“That Mallu Joint,” I say, to which my impatient friend R, replies with a question, “Which mallu joint?” I repeat, now for the fifth time. “But, tell me the name of the mallu joint,” says R, now clearly annoyed. A few more back and forths later, R warmed up to the idea that the restaurant is named That Mallu Joint. Ashwin Ninan, the co-owner of the city’s newest, popular restaurant serving Kerala cuisine, had found himself in an almost similar situation when he held on to this name for his new venture. “I was sitting in Big Bang Theory with my brother and friends, when I came up with this name, and along with it the idea. Roshina Tharakan (the co-owner) was quick to jump on to the wagon,” he says.
The cozy, well-lit, second-floor restaurant has some striking elements, like the armchair with caned backrest, modelled on cane chairs. If you are a malayalee, a scene from your old ancestral home is likely to flash before your eyes, with the ancestor lounging callously on the chair. The bamboo lights, too, catch your attention, as do the glass and Baker-modelled walls and the pop-inspired paintings of kathakali masks.
A sweet cut-mango salad meets us on the table. The thinly-sliced raw mango films, are surprisingly crunchy and moderately sweet. An odd carrot slice (which in fact, tastes better when sweet), makes its appearance among the light green mango films. An aftertaste (spicy or sour? I can’t decide which), leaves you wanting for more. The perfect appetiser. What’s better? It’s complimentary. Staying with his grandmother for six years, helped Ashwin discover what contributes to good home food — it’s simplicity. “The food should be easy-going, we thought. Not too oily or heavy.”
The yam fry, a starter which serves for one, proves it almost instantly. Shallow-fried, and sautéed, the dish retains the original flavour of yam. The spices do not overpower this flavour, making the dish easy on the tongue. Kandhari paneer, too, follows suit. “This not an authentic Kerala dish” — Ashwin’s quick disclaimer gets us more curious about these triangular, creamy paneer, with a mild coconut flavour. He goes on to explain that this is the Chef’s own improvised version of a kebab , doused in coconut milk and later sautéed in coconut oil. An ardent vegetarian, R, nods vehemently in approval.
Next in line was prawn porichathu (fried prawns). With its golden-brown crumbs made of puttu powder instead of bread crumbs, it is crunchy, slightly bigger than bite-sized, and makes for an average starter. The erachi ularthiyathu makes for a heavier starter, with its tender beef and hard coconut chunks taking the cake.
But, dive deep into the meen manga curry (fish mango curry) for the main course, and there is no looking back. Finely chopped tomato chunks add to the already-tangy curry, and the boneless fish does not fail to retain flavour. Combine this with rice, and you get your perfect meal. Better still, it goes with your fluffy, steaming appam as well, as does the equally nostalgic atterachi (lamb) chaaps .
The egg appam has the yolk uniformly spreading the mild flavour of the egg across its soft centre. But kozhi nei roast (chicken ghee roast), however, does not strike a chord. Kashmiri chillies (also responsible for the bright red hue) overpower even the ghee, and the combination leaves a pungent after-taste.
We are in a food coma by now, but R and I are not ready to let go of the tender coconut ice cream. One of the two items in the dessert menu (the other one being payasam , the kind of which changes every day), the tender coconut pudding is a star. With the right amount of sweetness and refreshing flavour of tender coconut, embellished with a generous amount of small tender coconut chunks, it leaves you wanting for more.
As we leave, we are served jeera water, a requisite in every Kerala household. Once again, I am reminded of home.
