Showing posts with label Amba Bhavan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amba Bhavan. Show all posts

Tiffin and Filter Kaapi at Matunga and everything is all right in the world

 I was returning to Matunga after nearly a year and was excited and super happy to walk along its familiar footpaths crammed with vendors selling vegetables, snacks, plastic goods and flowers and bananas and whatever. This may not sound exciting to you if you are not familiar with Matunga but for those who know, they know and they would be nodding understandingly and would also be feeling the joy of walking about in those streets and pavements.

The previous year had gone in a project assignment in Central and North India and I had been missing the truly original honest-to-perfection idli-vada-sambar-chutney, the various dosas and the absolutely bestest of all, the strong “philtar kaapi” that for a Mumbaikar, can only be had at Matunga. Please do not misunderstand me. There are other good places too for filter coffee and south Indian snacks in Mumbai, and good ones too, but the pleasure of walking about in the area and sneaking into Ram Ashray or Sharada Bhavan for upma-chutney or cajoling for a single-medu-vada-sambar or waiting for kela-bhajji or mysore-bonda cannot be bettered in any other café elsewhere in the city.

Devendra was waiting for me near Sharada Bhavan as we had discussed over the phone and he understood that I needed company while snacking so that we could chat absolute nonsense and endless stuff about nothing. It was much better if you got someone else at your table, total strangers, and you could pick on any topic and everyone would chat it out for the duration of the stay at the café. Sometimes, very rarely, you may become good friends but it was a totally understood thing in Matunga, King’s Circle, Sion Circle or Dadar Circle that you were only snack table meetups.

As expected, every table at Sharada Bhavan was occupied. The corner table had an elderly couple, who did look like dedicated Matungawallahs, except that the two other empty seats were on the inner side, that is, we would have to squeeze in behind the other two diners. We did that. The diners did not look up and did not make way for us. They were very busy with their dishes. As would have been expected, we checked out their plates very fast. They were having Rava Masala Dosa and Upma-Chutney. There was no sign of any other earlier dish that had been eaten up.

‘Ok, they have just started,’ I thought and waved to a familiar waiter. He waved back. It was not like we were friends but he must have just guessed that I was a regular. He recognised Devendra though and smiled at him. I was feeling somewhat jealous but it was to be expected as Devendra was here almost every day even if he had brought in a good lunch pack from home. It was a rare day or week that he would not have had some tiffin at Sharada Bhavan.

We placed our orders and instantly, the diners at our table and the one next to it, looked at us with respect. We asked for Ulundu Dosa and it was a rather specific order. Devendra enunciated the entire order with proper gestures.

“Two Ulundu Dosa. Crisp and thick. Two chutneys but also give one molagapodi (= gunpowder) and sambar. Bring them together. After that we want idli-chutneys, two plates, with the idlis swimming in the chutney. Bring two sambar each, separately. Do not bring kaapi immediately. We will let you know if we want anything else before that.”

The waiter was more appreciative, though. “You do not want your usual? No upma-chutney and dabra-Tea?”

The two diners sharing our table looked up at the very ancient menu on the wall. This was the most traditional of all. The menu had never changed its look. The prices had been repainted but the items on the menu had never been changed. No new Punjabi-Chinese menu additions and no surprise dampener of Pav Bhaji or Schezwan Dosa or whatever it was that was masquerading as ethnic cuisine or novelties. People came to their regular restaurants in Matunga entirely because they did not want to be disappointed by surprises or changes in their dining routine.

One of the diners pointed at the menu board. “Ulundu dosa! We have not had it in all these years of coming here. How come? Bhushan Kaka used to always talk about it when he came here with Shantaram Kaka, years ago.”

“I have had it at Ram Ashray,” the other diner said. “But it is better at Ballard Estate. Not in Matunga. I have never liked it here. But I have had three, one after the other, when I was in Mysuru. It is much much better there.”

Devendra smiled. He was used to this sort of flowing conversation. It meant nothing to be able to know a better restaurant or a better eating spot. It was just a starting point for some more discussion even if it was for time pass.

“It is good here, but you have to eat it just right,” he said. “It has to be crisp. It has to be thin. But it needs to be enjoyed with the chutney and molagapodi. We mix up everything, chutney, sambar and podi, and allow the crisp dosa to soak it up. That is the correct point in time to slice it up and crunch it. It explodes inside and you enjoy the dosa.”

The second diner smiled. He had closed his eyes for a moment, as if visualising the description. He nodded.

“Yes, but I come here for the upma-chutney. I enjoy the silky feel. You do not get better upma than this in Matunga. Sometimes at the new footpath café opposite Amba Bhavan but not every day. My brother and I, we need to eat only soft tiffin. Our teeth are in a bad condition and we cannot risk cutting up our gums. We bleed easily.”

This was something very different, I thought. He had heard about it but had never actually met someone who suffered from it. But, here they were, both of them, with Rava Masala Dosa. That was crisp, actually extra crisp.

“You may suffer many cuts with that dosa. Are you going to continue so that you can enjoy the upma-chutney?”

The brothers laughed. The elder replied, smiling, “Yes. I knew you would catch that. But this one is ok enough. We asked for soft dosas and even then, it would be risky. We are soaking it up with the sambar. We have to get back to our homes and pretend that we were never here. Our families do not permit us to dine out here in Matunga. They want us to stick to our diet and be careful and strict about them. But, both of us, are 80+ and what more can happen to us? This is Matunga and Sharada Bhavan. Something will definitely go wrong with our health, we told them, if you stop us from eating to our joy and contentment. All this we do, only to enjoy the last round of strong filter kaapi.”

