| 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? |
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