OPPOSITE THE APOLLO Hospital in the Thousand Lights district of Chennai, my eyes alighted on a sign I was least expecting to see in southern India. The sign adorned the panel beneath the eaves of what resembles a Swiss chalet. It read “Swiss Hütte”. It is a restaurant. It was closed when I first spotted it, but we returned the same evening when it was open. We decided that it was such an unusual find that we had to eat something there.
The restaurant was founded about 19 years ago by a chef Joe Lobo. He lived in Switzerland for 25 years, working as a prize-winning chef. On returning to India, he established the Swiss Hütte restaurant. It is located in the verdant grounds of his family’s home.
The restaurant has an extensive menu with dishes inspired by various national cuisines, both European and Asian. We ate at the Hütte several times, and everything we ate was delicious and perfectly prepared.
We asked Joe if he ever served Swiss food. Occasionally, if given sufficient notice, he will make fondue. However, in his opinion, Swiss food is bland and tasteless. These adjectives can not be used to describe what Joe cooks in the kitchen for his guests. Eating Joe’s food, it is easy to see why he has won prizes for his cooking.
HYDERABAD IS FAMOUS for its biryanis. One restaurant that is well-known and highly rated is Shadab, which is not far from the Char Minar in the centre of the old city. We have visited it on previous visits to Hyderabad and thought highly of its biryanis. Today, in late January 2025, we ate a mutton biryani. It was certainly very good, but not nearly as excellent as one we ate in Surat last year and another we ate at Berhampore (West Bengal) a few days ago. However, the best biryani I have eaten to date was a Moplah style biryani served at Paragon in Calicut (Kerala). Blending Arabic and Keralan flavours, this biryani, which we ate more than 20 years ago, was memorably fragrant and tasty: a symphony of flavours.
THE MEHRANGARH FORTRESS rests on massive rock overlooking the city of Jodhpur in Rajasthan. At night the walls of the fort are brightly illuminated and can be seen from many places in the city. The older districts of Jodhpur cling to the lower slopes of the rock upon which the fort rests. To take advantage of the splendid views of the fort, many restaurants in the old parts of the city are located high above street level on rooftops. Some of these eateries are as much as five storeys above street level, and none of them have lifts to reach them.
A restaurant is at the TOP
One rooftop restaurant, which we have visited twice, is on the second floor of an old building. Called Indigo, we have eaten excellent Rajasthani meat dishes there, and were looking forward to visiting it a third time today (the 3rd of December 2024).
At about 4 am. on the 3rd of December, I awoke briefly and noticed that there was no electricity in the hotel and the alley next to it. By 7 a.m., the electrical supply had been restored. At breakfast, which is always served on the fourth floor rooftop of our guest house, Mr Manu, the owner of the place, told us that there had been a fire in the kitchen of the Indigo restaurant, which we had begun to enjoy. Burn marks were clearly visible from our guest house’s rooftop.
The reason the power had failed early in the morning was that the Indigo restaurant is located close to an electricity transformer, and the authorities were concerned that the fire might spread ⁷to it. Luckily, it did not.
After breakfast, we decided to walk to Indigo to offer our sympathy to its charming owner. When we arrived, we found his wife and a few other women seated in the restaurant’s ground floor courtyard. Each of them had very sad expressions on their faces. I felt that it was like visiting the bereaved soon after a loved one had passed away. They asked us to sit with them, and soon after that, the owner arrived. We told him how sorry we were about the disaster which had befallen him and his family. I believe that he appreciated our brief visit.
Had the fire not happened, we would have eaten all the rest of our evening meals at Indigo during the remaining few days of our stay in Jodhpur. I hope that Indigo will recover soon and that anyone who happens to read this and is visiting Jodhpur will eat at this excellent restaurant.
BITTER TASTING, WATERCRESS is a member of the cabbage family (Brassicaceae). It is rich in health-giving nutrients. In Britain, it is grown in fast flowing chalk streams. It used to be grown in streams on Hampstead Heath, and there is a row of cottages that formerly housed watercress workers on Hampstead’s Willow Road. Another place where it was once grown is the Oxfordshire village of Ewelme.
A trout stream runs past Ewelme. It was here in the late 19th century that the Smith family from the village of South Weston, not far from Ewelme and the larger town of Watlington, began cultivating watercress in the stream. The watercress beds stretch for about ¾ mile along the stream, and have now been preserved as a nature reserve. By the beginning of the 20th century, the watercress beds at Ewelme were flourishing, producing large crops. Hampers containing 56 lb of watercress were carried by wagon to Watlington railway station, and from there they were transported by train to the Midlands and Manchester. The cress from Ewelme was highly regarded all over the country.
