Breakfast Bonanza

When Nithin spoke to our server in his best saket-meets-kottayam hindi, refraining from breaking out into Malayalam at Maria’s Mess in Marathahalli, I was intrigued. Why would he not communicate in the vernacular with his fellow brethren? From my days in Woodcon, Jai Hind and other Udipi joints / Shetty bars in Mumbai, I was reminded of the special service that was conferred on to us purely on the basis of Shank’s and my broken Konkani and Kannada respectively. And here we were, turking for some quick service and special treatment, and the boy refused to utter a word of mal.

“Why don’t you talk to him in mal?”

“Cos, he is from UP.”

I paused and stared at him in blank-face. This was deeply distressing. Personally, I wouldn’t trust a chom who claimed he knew the difference between an idli and a sanna, or a kal dosa from a plain dosa, or puttu from, well, puttu. One who called kadala curry, “kadala curry” and not “chana masala”, and knew an egg roast from an egg curry, or even a vada from a bonda. These men were never meant to know this stuff, and if you found one who did, you can be assured that something is amiss. But Ramu (name changed) from UP, at Maria’s Mess knew the shizz like the back of his friggin’ house boat in Alleppey.  

Over the last few weeks, I have found a new found love for all things breakfast. Multiple visits to Janata Hotel, Raghavendra Stores, Veena Stores, CTR, MTR and miniscule darshinis had ensured that my cravings for standard idli-dosa fare had been sated and I yearned for something new and refreshing. Of course, Gundu Pulao and Rao Militry Mess remained on my radar, but I knew I hadn’t really done justice to food discovery since Vivek Nagar last month. As I wandered aimlessly one Saturday morning, after declining a Koshy’s brekka invite, I found myself in the now familiar lanes of Shivajinagar and Russel Market. It was here that I knew, a motherfucker of a breakfast would present itself. Oh, how wrong I was!

It was a Kerala Parotta and Beef Fry had at an obscure, run down, fly-by-night kind of place, that reminded me of the dangers of these escapades I call a hobby. Bits of offal with suspicious origins floated in spiced lard and tiny chunks of capsicum from yesterday’s chilli chicken. An experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong. It was enough to put me off experimenting for a while.

 

But then, just when I thought all was lost, I returned to a place I hadn’t been to since 1999.

“Vignesh Naidu Biryani Hotel” is a little known, easily missed, military style hotel in Sheshadripuram – Kumara Park that deserves to be on the map. By the time I got there, 10:30 AM mind you, the mutton pulao was long gone and I was left with choosing a chicken pulao, khaima ball curry and some mutton chops. All this. For breakfast. I could cry.

It was a “motherless” meal, one that oozed with flavour, juices and tiny little bubbles of love that reinstated faith even in the most hapless of individuals. Like that meal you always remember having sometime in your life but never found again, only to have it present itself before you on steel plates and marble top tables in the most unlikely of places. Once again, I was happy doing what I do best. Feeling at peace in the bosom of the gastronomic cosmos that is Bangalore, chewing on juicy balls of karma kebab, silent, full.

 

The next thing I knew, I was at Maria’s Mess, watching people pluck bananas off large hanging plantains atop their table, mashing them into their puttus with ghee while a north indian Ramu rattled off dishes in mal that even I couldn’t pronounce.

This city I tell you, makes me emotional.

Photos from a long time ago...

Fresh Ratnagiri Haapus Aamrus and Sol Kadi near Ganapatiphule, while watching a 55 year old Frenchman saddle up his bicycle, on his way to Kanyakumari, while I headed to goan shores.

 Pitla-Bhakri near Lohgad, not awesome but did the trick on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

 The most incredible veg konkan thali meal in Ganapatiphule. Just before aamrus and sol kadhi.

Bangalore East Railway station, for 2 rupee idlis. Soft, spongy, delightful!

The MTDC resort in Tarkarli, slightly expensive but good nonetheless. I've had better. Way, way better.

Samco, Chennai, Biryani. Don't know why Kamal loves this place.

Some Arabic Chicken attempt at Samco. Seriously man, a fake Humus Naasip of the Savoury fame.

Paw-luck Paneer at Samco.

Assorted trash at Samco.

Sigh.

Theeram Mess in Thippasandar. Very very nice, ya!

Ah yes, this place. Somewhere near Helicopter Division.

Suranjandas Road kebab guy. Don't stop if you see him. The stuff is very intense.

Biryani, I think Cox Town somewhere. Very cheap and quite meh if you ask me.

