Jan 26, 2003

Food for thought
How important the business of cooking food is in our lives gets highlighted in bold during my parents' visits away from home. I'm not well-versed at cooking, and unlike many others, I am not proud at that, as I feel people should be competent at house-keeping. The problem with me is that I cannot guarantee consistency in my results. I have to invest a lot of time in making sure I have got the basics right, and I get a lot of doubts at runtime, i.e while about to turn the gas on. A small mistake can mean that it is too late to make alternative arrangements, not being much of a go-to-the-hotel-often person: I feel I owe it to myself to make the attempt. I'm not very demanding as a consumer of edibles, so I can brush the disasters into my mouth instead of under the carpet.

However, some days it is safe to give the heroics a miss. One such visit was to sample the thali at Kamat's where I ended up trying to analyse what the waiters must be thinking (business being slow that evening, they seemed to be rather unoccupied), especially when they glanced at me. "Look at his atrocious table manners" or "If only he knew what was there in the vessel when that was being cooked" or "I don't think he's going to leave a tip". Well, I am being ego-centric there, but I often feel awful when people try to be smart at restaurants, ticking off the waiters, often a result of their own impatience and condescension.

And in an echo of Gaurav's post on this, I, who doesn't stick his neck out to recommend eateries, was mighty impressed by Horn OK Please,located at the Deccan end of F.C Road. A rare time when I felt completely at ease in an eating place, the yellow lighted ambience seemed rather soothing. Oh yes, and the prices and variety are a tick each in the Asset column.

A reconnaissance mission earlier led us to a funny thali place where the following sign greeted us: Credit will only be given to people over 80 years of age. Must also be accompanied by both parents. Quite a foolproof method of ensuring the event never happens, it would seem. Reminded my father of the old chestnut Cash today, Credit tomorrow.

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