Cafe Zoe. Bombay changing?

There are some things I just don’t get. I don’t get the Indian man’s obsession with adjusting his balls in public. I don’t get the RJs on Bombay radio. And I just don’t get restaurants that hide average food and poor service behind free Wi-Fi and cool interiors.

The last time I was in Bombay, the city was going gaga over celebrity spotting at Hakkasan, and Table remained non-five star restaurant of choice. This time round there was a new name I ran into everywhere. Cafe Zoe. Bombay waxed eloquent about how cool it is. How NYC the vibe is. How much they loved hanging out there. A “really lovely girl”, some expat, and the former chef of one of Bombay’s hottest restaurants have come together and the city was in love with a new restaurant all over again.

Instead of hiding its mill ancestry, Café Zoe celebrates it. Even though slightly reminiscent of the look that The Bowling Co. created 13 years ago, Café Zoe’s design is definitely cool. The furniture is simple, there is a decent bar against one wall and sofas against another. What I liked a lot about this restaurant was the tons of natural light that streams in through the skylights. Oh, and the loo is pretty cool too.

I’m afraid that is all I really liked about Café Zoe.

As a single diner, I was seated at the bar. I usually prefer this, but their bar stools are not high enough and I spent my entire meal adjusting and readjusting myself to try and eat my meal comfortably. In between swatting flies that swarmed the bar. I started with a Fresh Black Grape Caipiroska (Rs. 450). Really well priced, but was sickly sweet and I couldn’t taste the alcohol. I waited twenty minutes for the first of my bar snacks to arrive – Roast Veg Arancini (Rs. 210) served with an unfortunate tomato sauce. I dare you to say it tastes of anything other than a tart gujju pizza sauce. The arancini on its own is nicely cheesy but under-salted; this is probably deliberate given the way the tomato sauce assaults your taste buds. Many minutes later my other snack, Pulled Pork Brioche (Rs. 285), arrives. I did away with the cucumber slice it came with, wiped away the excess mustard that killed all other flavours and then went on to semi-enjoy this dish.

The best dish I ordered was the Truffle Capellini (Rs. 550). Exactly what it says on the menu. No fuss and all flavour.

Just when I was getting ready to forgive the flies, poor flavours, haphazard service and multiple requests for the Wi-Fi code going unanswered, it all came crashing down with the dessert. First they misplaced my order, then the Panna Cotta (Rs. 150) arrives and tastes of smelly custard, and then the Americano (Rs. 75) arrives in a smelly cup.

Spend 10 minutes here and it is plain as day why people flock to Café Zoe. The pretty ones – film maker, ad guy turned hot actor turned activist turned actor, society food columnist, fashion store owner – feel like they have come to a members-only private club; and the wannabe pretty ones… well, they just wanna be part of this private club. Neither care about the average food, the abundant flies, or the appalling service. All they care about is the “vibe”.

I go to restaurants for one of two reasons: great food, great service. Ideally both, but definitely one. Everything else is gravy. Everyone I knew used to want this too. When did this change? Why have (supposedly) fewer options given way to an acceptance of mediocrity? Does the mediocrity stop at our resturants? When did Bombay go soft?

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Culina. Just right.

You meet someone who lights up your life. You meet someone who darkens your day. You meet someone and take a leap of faith. You meet someone and wish someone else had stopped you from jumping.

What was I thinking?! And more importantly, how did I get to a place where I let someone else screw up the way I feel about myself? I’ve had a few what-was-I-thinking days in my life but this one honestly takes the cupcake. On a day when everything went wrong, as always, I turned to food… to find a place where everything promised to be right.