The Smith family kept the watercress beds going until the mid-1960s, when they were sold to new owners. The beds were kept going but became increasingly less viable economically. They were closed in 1988. However, visitors to Ewelme can see the two rows of rectangular beds, each enclosed by low partitions. A boardwalk runs along the length of the beds, separating the two rows. The stream flows through the beds. What can be seen now was the result of much restoration work carried out by local volunteers. A small visitors’ centre stands next to the beds. Near the beds, there is a house called Watercress Cottages, where a member of the Smith family used to live.
Ewelme is an attractive village with many historic buildings. A visit to the watercress beds, now the home of waterfowl, is an unusual experience and well worth making.
WHILE PREPARING A SAUCE for pasta today, my mind shot back to my mother in the kitchen during my childhood. Many people regarded her as being a competent cook. She was an enthusiastic follower of the recipes in cookbooks by Elizabeth David. She bought only the best cooking utensils, and sourced many ingredients in the Mediterranean food stores that used to exist in Soho – a few remain, but many have gone. As a child, I was allowed in the kitchen to watch when my mother was cooking. The more I saw, the greater my desire to try to cook. However, this wish was not to be fulfilled while my mother was alive.
My birth and the first few months of my life were difficult as far as health was concerned. Consequently, my mother was highly protective of me, and then later also of my sibling. My mother saw danger everywhere, and not least in the kitchen. There were sharp knives, razor like tin can lids, and the risk of getting burnt either by the oven or the hot things prepared on it. We had electric hob rings because my mother was anxious about gas explosions and open flames. I was allowed to watch her cooking, but not to touch anything she was using. Curiously, even though knives were involved, I was often asked to wash the dishes, cutlery, and cooking utensils.
Sadly, my mother died at a young age. I was 28 when she went, and still residing in the family home along with my father, who had no interest in cooking. He enjoyed good food, but would have no part in preparing it. With my mother no longer around and a well-equipped kitchen, I began to experiment with cooking, and enjoyed the activity.
Over the years, I have done much cooking, and still enjoy doing it. I am not sure what made me think of my mother today as I prepared the pasta sauce, but it might have been the pan in which I was making it. For, that pan was one that my mother used often. She must have bought it back in the 1960s, and because she purchased only the best, it is still perfectly usable much more than 50 years later.
My wife is a good cook, but I do most of the day-to-day cooking. When she told a friend of ours that I do most of the cooking, the friend asked my wife:
“Don’t you feel diminished as a woman if Adam does most of the cooking?”
My wife, who is quite happy with the arrangement, replied with another question:
“Do I look like an idiot?”
Sometime later when our daughter was a toddler, she and my wife visited some friends. After a few minutes, our little one, used to seeing me cooking, came running out of the kitchen with wide open eyes, and said to my wife:
“Do you know, Mama, but the Mummy is doing the cooking in this house.”
DURING THE 1970s and 1980s, we used to make visits to a restaurant in north London’s Willesden Lane. Founded in 1964 and specialising in South Indian cuisine, it was called Vijay. It still exists at the same address. Out of curiosity and ‘for old times’ sake’, we paid it a visit last night (the 29th of February 2024).
Entering Vijay was like stepping back in time. It was uncanny; nothing seemed to have changed. The walls are still lined with raffia work panelling, the wooden Kerala-style ceiling, and the pictures on the wall (mostly colourful depictions of Hindu deities) looked exactly as we remembered. Naturally, none of the staff were recognizable.
Back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, we used to eat at Vijay to enjoy South Indian dishes that were not easy to find elsewhere in London. If I remember correctly, in those days Vijay only had this kind of food on its menu. Today, the menu still has South Indian dishes, but also many offerings of food that is definitely not typical of South India. It offers a wide selection of North Indian dishes – such as most British people would hope to find in an ‘Indian restaurant’. One of the hors d’oeuvres, which you would never find on India, but is common in British Indian restaurants is fried pappads (poppadums) served with a tray of chutneys and pickles to accompany them, Vijay now offers this. Probably, Vijay has added North Indian dishes to their menu because, for many potential customers, South Indian dishes are far less familiar.
Yesterday, we ordered a few dishes. They were enjoyable enough but not outstanding, However, it was great fun sitting in a place that had hardly changed since we last visited it at least 30 years ago.
