Hearty Hat trick

It was one of those weekends that have a special quality. Of course, any week-end when sonny is home from the hostel has enough reason to be that-but this one was more special. Saturday was an enjoyable day, and we managed to cover a lot of important ground (read visit the locker, enroll into a wayside library – both long pending tasks) and what’s more, watched the latest Bond movie with relish (without being an aficionado of either Bond or English flicks, in that order) But most important of all, one did some meaningful shopping. And yet, the good part was that one didn’t feel rushed or end up with a sense of fatigue or the feeling of having spent a hectic day.

The shopping, among other things, included purchasing the all-important formal shoes for the young man on the verge of facing placement interviews. This innocuous and rather mundane, as some of you might want to put it, exercise was fraught with its fair share of animated discussion (mandatory in our home before anything of import can happen) As soon as we were at the shoe-display section of Lifestyle, controversy reared its head and a lively debate ensued. While I insisted that he needed a pair of shoes with laces, the youngster was adamant that the stylish designs with Velcro and what-have you-thingummies would do as well for the formal category. Hasty parleys were made, as we connected with our respective generations (the spouse, the brother and yours truly voted unanimously for shoes with laces while his young pals rooted for the non-lace variety.) As always, hoary age triumphed over impetuous youth and the time-tested word experience, uttered sotto voce, did the trick. We emerged from an adjacent shop a few minutes later, a pair of smart, Red Tape black formal shoes, with laces, swinging in hand.


But the best was yet to come: the shopping spree having taken up quite a lot of time, had lent a palpable edge to one’s appetite. So we made our way to the all-time favourite joint: KFC. (A visit to KFC is always accompanied by a host of fond memories. Our first visit to its vaunted precincts, in the summer of 2001, had been a particularly memorable one, greenhorns that we were, untried to the ways of the KFC world. We had been completely bowled over by the crisply succulent (oxymoron??) chicken portions, which, we later discovered, were signature KFC. The over all ambience, the terrific victuals and the generosity of our patron-who had treated us a to a wonderful meal-all come rushing back each time I visit one of its branches) Once we made ourselves comfortable, the orders were placed and soon the kids returned with trays loaded with goodies. While I had settled for the boringly predictable KFC fare (aforementioned) they had been more imaginative and had gone for a burger, each, as well. (Of course, the unspoken family rule-that the one who doesn’t order a particular item is still offered a bite so s/he gets a taste of what s/he’s missed-was implemented. Never one to say ‘no’ to such offers, I promptly took a bite of the wholesome burger and then focused my undivided attention on gobbling the crunchy, crispy chicken pieces. The gourmet delight this delicacy offers is almost unparalleled but you later realize that in these days of specialization-where even English is taught for specific purposes (the fast getting-popular genre of ESP, for the uninitiated) almost every type of cuisine has evolved its own unique taste and flavour.

As the following day was to prove. Now, Sundays normally mean a relaxed sort of day for us: waking up late, languorously savouring the rays of bright sunshine peeping through the lacy curtains before setting foot on the cold floor and moving to the warm confines of the drawing room, with its promise of piping hot tea and the newspaper. The day generally unfolds itself unhurriedly and we allow ourselves to go with the flow, not hastening for any of the usual activities. Lunch means a non-vegetarian main dish and some veggies accompanied by the usual chapatti-rice-dal combo and then comes the much-looked- forward-to afternoon siesta.

But this Sunday was different as the young lad was about to launch into the exciting adventure of belling the CAT. Careful planning had gone into play and 8 a.m saw me and mine making our way to an almost unknown part of the city: the wild west Delhi region. Luckily, the one and a half hour drive we had resigned ourselves to, ended up being of just an hour’s duration, thanks to the Sunday factor. I shall gloss over the happenings of the next three hours-mine being too boring to merit mention, the youngster’s too mind-boggling (for poor ole me to absorb) and unknown a territory for me to try and talk about it.

As the ladddie was to leg it back to college right away, the next question on the agenda was, predictably and practically enough, food. And therefore it transpired that for the second consecutive day, we were in a restaurant ordering food at lunch time. Connoisseur that he is, it was a delicious meal-complete with golden toasted garlic bread dripping butter and done to a turn, great cheesy spaghetti in thick sauce, with a tantalizing flavour and topped by a delightful combination pizza: a perfect blend of the homely chicken supreme with the exotice Hawaiian pineapple-topping. Hunger being the best sauce-we needed no second invitation and attacked the food with gusto the moment it appeared on the table. Post the luncheon, I dropped the young man at the railway station and made my way home.

Saturday and Sunday spent at two different eateries, consuming different cuisine is fairly passé as most of us would think. But for a repeat performance to happen on a prosaic Monday was more than what I could’ve imagined. As it transpired, two colleagues and I had to go for a presentation to one of the many engineering cum management colleges that dot the periphery of the Ghaziabad-Meerut-Hapur belt. Now, this was a little more than a typical presentation as it was followed by a three-hour pilot session before a live audience of seventy management aspirants. What with their animated questions on the one hand and the more discerning queries of the management on the other, the session became longer than the stipulated time. So by the time we left, it was well past lunch time and being several miles away from the office cafeteria (which provides us with nice, hot lunch) we had no choice but to opt for eating somewhere. Being the only ‘local’ amongst the trio, I recommended one of my favourite joints in Noida-Asia Kitchen (also because it was, very conveniently, en route.) On the menu was Chinese -the best Chinese you can hope to get this side of the Yamuna. Superb hakka noodles, very fine and evenly stir-fried, garlic chicken with just enough gravy to add a tangible flavour and a bowl of fine quality rice-fried the Chinese way-to add to the combination. We did full justice to the meal-though we could still not finish the generous portions served and left the place an hour later, considerably sated. As always, the place had lived up to its reputation and I sure was relieved, having recommended it in no uncertain terms.

Three scrumptiously delicious, yet utterly diverse, meals in as many days-a record (hat trick??) of sorts! But a record one wouldn’t want to repeat, given the fact that a) one is perpetually trying to wage a losing battle against weight .and b) because at the end of the day, some niggling corner of the palate starts yearning for the homely daal-chaval in two days flat!!

But once in a way, one doesn’t mind such pleasantly and gastronomically enriching interludes.