One of the best things about school holidays in India is how devoid of traffic our roads become. Travelling to the suburbs from south Mumbai? I did it in less than half an hour, an unheard of time once the academic year starts. And so it is that in May and June, car congestion is at a minimum across this Maximum City. My friends who are IB school parents were justifiably upset when us ICSE folks returned from our far-flung vacation jaunts. “It’s lovely to hear your voice dahling,” coo-ed one of my impeccably-groomed friends when we met for lunch. “But really, it was so lovely when so many schools were shut. Getting around town was such a breeze. Luckily, our school break starts now and we’re off to London but I hear it’s so hot and you know how these Europeans are. They don’t believe in air conditioning. I don’t know how I will manage.”
Personally, I was thrilled to be back in the bay. Vacations are great, but it was nice to hand the children over to trusted staff and get back into a routine. In Mumbai, that typically means hard work and hard play. Within a day of returning, I was invited for a cosy seven-course sit-down dinner with Masterchef Gary Mehigan hosted by BMW at the Four Seasons hotel. There were only 40 of us, and I was pleasantly surprised to know less than 30% of the guests, a rarity in south Mumbai where everyone seems to know everyone else. Many were first and second generation entrepreneurs, but lo and behold, their children studied at IB schools and many lived in the suburbs, which explained things.
The evening began at the superbly done up sample apartment the hotel has created to hawk its super swanky private residences. Lucky for us, we serendipitously bumped into the Masterchef himself, who was en route to the kitchen to prepare. Riding up the elevator together, he was friendly and indulgent, exuding the best traits of both Britain, from where he originally hails, and his adopted homeland of Australia — friendliness, warmth and wit. He gamely posed for selfies and off we went to enjoy cocktail hour with pass around hor d’oeuvres (a paani puri concoction stands out) before venturing to a private dining room to feast.
Mehigan welcomed us with a brief introduction to the menu, which he described as whimsical, playful, unpretentious, and one that evoked travel, family and his love for Oz. The food did not disappoint. Our first course was a confit of carrots (carrots, orange and caramelised miso served on a black olive biscuit), followed by a chilled watermelon, almond tarator, feta and green chili pakora , and next up was a tempura of greens, compressed cucumber, avocado, sesame and green juice. As I gingerly poked a fork into the greens, my dinner companion on the right, a strapping Punjabi, told me about his business. He was a spice exporter, and had just returned the night before from Boston, where he had gone for the Harvard Business School’s executive education programme.
Like many businesses that had focused on overseas growth in earlier decades, he was now looking at the domestic market and thinking of creating a spice brand for us locals. “But I’m really struggling for a name. You’re a journalist, think of something.” Having helped friends name a well-known Mumbai restaurant, a residential building and a high-end luxury store, I told him I was up for the challenge. We promptly exchanged emails.
As he took my phone to key in his data, a waiter thoughtfully placed what Mehigan called an Aussie Pie in front of me. The ingredients were slow braised eggplant, fennel jam, yoghurt, charred onions and black garlic. It was sublime. And finally the dessert was bitter chocolate mousse, beetroot and chocolate ice cream, pickled beets, and blackberry syrup. See, there’s nothing quite like the daily grind of Mumbai!
This fortnightly column tracks the indulgent pursuits of the one-percenters.
