Bravo, Bill

So we try reading the man instead. Familiar with India since 1981, Marchetti finally shifted base here in the post-9/11 meltdown that saw the closure of his two restaurants in Melbourne. Today, he is Delhi’s longest-lasting celeb chef.

If Marchetti has a food philosophy, it’s about doing just the little something that brings out the flavours of fresh produce. Parma ham is not just Parma ham, it’s a source of worry; the slices on the antipasti platter are the last of the lot he had hoarded and the Indian government is still not showing any signs of rescinding the ban on meat imports, ordered after the bird flu scare early this year.

‘‘But Indian vegetables are great!’’ Marchetti expounds as the pasta arrives: tagliatelle with crab in an Absolut-sour cream sauce and a ravioli that surprises the taste buds with the sweet, succulent flavours of pumpkin. ‘‘And Indian eggplants are the best I’ve ever seen. And okra—I love okra! Even fried neem leaves.’’

Marchetti is an expansive showman of a host and conversation never flags, touching in turns on his three years as a vegetarian (‘‘That’s the yogic influence, everyone’s allowed a turn once’’), his cooking holiday with friends in Himachal, a Holi layover in Darjeeling (‘‘Only in India will the local police chief send his men around with drugs’’—read bhang!)…

It’s main course time. Lamb chops land up and even I, not too hot on red meat, can’t help marvelling at the melt-in-the-mouth textures of the chops. ‘‘Indian meat,’’ Marchetti takes a puff of his fourth B&H Lights. ‘‘Many people find foreign meats too smelly.’’ But the pièce de résistance is the Norwegian salmon in a sour cream dressing that flakes off at the tenderest touch of the fork.

Dessert is a simple affair: a mango sorbet with chunks of Alphonso. Marchetti begs off the course altogether; he savours his dessert wine and winds up the conversation at exactly the right time. We can almost hear the patron saints of food applauding in the background.