I’ve been duped. Had. Bamboozled.
Flipped. Turned. Taken for a ride. Sent on a wild goose chase. Shat upside
down. Peed against the wind. Cooked on the sunny side. Offered Rooh Afza on a
wintery day. Toasted without butter. Played out of tune. Versed without rhyme.
Prosed without punctuation. Bathed without Lifebouy. Kebabed without frying.
Watered without whiskey. Maggied without ketchup. Teaed without ginger. Missed
called. Bangalored without rain. And I haven’t been happier.
A few weeks ago, I was informed
of a most secretive place. A place where the wildest dreams of a beef
connoisseur come true. Where the ghee rice is hot all day and the beef is
served up in assorted varieties. Hidden deep in the many lanes connecting
Broadway to Seppings road to Bamboo Bazaar, I was informed of a wizard who
conjures tongue-tingling delicacies at will. A master of the Loorean Mohmeddan
culinary arts. A man whose skills extend beyond the abattoir attached to his
tiny café, serving up an all-day dining menu of badassdom. The Namesake.
Firdaus Beef Center. My initial reaction to being informed of his existence was
of utter disbelief. Shock and awe and respect for the informant who had introduced
me to a secret so well-kept that even the most hip of Bangalores growing
gastronauts had not heard of. My disbelief was soon replaced with a profound
sense of intrigue, for it was a journey I yearned to take, to seek out this man
and devour from his fountain of delicious magic. How incredible this expedition
would be. Famished Firdaus eating at Firdaus Beef Center. Things could not get
more epic than that.
Or so I thought.
After about an hour of roaming
the nooks and crannies of Shivaji Nagar, requesting, no, pleading to be
directed to this so called magician, despite following the directions provided
to me to the “T”, I realised some things are not meant to be. Soon, my despair
was replaced by an ever increasing river of rage. I felt like Tommy after Billy
Batts had told him to “Go and get his fucking shine box!”. I wandered aimlessly,
passing rows and rows of stalls selling unhatched chicken eggs, gizzards and
feet on Slaughter House lane while breathing in the dank, intoxicating smell of
defeat and bird shit. Like a king surveying a lost field of battle amidst carcasses
and unclaimed limbs. I had never ever felt so alone. As I relegated myself to
the thought of an uninspiring meal at Hamza, I chanced upon an interesting banner.
“Apsara Hotel – Food at its best. Celebrating 50 years of Food Services &
Cuisines”. I moved in to investigate.
The result was an eighty rupee
meal of some spectacular beef biryani, a stupendous beef fry and supremely satisfying
Thums-Up. I tell you man, this city inspires me. And I’ve said this so many
times, no matter how far away you think you might be from good food, you can
never be far enough. Apsara Hotel has been around for 50 years and does not
even get a single mention of reviews on Zomato. Its difficult doing business in
the company of Hilal and Hamza, but seriously, this beef biryani was right up
there with the best. I haven’t been to Khazana in a while now, but I really
think this place would give Khazana a run for its money any day of the week.
You must go. Really, just go.
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