Culina, if hotel insiders are to be believed, is Four Seasons first foray into cool dining. These hoteliers are not exactly known for food innovation; but with this LA hotspot they definitely know what they are doing. Beverly Hills isn’t exactly the kind of neighbourhood you would think of as having a ‘local’. But if they had to have one, I vote for Chef Victor Casanova’s Culina. They serve breakfast, lunch and dinner at less than five star prices, and you are almost always assured of pretty diners in the room. (This is LA after all.) The restaurant is as fancy, or not, as you’d like it to be. An open crudo bar where you can see the chefs at work, servers that look like movie stars, a waterfall and a fireplace (for the two days of the year it gets cold in LA) – this restaurant definitely has the look.

I was seated at a table outside surrounded by beautiful foliage, hypnotised by the warble from the waterfall jumbled with gentle sounds of piped music. The menu was longer than I wanted to deal with and so let my perfectly capable server Caroline make most of my dining decisions, while I enjoyed their softest rosemary bread.

It is almost rude not to start with their crudo. First there was Tonno ($12), ahi tuna tartare delicately laced with ginger and lemon, and then Cappesante ($14), scallops with black truffle. Both arrived looking like jewels on a plate and disappeared before I realised. I resisted ordering the burrata and went with Granchio ($16) a dungeness crab salad with endives and grapefruit. I was tubing down the slopes in Vail not two days ago, and here I was eating a salad that was like summer on a plate. The glass of Erbaluce ($13) Caroline recommended couldn’t have been a more perfect accompaniment.

The menu also has a decent vegetarian section, pizzas, main courses (Kobe meatballs looked especially good), and of course dessert. But today was a day that deserved pasta. I ordered the Spaghetti alla Chittara ($17) – pasta, that was definitely not shop bought, with the most wholesome, delicious, perfect san marzano tomato and basil sauce.

It isn’t like I haven’t eaten better Italian food before. Nor is this the coolest/prettiest restaurant I have been to. A great meal, like a wonderful life, is rarely about one or the other. To quote a cliché, the whole is always greater than the sum of its parts. And so, at Culina, its universe – of food, décor, service, and spirit – comes together to create an experience where everything worked beautifully. Culina definitely got it right.

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And another one?

da Polpo is like the old friend you can rock up to anytime and are guaranteed a great conversation. Like the other restaurants in Russell Norman’s stable, da Polpo is cosy, easy and approachable. I find nothing more uncomfortable than a restaurant on edge – week one, new staff, new menu, forgotten service sequences, the smell of paint, and table tops that shine a bit too much. What I love most about Polpo, Polpetto, Spuntino and now da Polpo is how they manage to look and feel lived in, even when brand new.

Most things about this place will remind you of Polpo. One has a Campari Bar, the other an Aperol one. Both bacaros use a lot of natural finishes, have distressed walls, tiled flooring and bar counters you can eat at – the single diner’s most favourite seat.

                     

I even got lucky with my waitress; Tajsa (am near certain I’ve got this spelling wrong) wasted no time in settling me in and starting me off with a glass of the Polpo Prosecco (£5) – OMG so delicious – and some complimentary sesame cream cheese and bread.  (I’m still not sold on the fashion of wine being served in non-wine glasses.)

The menu is also a lot like Polpo’s. I started with the arancini (£2.50) – the gooey cheese centre makes these crispy balls of rice divine, even if lacking a little something. Next was the asparagus, taleggio and parma ham pizzetta (£6.50). The cheese and ham may get too salty for some but I loved this baby pizza.

I finished with a fresh tomato salad (£5) and a glass of the Polpo Merlot (£2.75). Maybe the combination was wrong but I won’t rush to order this wine again.

    

I skipped dessert , promising the superb staff that I would return for some. Soon. Last week I wrote about Spuntino – THE ONE restaurant I knew I would have a long romance with. Today I walked into another ONE. Amongst too many other things, Bollywood is where I first learnt and loved the idea of THE ONE. (It was most likely Rishi Kapoor & Dimple Kapadia’s teenage romance Bobby.)

