This is one of those ‘Once upon a time in Bengaluru’ tales, a nostalgia-jerker for those who grew up in the city when the buses were red and streets were green. When there was a certain innocence about our beantown and its people, especially their palates. When the idli-dosa was both comfort food and weekend delicacy; before the advent of the momo, the gelato, or even the pizza…
Going out for lunch meant a proper thali (you could actually choose between South or North Indian!), a rare visit to a proper North Indian restaurant, or some chaat. The dhaba days were yet to happen, and were restricted to the more adventurous of spirit. Burgers meant Indiana, cakes was Nilgiris, and a more exotic outing involved Chinese, or its illegitimate Indian version, maybe at the dim-lit Rice Bowl. We could ill-afford anything more… eating out was perceived to be imprudent activity best left to the upper crust.
And then, a slow perestroika happened, there was an infiltration of foreign cuisines and alien tastes. I still remember the arrival of the shawarma, and its apparatus with dripping chicken, which evoked much curiosity. As did the hunks who operated it, possibly from war-wrecked Iran or Palestine, as they skimmed and shaved the chicken and wrapped it into dollops of mayo. We watched, fascinated but distrustful... our first taste of Arabia.
The burger and pizza landed, some amid protests, and settled in, ready for the long haul. Pasta became de rigueur, and buffets grew fashionable. Yet, there was an Indianisation of foreign foods, almost condescendingly so, with chillies and paneer pushed in to please our palates. We took it all in, happily unaware of the authenticity of tastes, and uncaring too, as we set off on a voyage of gastronomic discovery and fancied ourselves foodistas. Innocently so.
In came the next few generations, each more discerning and demanding than the earlier one, but as accepting of traditional Indian foods as global fare and fusion food. Digital citizens with more evolved tastes, who brought into kitchens oregano and olives, wine and Worcestershire sauce, turned the exotic into routine.
Slowly, food has gained importance. The doors of our city have opened wide, restaurants and chefs are gushing in, ready to boggle our taste buds with a smorgasbord of cuisine. But in this midst, Indian cuisine is flourishing too – the sushi cohabits with sambar, ramen with rogan josh. The biryani has thrown up the biggest surprise, with versions from all parts of India vying for top billing. And to think it was once a festival special…
And we, well, we are just tucking in too. Eating out is no longer a guilt trip. In fact, planning the weekly eating-out is now fraught with arguments and loss of tempers, there is so much to choose from. Much easier to avoid the traffic and order in that kunafa, all at the drop of an OTP.
Gulnaar Mirza
Associate Editor
gulnaar@newindianexpress.com