PROPERTY ALONG LAVELLE Road in Bangalore (Bengaluru) is currently the most expensive real estate in the city. The thoroughfare was named in memory of the Irish soldier Michael Fitzgerald Lavelle (1831-1895), who discovered gold, and then established goldmines, at Kolar ), which is about 44 miles east of the centre of Bangalore (see, for example: http://www.advertiser.ie/mayo/article/130402/micky-lavelle-the-gold-king-of-kolar ).
One of the entrances to the Bangalore Club, where I often stay when in the city, is on Lavelle Road. Many a time have I walked from the Club along Lavelle Road towards the delightful Airlines Hotel open-air café. On the way, I pass a four-storey building with a narrow façade facing Lavelle Road. This side of the building has four small balconies. Today, it is an office block, but quite a few years ago, it was the home of Bangalore’s Max Mueller Bhavan (a German cultural centre – a branch of the Goethe Institut). This organisation first established its presence in Bangalore in 1960. It provides lessons in German language and culture, and also puts on events relating to German cultural life.
The building on Lavelle Road has a flat roof. When it housed the German cultural centre, there was a straw canopy covering the roof. Beneath the canopy, there were tables and chairs and a kitchen. This covered area was a restaurant, which was called ‘Café Max’. It served German food. The chef and manager of this eatery was an easy-going, informal, young German man. He served what was described as ‘German breakfasts’ every morning. These consisted of eggs and sausages accompanied by delicious German-style breads and cakes, which he and his team baked. Although we never partook of them, he also prepared lunches with dishes from the repertoire of the German cuisine. He had a bookshelf filled with cookbooks, and every morning he could be seen studying them before deciding the day’s menu. Although the restaurant on the roof was intended mainly for the use of people attending the centre for language courses, it was also open to ‘outsiders’ like me.
When it was located on Lavelle Road and withing a very short distance – two minutes’ walk – from the Bangalore Club, I attended several screenings of German films at the Max Mueller Bhavan. Now that the organisation has moved to Indiranagar, I visit it far less often. Every time I walk past the former Lavelle Road Max Mueller Bhavan, I look up towards its roof and remember the German ‘Früstücke’ I used to enjoy there.
SO FAR – THAT is since January 1994, the very best biryani I have eaten was at Paragon in Calicut (Kerala) in 2006. It was a Moplah recipe – Arabic and Indian flavours combined most harmoniously. Last December, I enjoyed an almost as good biryani in the restaurant of the Sifat International Hotel in Surat (Gujarat).
Biryani at Bheema’s
When in Bangalore, where we find ourselves often, we like to visit Bheema’s restaurant on Church Street. It serves Andhra-style cuisine. I have never been disappointed with the biryani dishes served there. Although not as supremely superb as the two biryanis I have mentioned already, Bheema’s delicious biryanis are way above average – in my humble opinion.
THE DHRABUDI TRMPLE complex is near the sea about 5 miles east of the town of Mandvi (Kutch, Gujarat). It is located ated next a small Freshwater lake, where pilgrims can bathe. Our driver told us that baby boys are brought to be blessed at the temple when they reach their first birth anniversary. When we visited, we saw a group of people doing a puja in the open air. They were respecting the first death anniversary of one of their relatives.
While wandering around the temple compound, we saw a group of Rabari women seated in the shade, under a large banyan tree. The Rabari are nomadic cattle and camel herders, as well as shepherds. In India, they aremost frequently found in Gujarat, Punjab, and Rajasthan.
Worshippers come from far and wide to do pujas at the mandir. The temple offers free meals to pilgrims. These are served in a large dining hall. One wall of this is lined with numerous portraits of people who have died. We were told that diners pick up a thali and other eating utensils before lining up to be served food.
Pit containing glowing charcoal for cooking
The kitchen, which is next door to the dining hall is vast. It was spotlessly clean. I saw a few gas rings, but what really fascinated me was the other method by which food is heated up. I saw three or four pits sunk into the floor. Each one is shaped like a large spoon. Glowing charcoal is heaped in the bowl of the ‘spoon’, and can ve spread along the stem. Pots are placed above the charcoal. The arrangement reminded me of the Turkish ocakbaşı. I imagine that the cooking speed can be adjusted by varying the amounts of glowing charcoal beneath each of the enormous cooking pots.
We did not stay to join the pilgrims having lunch. Although the temple cooks kindly invited us, we had lunch awaiting us at my wife’s cousin’s home.
I always enjoy visiting place of worship. What made Dhrabudi special for me was being shown its wonderful kitchen.
yamey 