The call of the cafe

A small but significant development seems to have escaped the attention of the people of Shimla. There's a new cafe in town, everyone. I call this a significant development because any number of people in my circle of acquaintance have bemoaned the lack of places to go for a cuppa, where one could just sit and share a limberness of the mind, improving the appetite for conversation, refining thought and making extraordinary an average sentence maker!

Finally, Shimla has just such a place. Agreed it is early days yet. But something about the location of the Firestation Cafe and its gives me hope! Along with the mandatory walk to the Mall, the cuppa at Barista, or Indian Coffee House, or the chicken patty at Trishool, I look forward to it becoming a part of our daily ceremonials in Shimla. In my mind's eye, I see cafe-style debates and discussions on culture, politics, philosophy, science and cinema happening there.

This little place has been designed by the redoubtable Abha Narain Lambah. Abha has retained the ambience of the old fire station, using interesting objects and colours, whether its old fire helmets, fire buckets or even a small portable pump. Warm reds grace its walls, as do pictures from the illustrious past of its larger, historic neighbour, the Indian Institute of Advanced Study. At present, cafe can only offer you tea or coffee, but one hopes that with the passage of time, there will be more on offer - and not just in terms of eatables! The cafe also has on sale lovely picture postcards and an eclectic collection of books.

Cheers for the Firestation Cafe!

The Secret Life of a Restaurant Critic

Finding a good restaurant to dine in in Shimla has become part fantasy, part obsession with me. Thus, when SdS proposed that she treat me to an early birthday meal in "a nice place", we both simultaneously guffawed and then sobered up at the thought of finding us that mythical nice place. A little while ago, P (who owns a very fine home in Baldiyan) and S M (who hates fish with a passion) had both recommended Spars Lodge.

So off we go, SdS and I. It is a nasty climb up. Spars Lodge is located on the slope which leads up to the Himachal State Museum in Chaura Maidan. Those of you who aren't strong walkers are advised to take a car up. This restaurant/guest house is placed not far from the gate, but might be too much for older or infirm persons to manage the slope. Be warned that a big Army person lives opposite Spars Lodge. I say this lest you find yourself startled by a bunch of gun-toting, baby-faced soldiers.

As you can see from the pictures above, Spars Lodge is a relaxed, casual place with furniture that's all wood and wrought iron. The decor is pleasingly minimal. The flowers in one of the vases look droopy, but on the whole, in consonance with the place. The restaurant is divided into two rooms. The section you see below is pleasantly cool and well-lit without dazzling your eye.

The one shown in the picture below has a pretty wonderful view of Chotta Shimla, Kasumpti and New Shimla. The only problem with this section is that one part of its roof is covered with some sort of acrylic ceiling which creates a sort of hot-house effect. I'm sure this would be most pleasing in winter, but the day SdS and I visit, it feels a little warm.


A great delight: not to have the latest Hindi film musical releases inflicted on one! You spot a little two-in-one stereo in a corner, but it remains mercifully silent through the course of the meal.
It is a little disconcerting to walk into an eatery and not be mobbed by the maitre'd or over-friendly waiters. Mind you, I'm not complaining. I'm one of those people who are always clear in their mind about what they'd like to eat or drink and am therefore prone to look askance at the staff of eating places which try to nudge me into ordering this, that, or the other. I also hate waiters who will rush you into ordering, practically ripping the menu from your unsuspecting fingers. Then, in Shimla, it is also likely that the waiter will greet you with a friendly wave and then disappear into the misty depths of the kitchen, only to emerge when you've collapsed with hunger.

None of this happens in Spars Lodge. A young lad saunters in from some level below, unseen to the diner's eye. He is courteous, but not smarmy. I have called the cafe ahead, informing them that SdS and I wish to feast on their much-touted trout. I remind him of this. He brightens in recollection. Oh yes, of course, so you are the one who called. Yes, yes, your trout will be ready in 15 minutes. He turns to leave. Err, could we have a drink of some sort, asks SdS, the soul of politeness, even under trying circumstances. He spins back. A drink? His forehead creases in concentration... okayyy, what will you have? A sweet fresh lime soda each, please, we suggest timidly. Fiiiiine, he says and goes back to wherever he came from. The soda appeals to my sweet tooth and goes well with the meal.

