I owe an insincere apology To Bhaijan for not being able to lend my cold, slippery shoulder in his hour of infallible crisis. Blame it on the vintage Chicken Roast at Hazra cafe that turned me conveniently amnesiac to Karmic causalities.
The roasted chicken floating in sheer gravy resembled a lady lying curled up in bed repenting the end of a beautiful night.
The iconic delicacy carried all the culinary peculiarities I admire – an unyielding allegiance to a ‘basic’ taste developed over the years, unpretentiousness, hint of sweetness and a very subtle spicy punch capable of opening the dormant taste-buds. The usual cluster of unsung spices namely Cinnamon, Clove and a generous sprinkle of pepper played their bits to perfection in dishing up a delectable masterpiece. Perhaps a wise Toast could have saved the treat from coming to a sudden end! I will definitely return to Cafe ‘hungry for more’ of this…
The shrivelled Chicken Afgani looked like a diva of yore tasting sloppy, thin, forgettable, unappealing and seriously ‘unvoluptuous’. Even the pale slice of Tomato perched atop couldn’t turn me horny.
Finding the frigid ‘Chicken Cutlet’ utterly unlovable I deserted ‘her’ midway.
Then came the cynosure - a serene fairy straight from the pages of Grimms’ – a pudding topped with a spectacular meringue – rich in both aroma and texture with the dried fruits and nuts distinguishably and perfectly underscoring the strong aromatic agents namely cinnamon, mace and the divine vanilla. It had a taste to die for!
‘The Café’ is a diminutive eating house where a table is hard to score. I finally found the logos behind the mythos!
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