Devendra nodded knowingly. “I know you both. I have seen you over many years but we have never spoken. Your grandchildren also come here with their classmates from college on some days. They come here and instantly ask for Rava Masala Dosa and Upma-Chutney and filter kaapi. They will take care of you. Do not worry. God is great.” 

From "the very short short stories on first edit" 
(c) Bharat Bhushan
31 January 2022

"Wonly Maatunga Kaapi for me..."


Mr. Iyer from the first floor in our apartment building would say that each time he came to our house, usually uninvited, "Wonly, Maatunga kaapi for me, nothinnngggggg else...". He felt that the best coffee (kaapi!) that could be had, was only (wonly!) available at Matunga (Maatunga!). The place was actually known as the Madras (now, Chennai... but people still remember it as Madras in Mumbai, though Mumbai was Bombay earlier...) of Mumbai. 

Actually, it was a treat to hear Mr. Iyer say it. It went like, "In Bambaayi, Maatunga meeenz Madhdhraas, and Maatunga Kaapi, shtraang Maatunga Kaapi, is the beshsht in the worrld, yaall the worrld", which meant... "In Bombay, Matunga is Madras, and strong coffee from Matunga, is the best in all the world."

Mr. Iyer said this, even when he would come to our house, and while drinking the strong good heavenly south Indian decoction coffee that my mother would serve him. And amazingly, both my father and mother would nod their heads, and agree with Mr. Iyer in the most indulgent manner. I hated the surrender, at that time, in 1975, nearly 33 years ago. 

I was not a coffee connoisseur then. I enjoyed drinking the Narasu or Bru filter coffee, and the rare instant Nescafe made in our house. The instant Nescafe had made its strong appearance only around 1970. Nescafe also had a good filter coffee product, available at a lesser cost.


The Kabutar-khaana at Matunga, near Ram Ashraya Restaurant

My uncle, Shantaram, had a different take on Matunga kaapi. He was a faithful to have a cup at Ram Ashraya restaurant, near the kabutar-khana, the pigeons feeding place, at Matunga. He loved his cup of Matunga kaapi there, in the small stainless steel tumbler, kept inside the larger wider flat-rimmed deep stainless steel bowl. You were at paradise, as most south Indians at Matunga declared during the 60s and 70s, if you got that hot cup of kaapi to swish from the tumbler to the bowl by lifting the tumbler at least 3 feet above and pouring the hot milk-sweetened decoction accurately into the bowl. 

The aroma was already felt when the kaapi had been served at your table. You could smell it from the cup on your table and you could smell it from the cups of kaapi at other tables. The smell and aroma was all around. But when you lifted the tumbler and poured the coffee down to the bowl, the aroma hit you in the face. It must be hormonal, I think. All good honest south Indians, actually all south Indians who like strong filter coffee from out of a tumbler and vessel, are good honest south Indians. There isn't any other qualification, really. 



The Ram Ashraya Restaurant at Matunga
The Quality Tea-Coffee Shop is to its left...


Strong filter 'Kaapi' at Hotel Ram Ashraya in the classic style


The stainless steel tumbler (right) and the vessel (left).
Coffee drinking cannot be better than this...


Video demonstrating the art of mixing filter coffee at Matunga
You can increase the distance and height once you become an expert at it...

All good honest south Indians must be having an hormonal recepter to strong filter kaapi. Their poetic abilities were probably awakened at that moment of smelling strong filter kaapi. The entire world seemed happy and peaceful at that moment. The restaurant waiter, serving the hot kaapi, was now probably looking like your best friend or your favourite relative. 

My uncle would savour the coffee at Ram Ashray and then proceed to the Quality Tea-Coffee shop next to the restaurant and purchase Chicory coffee powder mixed on a 50:50 ratio with Peaberry coffee powder. This, he felt, and almost 90% of Matunga of the 70s probably agreed with him. You had to brew the decoction for an hour at home before it was ready to taste the same, well, almost the same as genuine strong filter coffee from Matunga.

There was a restaurant, Amba Bhavan, at the spot where the Matunga main road met Kings' Circle. It was yet another coffee drinker's paradise. The waiters at this restaurant were as aged and prehistoric as the furniture and the unchanged decor in the place. They were probably on speaking terms or friendly nodding terms with my father and uncle in their younger days. My grandfather probably knew them and maybe even so, knew their fathers or uncles.


The Amba Bhavan Coffee Club at King's Circle near Matunga


Honest, strong and pure filter coffee from
the Amba Bhavan Coffee Club

Most waiters at Amba Bhavan in the 80s wore a folded-up dhoti or lungi, and almost came at you with the coffee tumbler and vessel. Unlike Ram Ashry, the coffee at Amba Bhavan and Mysore Cafe in Kings' Circle came in an upturned small tumbler inside the stainless steel vessel. The coffee was trapped inside the tumbler. You had to be an expert at some of the ancient shaolin arts with a third or fourth degree black belt to be able to prise the trapped air pressure inside the tumbler and free the coffee from within it, and into the vessel.

The waiters at Amba Bhavan were expert at it. Those at Mysore Cafe would leave to your fate, unless asked help was asked for. The Amba Bhavan chaps would look at you and recognise whether you were a kaapi-shaolin sensei or not. Guessing that probably you were not even a sham kung fu pretender, they would tilt the vessel in an expert manner, causing the weight of the kaapi liquid to make the tumbler free itself from the vessel. Then, with a flourish, they would swish the coffee back and forth from the tumbler into the vessel and would reverse their hands to keep the momentum and swishing going.


The Cafe Mysore at Kings' Circle

Nescafe and instant coffee spoilt it for the kaapi-addict. 



(All photographs by Author)