A little later, our meal arrives. Trout in lemon-butter sauce, with vegetables and mashed potatoes on the side. SdS and self, our coastal roots notwithstanding, are not fish-eaters to the manner born. Hence, when the "boy" lays our plates before us, each of us gives a little scream: we have caught the beady eye of the trout in our respective plates. To give credit where it's due, it is not the eatery's fault that we're squeamish. It's just that the idea of having food which glares at you somewhat nastily has us giggling and shuddering by turns!
We call the waiter and ask him if something could be done forthwith. Such as? he asks. Well, err... take it away and lop off the head and the tail, maybe? we say. Why don't you simply eat the stuff in the middle and leave the rest? he demands. Well, no, we couldn't do that, we whine. So with an ever-suffering expression perfected by women playing mothers in Hindi cinema, he bears off our plates away and returns with what you see below. The chef has hacked the trout's head off in a manner not unlike the manner used by the French on their Royalty during their Revolution!

This is what our meal now looks like:

We dig in. The trout has been steamed to perfection. It is tender and fresh. Evidently, it's been frozen (and then defrosted) just to the right temperature, allowing it to retain all its succulence. The skin still glistens and the texture is firm to touch. The sauce, a combination of lemon and butter, is subtle in its flavour and not overly salted or spiced extravagantly. It forms a lovely complement to the fish.
One could argue about the portion of the vegetables, but not about the way they have been cooked. The colour, flavour and texture are just right, but I would love to walk into the kitchen and show the chef how to make dice the carrots, julienne the beans and make florets of the broccoli. In their current form, substance wins over style! I won't say much about the potato mash because while making it is no rocket science, the chef at Spars Lodge does a good job of salting it to a nicety.

The remains of the day can be seen below, and are evidence that SdS and I have enjoyed our meal.

For dessert, I opt for banana fritters and ice cream, while SdS asks for apple pie and ice cream. No bananas, (and therefore, no fritters) and no ice cream, informs the waiter, a bit apologetically. So we both settle for the apple pie. This earns a score of 9 on a scale of 10 from SdS, that old apple pie aficionado, who has been raised on the epiphany-inducing produce of Bombay's Yazdani Bakery. The apple pie is soft, melt in the mouth and with the gentlest hint of cinnamon. If anything, the ice cream might just have focused the diner's attention away from its wholesome goodness.

Will I return? Most definitely. For I've spied some Anglo-Indian items on the menu that I'm dying to try. Particularly, chicken rissoles. A couple of mutton curries on the menu look promising as well. Also, the next time I hope to chat with the chef if mine host permits. The pricing does not burnt a hole into one's middle class pocket, which makes Spars Lodge a definite "must go back".

Thoughts on "foodie culture"

"Foodie culture": When you hear the words "foodie culture", what comes to your mind? A whole lot of posh restaurants? Celebrity chefs serving cuisine from different parts of the world? A city of connoisseurs of all things edible? Elaborate multi-course meals from far-flung corners of India? Specialty eateries which turn out "authentic" dishes? Columns in newspapers extolling the virtues of one eatery and slamming another for culinary sins? Elaborate records and long discussions on local cuisine in learned journals, local papers, coffee-table books? Or just diabetes, obesity and heart disease?

A city's foodie culture embraces all of the above. But above all is that most vital component: the men and women who live to eat! Serious foodies will tell you of their attempts to attune their pleasure receptors to the joys of vegetables and other such hearty stuff; but then you won't find them passing up the detrimental, the unwholesome, the non-nutrient stuff either! To be a foodie you need to strike a balance between your desire to eat healthy an your enjoyment of truly good food which may be fairly rich in calorific value!
In other words, combine an epicure's appreciation of skillful cooking along with a glutton's bottomless-pit approach to food. Among a certain slice of the food-possessed, to suggest that indulgence might put one’s health in peril is to invite ridicule.
Another vital requisite for being a foodie is deep pockets. When your kitchen reaches a plateau of culinary exploration, you should have the ability to dig deep into your monthly take-home, add novelty, shake up things and bring back the fun by heading off to your favourite eatery.
Last, but not the least, you should be able to pontificate about food as much as ( if not more than!) eating it. You should be able to use suggestive adjectives such as succulent, mouth-watering, tantalizing, tender, juicy, and melt-in-your-mouth. This will tell those around you that you define yourself by what you eat and where you eat it. The risk you run is that, on meeting another foodie, the conversation may turn into a sort of "mine is bigger than yours" affair. Which is all good if, pardon the bad pun, you are dishing it out, but not if you are on the receiving end. Those around you may think you're a pompous ass for discussing the provenance of the peas or the genesis of cottage cheese! I remember a programme where the svelte Padma Lakshmi interviewed a grizzly Hyderabadi chef. She asked him about the secret to his fabled biryani. The old man said something revelatory: "I don't talk about it," he said. "It's just what I make."
I started this post with the intention of discussing the foodie culture of Shimla. In a nutshell, I'll say I am yet to find any in my beloved adoptive home-town. So, I now rest my case with a plate of the ubiquitous daal makhani and mutter pulao!

