Breakfast of Champions: Sri Chowdeshwari Donne Biryani

It has been a difficult time for this blog.

For a few months now, I have begun to doubt the credibility of this city. It is a recurring theme in any Bangalorean’s life, I think, to be deeply introspective about your place in this City. A theme that parallels the general malaise of a melancholic Shakespearean character immersed in a moving pall of gloom, driving an unimportant narrative about man’s piece of work before someone unceremoniously dies. Let’s be honest, it has been a difficult time for us all. This cold November rain that I have alluded on several occasions, that trickles down your back and into your crack, slaloming across electric goosebumps as you navigate death on every corner of these dark potholed ridden roads, avoiding sharp edged buses and sharp-tongued auto fuckers, that rain has tormented us enough. And we are not happy people right now. We’re depressed and angry and frustrated at this pestilential congregation of vapour and air. It has been a very very bad November.

For me, on some level, there is a realisation that there has always been a misplaced sense of home with this city. Like a piece of sinew on a bone that refuses to budge. Misplaced because, like most folks here, we have adopted this city to be our own. We don’t necessarily belong. We just happened to be here before the gentry arrived. And hence, our memories and experiences of this city are significantly different from those currently being shared by the nouvelle looreans. Shanks, for example, always mentioned that his memory of this city was seeing it from the inside of every moving vehicle you could think of, a motorcycle, a car, a Hoysala, an Ambulance. For G and “What-a-guy”, it was always about watching the city meander from the inside of a bar or wine shop, a slow dribble at first, then into a noisy cacophony of clinking and shouting as the night ended in a fast blur of empty quarters and broken hands. For me, it was always about getting on a bike or strolling through a bunch of unexplored lanes, smoking a fag and chancing on a gastro-discovery that deserved to make the news. It was easy work. Not so much now. Every chance stroll has to be planned on a Sunday, lest you lose your hair in this god-forsaken traffic, and even if you do make it to the said chance discovery location, getting back is a task for Superman. It’s tough being a gastro-auteur, especially with the tastes that I normally pander to.

Speaking of traffic, there is something magical taking place in K R Puram. My first experience with stupendous food in K R Puram was with this phantasmagorical manga inspired donne biryani hotel in Basavanapura. Since then, I have made a few visits in that general direction, but my recent visit to an old favourite resulted in one of the most epic breakfasts I have had in years. Sri Chowdeshwari Donne Biryani Hotel is a small decrepit shed located enroute to Basavanpura on the Chittoor highway. After you cross the temple in K R Puram and just as you hit the highway, keep your eyes open on the right for a shed with lettering in big bold letters on the other side of the road. On a previous visit for their spectacular and lightly spiced mutton biryani, I was informed to land up early for some special items. This time, I came prepared and landed up by 10 AM and made my way into this makeshift dining area that probably serves as a barn in the evening. I was served up their biryani straight up, a plate of their mutton chops and a mutton liver that deserved special mention. Served steaming hot as I sat on a bench and slammed fistfuls of rice and chaaps off a paper plate resting on a bathroom stool, it made an otherwise depressingly cold and wet Sunday well worthwhile. 

 

It was a day that I didn’t have my bike on me and like a tourist, I had driven down in an i10 Grand. By the end of my drive back, the upholstery smelled of delectable spices that permeated its very soul, like Cheech and Chong’s ganja van, and me inside toked it all in, smiling at the after breakfast buzz reserved for post-biryani lunches. Things were all right again.

It’s good to be back.