We’ve all grown up since then and while I may still look for the Bollywood moments in my life, I’ve changed what The One means to me – ever so slightly. I now have:

• The One who got away – and Thai Green Curry
• The One who was always going to hurt me – and Pytt I Panna
• The One I still think about – and Vegemite sandwiches
• The One I didn’t really care about – and strawberry cheesecake

And then there is THE 5months-14days-8hours- andafewminutes ONE.

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The one?

I knew Spuntino was the one restaurant I will have a long romance with the second I walked in. I first went there last night with friends and even before we began our meal I couldn’t wait to come back for more.

And so I did.

Spuntino has no telephone and you cannot make reservations, and walking in can be slightly intimidating – I felt like I was crashing someone’s dinner party. But then the tattooed waitress smiled, beckoned and made me feel at home.

Ronnie Self, Louis Jordan, Ray Charles and Django Reinhart gently lull me into the Spuntino spirit and I started with a Negroni (£6) and olives stuffed with parmesan, anchovies and thyme (£4). I literally left the city behind me and wanted nothing else but to be in this place for many hours. You’ll see why so many reviews liken it to a diner in NYC’s Lower East side. Its tiny, cosy, welcoming, yet lets you be all at the same time.

  

Almost every diner at the restaurant ordered the truffled egg toast (£5.50). It is a plate full of decadence and home-cooking all in one mouthful. As is the mac and cheese (£8) that arrives in its own sizzling skillet. Last night we also tried the pulled pork slider (£4.50) – succulent; panzanella (£5.50) – fresh and delicious; softshell crab (£9.50) – dry and avoidable; calamari in squid ink (£8) – delish; and duck ham and pecorino salad (£6) – not so delish. I also highly recommend the eggplant chips with fennel yoghurt (£4) – gorgeous aubergine soldiers with an inspired yoghurt dip.

I don’t usually order dessert, let alone two! The brown sugar cheesecake with grappa prunes (£6) may just well be the best cheesecake I’ve ever had. They also have a cheeky peanut butter and jelly sandwich dessert (£6.50). Look!

  

At Spuntino I feel time stand still. I feel the same way when I think about THE ONE – the one I have been madly in something with for 5 months, 10 days, 2 hours and a few minutes. Now this is a completely one-sided romance, mostly blossoming in my overactive imagination; but I’m not ready to give up just yet. I don’t want to look back and learn from past mistakes, nor move on with life.

Sometimes its not about looking back, or moving forward. Sometimes its just about staying right where you are.

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Mirror, mirror

The mornings before winter decided to ice London’s sidewalks I would walk to work. The highlight of my brisk 30-minute commute was pounding the sidewalk, drenched in the aroma of fresh coffee, outside Caffe l’Angolo Bianco. In the 18 months that I have sometimes walked down Crawford Street I never stopped for a cup. Until today.

The deli is no bigger than a largeish bedroom. Two counters and four round tables squeeze into one half of the room; a deli counter in the other half. The walls are lined with boxes of Panettone Verdi, Panettone Venezia, Il Panettone Bauli, Cantuccini alla Mandorla… in honour of Christmas. I ordered a cappuccino and a tomato-avocado-mozzarella sandwich and settled in for the morning.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that I was the only stranger in the room. The Italian owner knew everyone else. She asked after the gay couple’s sick dog; the soccer kid’s mum (out shopping while dad played dad); she asked the old man how he was coping after his wife’s death. For the first time that I can remember, a restaurant was more like a family’s living room and I, the gatecrasher to this party.

I order another cappuccino; I didn’t really want another but I also didn’t want to leave this family just yet. A gentle energy connected everyone in the deli and the temptation to be included was too sweet to ignore. A few more unwanted cappuccinos and several more interesting stories make me think of another party I’ve gatecrashed: London. I do a bloody good job of pretending to have settled in but no matter how well I know the streets, how much I love the X Factor, or how used to the weather I get, London will always be someone else’s city. Things changed a few months ago. The miracle of Facebook reconnected me with myself.

