Now the last luncheon I relished was at Tabu’s. Never mind the fact that she’s so reclusive that she left me alone at the dining table, with just the spread of Hyderabadi biryani for company. Not the sort to make polite conversation, off she vanished into her chamber — which resembles a college girl’s, complete with a softboard, clothes scattered in helter-skelter heaps, and cola cans (diet) — never to emerge again. Ergo, I lunched in solitary silence, and left a “thank you note”. Really.
Indeed, you can gauge a film personality by his or her food manners. Like I’m convinced that wooden actors eat timber cutlets. For this Sunday, permit me to inform you about the three best tables in showtown.
Rishi and Neetu Kapoor: The RKs rock. Unarguably, the No. 1 hosts in showtown. Twenty-four hours before the munch-ado event, you’ll be seriously interrogated about your favourite poison — wine or something stronger? And it’s wondered if you’re in the mood for desi or continental cuisine? And you have to specify whether it’s vin rouge or white which you crave. Continental cuisine-wise, care is taken to cater to your partiality for French, Spanish or Italian.
But if you ask me, the liquids and solids turn out to be the least of the evening’s attractions. Rishi Kapoor can be absolutely politically incorrect in conversation. The phrase “no comments” doesn’t exist in his dictionary. Neetu, instead of silencing him, laughs encouragingly...
And, of course, there’s the bonus of Ranbir, dropping by for a polite “hello”, chatting for a while and then excusing himself for a story sitting. Quiz papa and mum, about his girlfriend of the moment, and they give their take frankly. Dad, methinks, would like Junior to assert his skills in action, comedy, rowdyism, the mega-budget works — but doesn’t stop him from venturing into the decidedly different Barfi. Sweet.
Rakhee Gulzar: A totally sentimental choice. Although she’s missing from action nowadays, having zipped off to her farm on the outskirts of Bollypur, I drool down nostalgia lane about her fish curries. Actually, the honey-eyed actress was my first interview ever. Me the moppet Raju Reporter had reached her hacienda — with walls taller than three Miss Indias put together. A pack of hounds, guarding her home, rushed at me in the quest of a snack, but somehow I sprinted to the kitchen, unbitten. Needless to brag, I was rewarded with an interview in which Raakhee bared her heart, soul and culinary skills out.
The maccher jhol — or freshwater mustard fish curry — was to live and die for. For dessert, followed mishti dhoi. “Are you trying to murder me?” I asked feebly. Thundered she, “That seafood and dahi can’t mix is an unfounded rumour.” She was right. See, I survived.
Asha Bhosle: It’s some unnerving spectacle to watch the nation’s pre-eminent diva slaving away as part kitchen maid and part chef. Her specialty are curries and fries. Not exactly great for cholestrol levels, but a meal at Ms B’s Peddar Road apartment has been the excuse to pig out on pomfrets sizzled in I’m-not-sure-which oil, chicken lollipops sprinkled with fiery grounded chilli, and kheema muttar accompanied by pot-bellied phulkas. And if you can’t taste it all, it’s packed for you in a carry-home tiffin. Thoughtful that — keeps you in refrigerated meals for a week.
PS: Today the Bolly-dinners I’m invited to, are only at resto-lounges... Tchah. Not interested. I’d rather sit at Tabu’s table, even if it’s all by myself.
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