Back to Previous PageOf horses, bulls and hogs....
Mukul Sharma went to Horse Feathers at the Kensington Terrace along with his wife and his friend Dr Chandrashekar. Since he was curious to know the meaning of the name he asked the front office manager Arif Patel what the name meant. Pat came the reply, it can't be uttered in front of a lady. But on Sharma's insistense, the manager replied that it meant the hyphenated bull with the s-word attachment. Come, let us sit and drool while Sharma shares his experience with us .
All silly semantic quibbles vanished the moment the stuffed skinned potatoes made their off-Broadway entrance into our plates. I hate to say this but nobody can go wrong with spuds in their jackets when those jackets have themselves been coutured in foil and baked to a turn and neither coul these people at Quality Inn. Since the delicious filling inside was not the usual mix of diced capsicum, diced carrots and diced boiled wild rice or some such recurrent nonsense but actually contained chunks of non-veg I hogged so much of it with such relish that pigs in the vicinity were apparently feeling embarrassed and ready to disown me at the drop of a snout.
This was followed in rapid sucession by nasi goreng, bainese chicken (made marinated in honey....mmm) and Indonesian satays. The last, for those not fortunate enough to be familiar with what may seem to be merely a dish consisting of small pieces of meat grilled on a skewer and served with spiced sauces and probably akin to the East European and Turkish shashlik, but to the initiated, it is bliss.
By this time the executive chef had also sauntered in and informed us that he was also right then in the process of initiating an Italian kitchen in the near future to add to the multicuisine offerings. So that's another Italian joint Bangalorean's can look forward to. Interestingly, when I asked him where he got hold of all this more temperate vegetables like asparagus spears, non-button mushrooms and the like, he said it was locally available. (And there I am always running to the tinned versions at Spencers and Nilgiris).
Anyway by the time the pasta with meatballs was rolled in as the final sacrifice at the altar of good taste, my stomach had turned into a helium balloon and only my defacto and the good doctor could do the honours. I'm told it was very good though.
(Source The Times of India)
So, till we cook up i.e. we come out with a new write-up about another restaurant be drooling......... but make sure that the mouth-watering pellets don't fall on your neighbour.