I found Shakha, Sailaja and Sree Lakshmi in London. Deepa, Sharmeen and Chanveen in the US. Shairi and Anuja in Bombay. They are mirrors I lost a long time ago. Today, when I stand before these mirrors they show me my reflection before life changed it, for better and for worse. I don’t just get to see what I want to see, but I see all that I am too scared, proud or hesitant to look for; the good, the bad, but especially the good.

London will never be home but through these friends from school a little bit of home is now with me in London. Being able to unhesitatingly ask a friend if she wants to meet “this evening” as opposed to “three weeks from Friday (if nothing else comes up)” is a joyous relief. And when I ask for an opinion, I know I will get nothing but kind honesty.

Its finally time to leave Caffe l’Angolo Bianco. Just as I reached for the door the lady of the house walked up to me and reached for my hand. She placed a cookie in my palm and said, “You will like it. Now come again, okay?”

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A classic recipe

When you get hungry in-between “regular” meal times in Central London, the restaurant options get slightly scary. You will struggle to choose between below average pizzerias (Pizza Express, Pontis), chain takeaway favourites (Eat, Pret) and touristy all day diners (Garfunkel, La Tasca). Its 5pm, I am hungry and not willing to compromise. Polpo, a bocaro (Venetian wine bar) in the heart of Soho is a God-send.

It has been an exhilarating week – budget reviews, CEO in town, big promotion, an early 50^th birthday party, shopping for a holiday – and in spite of all the excitement, the overriding emotion when I got home each night was “I miss hanging out with myself”! I started writing this blog 69 days ago and can hardly believe that my first post was about loneliness, and here I am craving some alone time.

Polpo is perfect. The large windows open into the pavement and the gentle breeze is a welcome intruder as I sit at the bar and start with the wine list. Even on the hottest day of the year I find I cannot bring myself to drink white wine anymore. I also cannot imagine an Italian meal without wine. Gorgeous bartender Kevin came to my rescue and suggested a chilled red wine. The Ponte del Diavolo Refosco del Friuli 2008 (£8 for ¼ ltr) is smooth and bursting with blackberries. The rest of my meal included a Spinach, Parmesan and Soft Egg Pizzetta (£4.50), Linguine Vongole (£6) and a slab of Taleggio (£4). The food at Polpo is testimony to the fact that ingredient is king. Nothing on the menu is fancy schmancy, in fact the entire menu is simply a list of ingredients instead of made up titles.

Polpo’s menu sort of reminds me of an online dating site my friends Matt and Erica have helped me register on: mysinglefriend.com. Once I log on the first thing I see is a menu of photos that match my age and area criteria. Alongside each photograph is a list of… uh, ingredients? For example:

Chris, London, 35, looking for a female 20-35, creative, terribly witty, a bit independent, a confident sort, a good listener, pretty sexy, thoughtful, an outdoors type, well travelled and a pub lover

Unlike the menu at Polpo though, the menu on this website has each dish sounding pretty much the same as the next. Even when I dig deeper (i.e. click on the photo to read the friend’s testimony followed by the dish’s repartee) based on purely superficial standards it turns out that almost all of them are, “…one of the best blokes I know and I’m amazed that he hasn’t been snapped up yet” who want a “fun, happy, intelligent woman who knows who she is”. Now how do I choose the exact combination of ingredients that will deliver me my perfect meal?

I have to quote a professor from hotel school, who said “cooking is about taste, while baking is about precision”.

Does this mean that I have to start by choosing between pasta and pastry.

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One too many

I jumped out of a plane from 12,000 ft yesterday. I cannot begin to explain the exhilaration of the skydive, and if this is an adrenalin rush then I need a little more alone time with this fantastic feeling before I can share more than this:

I’m a bit cloudy on what was going through my head during the dive but the first thought that hit me when I landed was “pasta!”! I had sunbathed for six hours, waiting my turn to jump out of an airplane, and hadn’t eaten much for the fear of throwing up all over Kent. On the train back to London I plotted my evening ahead. A delicious glass of Billecart-Salmon champagne (£7) at Pimlico’s Thomas Cubitt (thank you Charlie for the introduction); and then on to Olivo (thank you AA Gill, food critic Sunday Times, for the introduction).

