Besides shedding vanity what makes me travel irregularly in Metro is love of Indian Coffee. Favourably sited a hop, skip and jump from Chandni Chowk Metro Station is India Coffee House - a sprawling coffee-shop founded by Coffee Board to promote native varieties of coffee by offering the city’s caffeine fanatics a delectable fix. I unabashedly dote on their Black Coffee – a preferred surrogate for a rarer Americano. Until the entrepreneurial 18th Century, Coffee plantation in India, that had begun with the sowing of ‘Seven seeds’ of ‘Mocha’ another two centuries ago, grew as mere garden curiosity flourishing unchecked in the backyards. British entrepreneurs through systematic conquering of coffee-producing forests of Southern India, besides aiding its cultivation, soon secured India a notable spot on the Coffee map of the world. While I, a declared caffeine addict, call African coffee fruity and American, bright, curated Indian coffee, being born on volcanic soil, remains an eternal heavyweight on all counts. Enough said. I kicked off my day today with a cup of Black coffee at India Coffee House. It delighted, as always, to see whiskered waiters serve in embossed crockery a serious coffee brewed with pride and love. After all, they too served single-origin. #uncookedwords
I love good-food. And, I love writing about it too. Having never found taste in penning insipid narratives, I sought stories and trivia that had grown around ‘Eating’ - some instantly, some over a period and some across generations. Therefore, my page shares stories wherein food plays the protagonist. Good-food pleases and bad-food teaches. So I owe as much to good ones as bad. And, I always pay for what I flaunt.
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