Edgy veggie fare

With its old-world charm and an indisputable menu, the New Krishna Bhavan in Bengaluru offers many a civics lesson while dispensing idlis and etiquette in equal doses or dosas, as you like it, writes Ajit Saldanha

“There’s too much meat in your prose; why don’t you feature one of those cute places serving pure vegetarian food in your column?” I was advised by this lissom young woman last week. To cap it all (no pun intended) my dentist clicked his tongue in a disapproving manner while questioning the practice of eating the flesh of small dead animals. What would you rather have, doctor? Patients using mangled molars to feast on large live animals? Anyway, I thank them both for their input. As the immortal Clovis once said, ‘I am grateful for your advice and have no doubt it was well-intentioned; impertinence often is.’

Tara Kini, bon vivant and musician extraordinaire, has often extolled the virtues of New Krishna Bhavan (NKB) — a name whispered in tones of hushed reverence in the leafy bylanes of Malleswaram — and when she speaks, sensible men pay attention. Prominently displayed signs requesting patrons to refrain from spitting, combing their hair and washing their hands in the plates: it functions as an eatery cum civics lesson, dispensing idlis and etiquette in equal doses. The interiors have been tarted up a bit since I last went there: sofas of surpassing ugliness have been positioned next to bedraggled potted plants and the waiters now wear waistcoats and smirks. It makes you long for the good old days of gleaming red-oxide floors, veshtis and angavastrams with M S Subbulakshmi on the radio as opposed to Anu Mallik. There was a large party of 20 scientists from the Tata Institute celebrating the cloning of Mamata (just kidding, it was actually Derek O’Brien) and it took quite a while to get a table. Eventually, I got to share one with two gentlemen who, judging by their clothing and conversation made a pretty good living in the commercial tax department. While leaving, they gave me a friendly smile and a resounding belch to remember them by. Being halfway through my meal, I was unable to reciprocate. I had the Kerala sevai followed by mini meals and I have to say it lived up to its billing. The sevai — rice vermicelli for the uninitiated — comes with a small container of ghee, molaga podi, sweet podi and an exuberant red pumpkin curry with a delicious chutneyish consistency and flavour. You’re supposed to divide it into four portions and sample it with the accompaniments: sweet, hot or hot and sweet. The sweet podi is made of ground dals with jaggery and a strong flavour of sesame (til). The mini meal consists of three puris, vegetable curry, dry vegetable, curd pachadi, rice, sambar, rasam, appalam and sweet. What can I say? It didn’t change the world or make me want to kidnap the cook: it was competent without being exciting. ‘Alternate day special’ is kind of confusing: how is one supposed to figure out which alternative to order, but I suppose that’s what the waist-coated serving staff are there for. The cooks here excel at regional specialities from North and South Kanara, so Ragi dosa, Jowar dosa, Golli Bajji, Udith Gulliappa (a savoury dish made of urad dal), Kotte Kadubu (a kind of idli), spicy buns (excellent), rasam idli (unusual and pretty tasty) are what you should order for tiffin. Salem sambar vada, Mandya ragi dosa for those who live differently or pongal, khara bath, masala dosa and rava dosa for those who prefer tradition. Despite the hokey chandeliers, NKB retains a certain charm and brings back memories of Bangalore in days gone by.

(The author is an old Bengalurean and impresario of comedy and musical shows who considers himself fortunate to have turned his passions — writing and theatre — into a profession.)