I first ate at Olivo with my sister Priyankaa and our friends Ami and Jai in 2007. The food was not special, but the meal was magical. The four of us, who used to spend every waking childhood moment together, had not been in one city for over a decade and no amount of average food could ruin our evening. Ever since then, the pasta at Olivo has been my golden standard for joyous-pasta. So I ordered Linguine al Granchio (pasta, with crab, garlic, chilli, parsley, £14.50), the same dish I ordered three years ago. And as I enjoyed the memories this dish brought back to me, I realised that all this time I had involuntarily benchmarked every pasta dish I had ever ordered in a restaurant, to this one here. Not because the food at Olivo is any better, it is not, but because the memories this food brings far outweigh any inferior flavours I may remember. This makes me think of two things I read recently, in a book and on a blog.

In her book Spoon Fed, NY Times reporter Kim Severson talks about taste memories and the importance of extensive tasting to a food critic of any merit. “You have to build a catalogue of food memories. To understand good chocolate, you have to know bad chocolate…” She then goes on to explain these very same taste memories, but in a context. Just like my Linguine al Granchio and the context in which I first tasted it.

It is all very well for me to build this collection of benchmarks for my tastebuds, but is that where it ends? Or do I also benchmark the people in my life? Let’s see… if I had to pick someone for:

• Faffing around Bombay on a Saturday: Mamma
• Chilling out at home with wine, cheese and bread: Thomas
• Chat about new restaurants and old chefs: Chris
• Have a drink: Foram

What did I just do here? One day, after watching many movies with many people I decided that I enjoy doing this with Priyankaa more than with anyone else. Not for a minute does this mean that I won’t go to the cinema with anyone else, but that I will probably benchmark my experience with A, B and C against the joy I get from watching a film with Priyankaa. So if I do this, consciously or unconsciously, with something as frivolous as having a drink what is the likelihood that I do it with romantic relationships? What is the likelihood that you do it too?

Let me share something I used to do on a fifth or sixth date. I would ask the guy to order for me; a “test” to gauge how well he “knew” me. Eight times out of ten the guy got it wrong. It didn’t matter that he got so many other things right, but the fact that he did not know what I liked to eat somehow meant he did not know me at all. Now I didn’t conjure up this benchmark out of thin air. I used to date someone who “got my tastebuds” every single time, sometimes event better than I did myself. And the context? This guy and I talked food to each other all day long as that’s what our jobs needed us to do. So to say he had an advantage would be a colossal understatement.

When this requirement to “know me” changed into the necessity that he become my benchmark for everything is anyone’s guess.

This is a true example from an online dating site to prove how unfair (and unrealistic) we become when it comes to romance :

Male, 35 successful, creative, loyal, a home lover, terribly witty, eco-conscious, laid back, enthusiastic about life, an outdoors type and intelligent is looking for Female 23-38 bright eyed, sparkly, feisty, soulful, cheeky, happy, charming, open, honest, independent, intelligent, witty, sensitive, liberal, socially conscious, fun loving, naughty, sometimes more than naughty, kind, tender, drop dead gorgeous and fond of lists.

Novelist Kurt Vonnegut’s words, borrowed from Gouri’s blog say it beautifully:

“….I am going to write a play about the breakup of a marriage. And at the end of the play I am going to have a character say what people should say to each other in real life at the end of a marriage: I’m sorry, you being human, need a hundred affectionate and like-minded companions. I’m only one person. I tried, but I could never be a hundred people to you. You’ve tried but you could never be a hundred people to me. Too bad. Good bye.”

When I enjoy five different activities with five different people, how am I allowed to expect the a single man to be “the one” answer to everything I have ever wanted, and will ever want?

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