range, of course). Mellow, sophisticated, lots of flavours and aromas jumping in and out as you hold it in your mouth, its a pleasure to drink in slow, measured sips over evening conversations. Served in champagne flutes to enhance the nose, it was paired with a jumbo prawn baked in cheese, lamb seekh kababs and tandoori broccoli. The Dalmore 12 returned to regular tumblers, paired with the main courses of fish alleppey, badami chicken korma, bharwan gucchi and paneer pasanda. Biriyani and dal also floated in and out. The final whisky – the Gran Reserva – was paired with the pista kulfi dessert.

The food was outstanding. The tandoori broccoli was to die for, the biriyani wonderful and the bharwan gucchi worth the wait. The whiskys were equally good – the Twelve was nice, the Gran Reserva sweet and complex, the Fifteen I have already been fulsome over. Though both were robust flavours and aromas the selection was good; they did well not to clash with each other.

The big question is, however – what did it add? A great cheese lifts a wine to greater heights, and the right wine does the same for the cheese. Here, however, the pairing was more pleasant company than dance partner. I still find whisky a wonderful standalone drink. Call me a purist but I firmly believe the incredible complexity of the Fifteen or the Gran Reserva should be savoured without distractions.

Don't read books while listening to Bach…

Cycle Tales

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 properly desi-hip khullar chai (namebranded sugar pouches on the side) landed up, along with the most lip-smackingly delicious upma I've had in a while. Cous cous it was, but it came loaded with curryleaf and rai, peanuts and tomato bits – as upma as you could want it. Cous cous is not very far from semolina (both are broken wheat) expect that the texture was basmati rather than sushi rice. And yes, the masala chai was nice too. Pleasant seating, lots of eye candy, nice chai, great snacks – no wonder the place is packing it in. No wi-fi or power points, though

My exploration continued down the road, deep into the heart of the koli village that still looks like it lives in the nineteenth century. Narrow lanes (some would challenge bicycles) and colourful houses of occasional vintage makes for a nice ride. Those gobi balls that Mumbai's fishing communities seemed to have snatched from the Chinese were to be found here and there, but I stuck to my goodbye resolution and avoided them (deep fried, after all). All of a sudden, I was in front of an incongruous sign.

I have this theory that the Bengalis will inherit the earth (the bible called us meek, but that's another story) and this is living proof. The Kolkata roll has hit deep, deep in the heart of the unbelievers. I have no idea who Hingla Devi is (maybe some celestial variant of Hangla) but she's clearly committed to the Kolkata roll. Unfortunately, it was closed on account of it being Sunday evening (run by bongs, after all) so a taste test will have to wait. Its on the way to the ferry, so all you can try it at your leisure.

More rolling was to follow. A few more turns of the pedal later, I was back in Bandra, and back in front of a sign that combined Kolkata and Roll with the yellow colour.

Bong Bong is a brand new eatery just off Shiv Sagar, on your right if you're headed to Pali Naka. The Bangalicious shop offered rolls, rolls and more rolls – not to mention biriyani that smelled like the real thing, kassa, chaap and other promised goodies that may have promise too. Still in full goodboy mode, I had to avoid Foursquare's hot tip, the aloo roll, not to mention the real options - mutton and chicken. This left me with just a tiny corner of the menu – a paneer double-egg roll.

  

While waiting for my roll, I ruminated on how the new rash of bong restaurants seemed to ignore entirely both mustard and fish. A few minutes later, I was biting into a fat generous sized roll, properly wrapped in paper. Its hard to make much of a taste judgement when all you have to work with is paneer, but based on a superior paratha and the spicy tawa-tossed onions I would hazard that the mutton would be worth trying.

My last stop of the day was Kailash Parbat, newly opened three steps from Bong Bong. It still has Mumbai's best pani puris (before some smartass comments, I was at Tarabaug last week and sorely disappointed). Yes it comes on a do-it-yourself plate but the water is Mumbai's best - spicy, tangy, tasty, quite unlike the usual green drainwater that the average guy peddles. The sweet chutney is loaded with tamarind and chillies, putting in the right amount can at least put you on Kolkata Mail, if not actually get you there.

All in all, a fruitful bicycle ride.