I am not being a snob when I say I do not like to socialise too much. I am neither rich nor famous to be able to afford being a snob; my reasons are entirely different. Socialising not only eats into the time I reserve for creative pursuits but also invariably leads to exchanging of more business cards and therefore more phone calls, which further eat into that time.
But I am glad I accepted the invitation to a dinner the other evening to celebrate the re-launch of Prego, the Italian restaurant of Taj Coromandel, where I met Keshav Prakash. I had never heard of him before and it is unlikely that our paths will cross anytime soon, but the couple of hours spent at the dinner scripted by him left me richer with information that I would have otherwise not sought and therefore found.
Keshav, who is Mumbai-based, collects fine spirits from faraway lands — exclusive stuff, something you won’t find in duty-free shops — and ties up with plush restaurants to have a menu tailor-made to go with his collection. That evening, for example, the starters were served with Sipsmith Gin (made in a garage in London) and Calle 23 tequila (from Mexico), main course was served with Kilchoman Machir Bay Whisky (single-malt, from Scotland), and the dessert with El Dorado rum (straight from Guyana).
Guests imbibed only 20 ml of each drink — in all 80 ml, a little over one large peg — but since the drinks were of the finest quality and drunk neat, everybody was happy without being drunk.
My mind, in its happy state, absorbed all the information that Keshav had to offer in between courses: that gin is nothing but vodka containing botanicals, and that it has always been considered a medicinal drink; that a bottle of genuine tequila always carries the label ‘100 per cent agave’ (agave being the plant from which tequila is made), that tequila is almost like a religion to Mexicans and that they like to sip it instead of gulping it down in one shot like Americans (and Indians), that how nearly every Indian family in Guyana considers Calcutta to be their original home (the possible explanation being that Calcutta was the port of departure for their forefathers when they left India as indentured labourers).
Then there is something else I learned that was very vital. Before the main course was served that evening, Keshav gave a test to the guests. Each was given a vial containing a coarse powder and asked to taste the contents while holding their noses. As I closed my nose and sprinkled the contents on my tongue, I felt like I had sugar in my mouth. But the moment I set my nostrils free, I realised I was actually tasting cinnamon powder.
Keshav explained what was going on. According to him, the human tongue is capable of recognising only five basic tastes — sweet, salty, bitter, sour and hot — and if any dish tastes oh-so-good, it’s because of our nose. It is the nose that picks up the flavours in our food and makes it palatable, even though the credit goes to the tongue. No wonder when the smell of mustard seeds, crackling in oil, wafts in from my neighbour’s kitchen, I instantly feel hungry without even knowing what’s cooking in their house.
I had so much to learn in one evening — apart from enjoying the food and the drinks. I must go out more often.
