Posts Tagged ‘chai

26
Sep
12

Restaurant Review: Good Luck

The wish to try emu took us to Bandra’s old Good Luck, an Irani cafe that took the wise decision of not selling out. Neither old-fashioned nor modern, Good Luck has been making news for serving emu kheema, giving Mumbai something new to eat. It could’ve been mutton or beef, had it not been served as emu kheema, and the bird will have to be cooked another way for me to appreciate its taste. The small portion wasn’t a problem, because the dish wasn’t anything to crow about.

But I could go back to Good Luck only for its haleem – the famous Hyderabadi speciality. Good Luck‘s haleem hits the spot every time; it’s a meal in itself, even though you may ask for another one; the wheat-meat-lentil paste slow-cooked to goodness. It’s like khichda, with the difference being that khichda has pieces of meat and can even be prepared in a hurry, while haleem is a blend of awesomeness that requires patience.

The rest of the food at Good Luck is not that great, though. In fact, apart from the haleem and the emu kheema there isn’t anything worth trying there. Surprisingly, the biryanis are quite bad, and the chai – any Irani cafe’s pride – is ordinary tea served in a paper cup. It’s too much to expect a restaurant like this to get a lot right, so we’ll just be happy now that we know what emu kheema is like, and walk into Good Luck for a plate of Hyderabadi haleem whenever we’re in Bandra.


RESTAURANT REVIEWS: Kakori House | Bostan | Pind Balluchi | Lucky | Karim | Havemore | Global Fusion

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26
Aug
10

Restaurant Review: Bostan

Bostan means “The Orchard” and is the name of a Moghlai restaurant in Jogeshwari West on SV Road. I’m guessing it has been named after the book by the famous Persian poet Saadi, as there used to be a restaurant called Gulistan (“The Rose Garden”, another book by Saadi) on SV Road in Santa Cruz. Bostan has a cult following thanks to its Butter Chicken and Tandoori Chicken (which isn’t always good) and is no place for vegetarians.

Mutton Soup @ Bostan

The first thing you have to have at Bostan is the Mutton Soup, which has lots of garlic and ginger and strips of mutton. This nutritious soup will open up passages you didn’t know existed. Avoid the biryani and pulav; the rice dishes used to be great but not a lot of effort goes into preparing them these days.

Stick to the gravies and you can’t go wrong. I heartily recommend Mutton Green Masala (it’s boneless) and of course, Butter Chicken. The butter chicken here is red (and not orange like at most other eateries) and finger-licking delicious. I’ll go as far to say it’s the best butter chicken I’ve had. Also, don’t miss their chai after your meal. The old menu had some absurd rules like “do not play transistor”, “do not comb”, “do not flurte [sic] with companion”, and “do not sit for long time.” The last one means you have to leave in 15-20 minutes irrespective of whether your food has arrived or not. Kidding. Go to Bostan.

YUM YUM: Paratha and Butter Chicken @Bostan

02
Mar
10

Leg Before Wicket

The ligament tore before the ball left my right hand, my leg bent in mid-air in the way it isn’t supposed to. I knew what had happened even before I fell to the ground, the way you know you’re screwed a second before a road accident. It’s terrible to think you might not be able to walk normally for a couple of months, and it’s even worse when such a thing happens far away from home. Surrounded by worried family members, I could see the hotel staff rushing towards me with pain relief spray and an ice box. Physical pain can make you forget everything else that’s been bothering you. Like they say, when you hurt a toe you forget about the earthquake in China. So who had a problem with me getting excited about the Shivaji statue because there were farmers dying somewhere else? And what did you do about it, motherfucker, send them a cheque? Condolences to the family? Yeah, I know…you went right back to Facebook and joined one of those ‘Save The Tiger’ groups.

The pain subsides in less than five minutes and that’s when the swelling comes on. And everything else that had been bothering me. Women I needn’t have fallen in love with. Their XXL moms. A sneaky loser of a beta male trying to slide his dick between those perennially open legs while I was out hunting. Get whacked by me, motherfucker, come get some. I have an air-gun and I know where you live. Let’s give Goa a one-eyed half-wit beta male DJ.

Limping all over Mount Abu isn’t all that bad. Beats going to work on two fine legs. An underage cousin wants me to buy her alcohol before we go back to Gujarat. Green Apple Vodka, hmm. Know what’s a blessing in disguise? Tearing a fucking ligament and having your vacation extended. But that’s not the highlight of my February ’10 outing, no sir. Nothing can thrill me more than watching crocodiles in their natural habitat and getting to click photographs of the majestic fuckers basking in the Rajasthan sun. Beautiful reptiles, I’d feed you the beta male right at Trevor Tank but Goa needs a weakling of a DJ. One-eyed.

Oh yes, scored the maximum runs, bowled well till I fell, got a decent catch. Man Of The Match. I wouldn’t even bother going back to Bombay but that’s where the loudspeakers are, and great as Burzum and Immolation sound with pudina chai on a green lawn in front of a pond, heavy metal needs to be blasted out loud. I hope this makes things clear for the clever guy who, when I mentioned I was going to Mount Abu, asked who Abu is and why I wanted to mount him.




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