The Chilli Cottage Cheese Question

Only in India would it have been possible for a “multi-cuisine restaurant” to be the default option for a wholesome night out. But,like a North Korean ruler,they faded away only to be supplanted by something even more uniquely disconcerting: the Resto-Bar.

But,before we open that overpriced,reheated can of worms,could we pause to consider what an awful idea the multi-cuisine restaurant was to start off with? You do a decent kadhai paneer. Does that imply you can do an equally decent roast chicken?

The fuzzinesses of our globalised world,we are told,is where global networks intersect,cultures —cuisines? —cross-pollinate and create great things. You can only believe that wholeheartedly if you have never had to endure a chilli cottage cheese shashlik sizzler.

Fusion is all very well. But fusion requires a spark of inspiration. Pasta arrabbiata,too often,just requires Maggi,chilli flakes and ketchup. But after all,you say,the old-style multi-cuisine restaurant was an unassuming place,where families would go to pile into undifferentiated starchy masses—continental means cheese on top,people —and world cuisine was transmuted into glop for a conservative “Indian palate”. Well,garlic chicken goes pretty well with pulao,doesn’t it.

Until it did,sometime early in the past decade,when the Resto-Bar pre-emptively invaded and occupied your community centre market. The familiar old restaurant with its formica tables and cheap,laminated menus shut its doors for a bit,to re-open a couple of months later tarted up properly for post-liberalisation India,with interiors lavishly redone by someone’s daughter-in-law who had spent a few afternoons at an interior design course,and music loud enough to drown out horror-struck shrieks prompted by the smart new menu’s right-hand column.

The Resto-Bar presumably has its advantages. Unfortunately,the only one I can think of is that nobody has to struggle to spell “restaurant” any more.

The resto-bar’s problem is one that’s essential to market creation in this country: we may believe a market for something exists. But we’ve usually no idea who constitutes it and what they actually want. In this case: if people are wealthier,they deserve snazzier places to eat out. But the focus will be on “snazzier” instead of the “eat” bit,or who the “people” are.

Consider,as a test case,Anchor Resto-Bar (Noida,Sector 18). The décor is,naturally,nautical-themed. There are sextants. There are compass-shaped tables. There is a giant anchor. Clear so far. But visit on a weekday evening at 8,and you’re puzzled. Does it cater only to shirt-sleeved,paunchy men after work? Right,they’re there. But they’re not eating,just sitting with Kingfishers and masala papad (Rs 50). None of them looks likely to order the “chef’s special” Goan Prawn Curry (Rs 460),which is unsurprising,you don’t earn those gold watches without learning to recognise a bad deal. Does it cater to families? Because one or two are there too,looking uncomfortable,shouting occasionally into each others’ ears,ordering paneer butter masala (Rs 245),and no doubt wondering why they didn’t get naans delivered to eat in front of The Great Indian Laughter Challenge. Is it supposed to cater to that marketer’s dream,The Youth? Because they’re not there,they can’t afford it,and if they could,they’d dashed well take the souped-up Scorpio to Greater Kailash instead.

See,some people want a loud place to get drunk with their mates. Some people want a place close-ish to home with options unhealthy enough to keep the kids quiet. Some people want an evening out in well-laid out surroundings that have a just a touch,not too much,of cosmopolitanism to them. But combine a menu that appeals to one set,a theme that appeals to another,and the slight sense of seediness that appeals to the third with prices that appeal to nobody,and you’ve a recipe for epic failure.

Nobody ever needs to make reservations at their local resto-bar. They’re never,ever,full. There’s something so worryingly half-made about the maladroit mimicry of the multi-cuisine resto-bar that I can only be thankful that V.S. Naipaul will never eat in one. (He’d certainly have to something to say about the loos.) Perhaps with time and maturity,the neon rash of resto-bars that disfigure our markets will fade away,replaced by a sensible variety of places to eat. As we’ll discover,there’s so much out there already worth eating. And it’s never on a resto-bar menu. On the other hand,soggy,overpriced fish and chips always is.