Viveknagar Wonderousness

Viveknagar. That place. Famous for two things and two things only. First, for the shrine of the Miraculous Infant Jesus, where you stand with folded arms and eleven burning candles, oblivious to the fact that the combined inferno has singed the hair of the lady in front of you, your faith slowly distracted by the rank smell of burning curls, you move away, slowly, behind the pack, as the lady’s sudden realisation is followed by a hushed ruffle, you escape. Second, for being the only road connecting Koramangala to Town, taken often on weekdays but never on Thursday, when Baby Jesus is at his Miraculous best. Unless you had a bike mech you frequented in the Neelasandra area, you never ever spent time in Viveknagar. Or would you? Allow me to draw you a slightly different picture…

There are beef shops in Viveknagar. Large beef shops. With carcasses of whole cows hanging outside. Their fat glazed with the slightest tinge of yellow, probably from being out in the sun for some time. The corridors extend inside to reveal a crowd of people sans candles in an unprovoked silence. Faith, you see, has many forms. Beef. That Bangalore meat to which a monologue has already been written. Thank you, Baby Jesus, for all this beef. 

 

Further down the road, there are small, dark restaurants, some of which seem like potential health risks from the outside. Inside, the story isn’t any different. There is, however, a restaurant grading certificate above or next to the 2007 calendar with the Kaabah photo on it. It is smudged. They serve beef biryani at 10 AM in the morning. For thirty rupees, you get a meal the size of a large Nagarjuna biryani. The meat itself leaves the bone before you realise you had decided to scoop some off your plate. They do not serve fucking onions. Or at least that’s what the response feels like when you ask them for it. Don’t ask for pacchadi either. Your ass might be the next cured piece of meat outside the delicatessen next door.  In the evening they serve Veel Kebab. Or Wheel Kebab. Or Veal Kebop. And it is the most delicious thing you will have put in your mouth for some time. They use curry leaves in the frying process. So the texture is enhanced with a couple of crackling pieces of curry leaves. That shit is the bomb. I mean it. They also serve Sheek Kebab. Those are crap.

Viveknagar deserves to be on the map.

Now go.

Revisiting Tadiandamol

Where once there was just a single route to the Tadiandamol peak, travellers have now carved a multitude of vermiculate patterns along the hillside, littered with polythene packets and styrofoam plates still stained with the remains of two-day old puliyugare and masala vada. The surroundings of the large “rock”, once home to mountains of elephant dung, now permeates with the faint smell of faecal matter of the human variety. Trekkers on the way to the peak now carry cool graphite sticks designed, no doubt, to poke folks in the gut just so they can have an unrestricted view of the valley for about 5 minutes. How this place has changed!

When we first went to Tadiandamol around 10 years ago, we spent pretty much the whole afternoon drinking beer chilled in one of the many streams en route and cooking mutton purchased from Virajpet in a small stove over a toxic fire near the rock. The second time, we were sensible and carried a two kilo bird, slow roasted over a fire at Tamanna’s house before being unceremoniously dumped into a kadai when we lost patience over the cooking process. Tamanna, the farmer, had a small little cottage around a third of the way up to the peak from Aramane Palace. His porch, where he normally let us crash for the night, was coated with the fresh green tinge of cow dung to keep insects at bay and was an inspiring ‘back of beyond’ kind of place with serious bohemianesque potential. Also, he happened to be the only source of arrack this side of the wilderness. While food here remained rather simple, ala sambar rice for lunch and dosas for breakfast, I fondly remember the time we were treated to a breakfast of kodambuttus (corgi steamed rice balls), vegetable sambar, chutney and chicken curry, an unforgettable meal had in the midst of 80 or so of his family members during an annual ‘jhatre’ at his place.

It wasn’t just about Tadiandamol though. The promise of breakfast quarters of old monk, intense pandi curry / fry and fish-fry meals from Madhupaana Bar drew friends and friends of friends to regular post-trek parties in Virajpet before boarding Airavaths back to the Looru. Sadly though, Madhupaana has now shut shop, so on this particular occasion, we proceeded to another landmark, Green’s Bar and Restaurant.

Now, at this juncture, I’d like to add that I’m a sucker for unexpected condiments. I have a love for all ketchups, chutneys, sauces, dips, pickled onions, gun powders and even plain ol’ gingly oil. So when our simple Veg Pulao and Rice Plate arrived with an array of quarter plates, mini-bowls and saucers, I felt a little better about the premium prices that I was paying for food here. There was an unbelievable Inji Pacchadi (Ginger Raita), a stupendous peanut pickle, a cabbage so finely sliced even "Paulie" would be proud, an incredibly thick, cool, spicy, vegetable raita, and a rasam with enough zing to add a little chorus to a perfect melody. The pulao, which would have easily served atleast 4 people on any other day, was demolished by two Brahmins from BTM and CV Ramanagar respectively over a couple of plates of pandi fry, a chicken curry, a rice plate, a few beers and a couple of whiskey shots for the road. 

We woke up 6 hours later. Somewhere near Kengeri.