Having sold off India's first such chain, its ex-owner is going to be even busier. Where do you take a restaurateur to lunch? Especially one who has just sold his chain of restaurants? I suggested the obvious to Lalit Nirula: why not go to a Nirula's? Imagine: would he criticise the quality of cooking? He evaded the naughtiness. It turned out that he had never been to Ploof, the (mostly) fish place in an old-world corner of South Delhi which is never crowded and has no problem with parking space. So he had beer with fish and chips, and I had ginger ale with Japanese blue fin tuna (from Goa!). And we allegedly shared a frozen chocolate cake, which he barely touched. He rounded it off with an espresso with cream, writes Business Standard.
I wanted to find out what a businessman does when he is no longer a businessman and has cash in the bank, and how it feels to walk past a restaurant that still carries your name. For readers who are not familiar with Delhi, Nirula's began as a pioneering restaurant and mini-hotel in a corner of Connaught Circus in the city centre, back in the 1930s "" because two Nirula brothers (bachelor doctors both) found they had nowhere to eat. They then blazed a trail, trying various cuisines, opening an ice cream parlour with multiple flavours, then spreading out as a fast-food chain and extending to 35 outlets in Delhi and other North Indian cities, with each step that of a pioneer exploring new territory. In 74 years, Lalit recalls proudly, the family made a profit every year in the food business (though other ventures, like one to make cutlery, were not successful and had to be shut down). It is a story therefore of a cottage unit converting a family of doctors into businessmen who experimented all the time and moved ahead with what worked and, as one generation gave way to the next, expanded in the face of competition from newly arrived global chains before finally selling out. Lalit himself began working part-time when he was 17, and after Doon and St Stephen's, went to Cornell for its well-known course in hoteliering (they taught you more business than hoteliering, Lalit recalls).
He has no regrets about selling, it was a carefully thought through decision by the entire family because he (and presumably the others) had stopped enjoying their work. Business had been getting difficult with increased levels of corruption, and he and his family did not believe in bribing inspectors. Also, as the Nirula's chain grew, he felt removed from the cutting edge of the business, doing more and more of remote managing "" which is somehow less fun. One option was to bring in professional managers and just be shareholders, another was to sell a majority stake and hold on to a minority stake as sleeping partners. Finally, the decision was that if they had to sell, it was best to opt out completely.
He hopes now to get out the golf clubs that have been lying in his car boot for a decade, he hopes to read (there was a time when he used to devour a book a day) and may be produce an Indian version of Larousse "" the comprehensive record of French gastronomy that includes what cooking vessels to use with which dish, what cutlery, and so on. I hadn't heard of Larousse, so he sent across two volumes in the evening "" they are almost a foot thick. Lalit Nirula will have to work for another 45 years to put together as comprehensive an Indian version. Especially, since he is also going to be helping to organise the next Biennale (in 2008), attend courses overseas in photography, and interest himself in Indian sculpture. That's not all. He is also getting involved with setting up a Culinary Institute, like the one outside New York. It doesn't sound like the country club lifestyle, and Lalit says that he is eagerly looking forward to all the action. "This is going to be the third phase of my life," he declares with his ready smile.
So what advice would he give to all the guys who are opening new restaurants in India's cities? First, he says, while a hotel is essentially a play in real estate, a restaurant chain is like a chain of small-scale industrial units. The food quality is important, of course, but the problem is that 90 per cent of chefs are cantankerous: "You cannot get away from the tyranny of the chef." It is a cash business, so how you handle that and the problem with leakages is crucial. Finally, if you don't get your money back in three or four years, you're dead "" and remember that 90 per cent of restaurants fail.
I ask him whether it is because of cash leakages that most restaurateurs say they handle purchases themselves in the morning. He says yes, but adds that most restaurateurs who make that claim don't in truth buy their own raw materials. He is also critical of restaurant-owners who reserve a table for themselves in their eatery. "You should take care of your guests instead." He adds that the restaurateur's biggest enemy is inflation. Because, when you hike prices, customers start saying that the quality of the food has declined ("which isn't true, it is the value perception that has changed"). After a while, things settle down.
So what does it take to be a successful restaurateur? A sense of humour, he says without a moment's pause, and smiles again. And who does he admire most in the business? Rai Bahadur MS Oberoi. Because he started from nothing, began with one hotel, and built an international chain. "Imagine the many transitions he had to make and master." I wonder whether the Nirula family failed to make the final transition, but Lalit is onto another theme: that food is the soul of a nation. Because most other forms of creativity or art impact only one or at most two of your senses, whereas food works through taste, smell, sight and even sound.