More venerable local institutions

Indian Coffee House

It is not confirmed whether Shimla's Coffee house has for its siblings the august chain of the same name, located in Kochi, Bangalore and, most famously, Calcutta. Be that as it may, this is the home for many a gossip session, the place where people congregate for a quick tea or coffee sold at nominal rates, where waiters still wear livery (turbans & all!). The coffee is piping hot and so are the debates. Lately, the Indian coffee house seems to have become a great favourite of the lawyers - I found this out by counting the sheer number of black coats & white collars, that's all.

The food is predominantly South Indian, but the quality has gone downhill over the years.

Krishna Sweets

Krishna Sweets is a gem of a place, tucked away in Boileauganj. The owner, in typical laid-back Himachali fashion, is delightfully vague about the age of the shop. He says it is probably 30 years old. A helpful gentleman, awaiting his turn to buy some Krishna's legendary samosas, says he's been visiting the shop for 50 years, so it has to be a lot older than that. As the debate rages, patient customers waiting for their plate of jalebies watch on with interest, but without complaint. Its worth the while to do so! This tiny shop doubles up as a snack-shop & a sweet shop. Its samosas & jalebies are crisp, its barfi tender & melt-in-the-mouth. Their tea is simply superb, freshly brewed with the best quality of milk & with just a hint of cardamom. There are other mithais too, besan barfi, balooshahi, gulabjamuns. Fie on those who claim that Mehru or Natthoo make them better. Krishna's gulabjamun's are works of art!

You pause in your greedy consumption for a minute when you spot a photograph of the owner's son, Anuj, who was martyred in the Kargil War.

Venerable local institution #1

Embassy Restaurant:

Even if you aren't familiar with Shimla, the location is not hard to find. Let us assume you are on the Mall. Say, somewhere opposite the Town Hall. Now turn to your left. Yes, that road which leads towards Gaiety Theatre & further onward. Walk past Trishul Bakery. (No, you mustn't look in - after all, your destination is Embassy!). Past Gaindamull. Past Sher-E-Punjab (another local institution now sadly gone to seed). Ignore the turn-off for Lower Bazaar. Keep walking! Keep walking! You are now near Combermere.

A little beyond, lies Embassy.

This little restaurant makes possibly the best mutton chops in India (naturally, in my humble opinion!). Actually, the owner calls them mutton chops, but they are more like deep-fried mutton cutlets with a crispy coating of some sort. Most likely of corn-flakes. Whatever be the combination, there's nothing like sharing a hot, crispy chop with a friend on a nippy evening!

I also like their tomato soup. It's thick, but not too thick. It's slightly sweet, a little sour, moderately peppery (by Indian standards) and piping hot. As soups go, it's nearly perfect in its consistency, flavour, fragrance and colour.

Embassy also sells amazing cakes. None of your machine-made, chemically-enhanced stuff. Good old-fashioned cakes, almost the way Mother makes them! Walnut & banana, Dundee, vanilla, chocolate..... Their almond cake is a slice of heaven.

For those home-sick for ghar ka khaana, or just desirous of sampling Indian food, cooked home style, then Embassy's the place. I particularly recommend their parathas & baingan ka bharta. The last dish especially so, for I'm really fusy about the way brinjals are cooked. They must have been roasted to a fine turn, firstly, Secondly, the tempering (the "tadkaa", as it's known in Indian cuisine) should be just so, with the onions brown, but not burnt, the tomatoes cooked until their skins peel & the spices a hint, but no more. They do this really well at Embassy.

But this is not all. Going to Embassy is not just about food. This little eatery has a lovely view of Shimla's tumbledown rooftops. The sight may not be very inspiring during the day, but defies description at l'heure magique. Go there.

See it for yourself, if you wish to understand what I mean.

Street food in Shimla

Mehru's. Eat here & you'll have to diet for a week afterward! My favourites? Hot patties made of boiled potato with a sweet & sour filling of some sort of spices, cashewnuts & raisins, deep-friend in ghee. Also, hot jalebies, deep fried in ghee. Sinful and scrumptious. Sweet milk, thickened to a perfection, laden with cream, pistachios and cashewnuts: a magical amalgam of flavours and textures; liquid & solid, crunchy and viscous at the same time.

Mmmm. Hot corn on the cob, roasted on coal. A slightly smoky flavour enhanced by a squeeze of lemon & a dash of salt & red chilli powder. A bite of paradise for only ten rupees.