Kishore Singh: Where the food's sheer poetry

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Having spent the better part of the day at work, I was hoping to be with my daughter in the evening when an acquaintance called to insist I must join them for dinner at what is touted as India's most authentic Chinese restaurant yet. "It's okay," mooned my daughter, when I told her she'd have to eat alone, "but what's so special about another Chinese restaurant anyway?"

Considering that she can't tell the difference between noodles from a vendor cart and a fine-dining restaurant, I told her that 'My Humble House' was a contemporary Chinese restaurant. "Contemporary Chinese," mused my daughter, "does that mean Maggi with attitude?"

Having ticked her off for such culinary levity, I was soon amidst a group of fellow foodies to dine at the altar of modern China. So it came as a shock when, at the end of our feast, we were asked to fill out a form that detailed our dining experience. Realising I might have to explain the finer points of the cuisine to others, I decided the challenge was best met by secreting away a copy of the restaurant's menu.

I was glad I had when my wife, who was out of town but chafing at having missed a gourmet outing, called to ask what I had eaten. "Probably just noodles," said my daughter sarcastically. "Oh no," I explained, "there were no noodles at all." "No noodles," exclaimed my wife, "you must have had steamed rice then." "Not exactly," I said, glancing at the purloined menu, "though I did have something called Change of Winds, Another Season Arrives."

"Another what?" asked my wife. "It's some Haiku stuff," I said, "at any rate, that's what the restaurant calls its fried olive rice. "Olive rice!" my wife exclaimed. "Are you sure you weren't at an Italian restaurant?" "Of course not," I said primly, "apparently it's what all modern Chinese restaurants are serving in Singapore and Hong Kong, and," adding with smug satisfaction, "now in New Delhi."

"Hmph," said my wife, "but what did you have with it "" chilli chicken, or shredded lamb in hot garlic sauce?" "Don't be silly," I admonished her, "the rice was the last course before dessert was served." A moment's silence was punctured by my wife's solicitous query: "How much Sauvignon Blanc you drank last night?" "You don't understand," I cried out in frustration, "in a contemporary Chinese restaurant you do not eat rice or noodles, and if you do, then it is right in the end."

"So what is it you have in between?" my daughter, who had been following our conversation, wanted to know. "Well, I rather liked a steamed cod," I confessed, "even though I would not have guessed that's what it was from its name." Upon my daughter's wanting to know what it was called, I read out the menu: "Willowy Cotton Balls, High Up in The Sky, A Soft Pillow of Dreams", but did not fail to mention that the vegetarian option of shiitake mushrooms was more philosophically coined "Breaking Away from Your Darkest Moments".

"More, more," giggled my daughter, so I read out some more names to satisfy her sense of voyeurism "" "The White Dove Lands Gently on Her Hands, Pure Love", for instance, which was a soya bean broth, and "Curiosity Satisfied" for my braised lamb shanks, while dessert was "Humbly, I Confess My Love For You".

I thought my wife might be impressed, but she must not be a very contemporary woman, for she laughed nastily and said, "Now I Take My Leave of You, While You Go to Have Your Head Examined." Though I must suppose I will have to excuse her "" what, after all, can you expect from someone who has grown up on a diet of gobhi manchurian?