The enduring charm of the Bangalore Derby

 Namma Bengaluru: The City That Eats Around the Clock

 

By Sharan Kumar

 

Whatever else one may pursue in life, the search for good food is an obsession shared by almost everyone. And Bengaluru may have taken that obsession to another level.

 

There are many things Bengaluru is famous for: its gardens, weather, traffic, pubs, start-ups and, of course, its remarkable software industry. But there is another industry in which the city has quietly achieved something approaching excellence: eating out.

 

Look at the crowds outside its hotels from morning to midnight and one begins to wonder whether anybody actually cooks at home. Breakfast brings the idli, vada, dosa, rava idli, kharabath and pongal brigade. Lunch brings the meals crowd. Evening produces another rush for dosa, coffee and snacks, while night-time brings out the hunters of egg rice, biryani, pani puri and whatever else remains open.

 

Eating out in Bengaluru is rarely an occasion. It is simply part of the day. In that respect, the city may well beat other Indian cities hands down, much as it does in the software industry. There is an ecosystem for everything, and food has one of the most elaborate.

 

The great Bengaluru tiffin tradition

 

Bengaluru's famous tiffin culture was built by establishments that understood a simple principle: a hotel does not need a hundred dishes to become famous. It needs a few dishes that people remember.

 

MTR has its rava idli. CTR, or Central Tiffin Room, has its benne masale dosa. Veena Stores has its idli-vade, while Brahmins has its idli, vada, chutney and kharabath.

 

Then there is Vidyarthi Bhavan, whose name itself evokes another Bengaluru. It originally catered largely to students but has since grown into one of the city's best-known food institutions. Its walls, decorated with portraits of famous personalities from different walks of life, provide a glimpse of a Bengaluru that has largely disappeared.

 

But the most memorable sight may be the servers. They move through the crowded room balancing stacks of hot plates on one hand, sometimes numbering close to twenty. The plates are fresh from the kitchen and hot enough to make the average customer cautious about touching them. The server, however, appears to have reached a private agreement with heat.

The stack remains perfectly balanced as he negotiates tables and customers. No fanfare, no applause. Just years of practice.

 

Then comes the dosa, and the performance is complete. At Vidyarthi Bhavan, the food and the theatre have become inseparable.

 

The dosa refuses to retire

 

What is fascinating about Bengaluru is that the old institutions remain crowded even as new ones arrive.

 

Bengaluru Café is a newer name that has quickly acquired a strong following. Its dosa is now spoken about alongside the established favourites and, for many enthusiasts, ranks immediately behind CTR.

 

Then came Rameshwaram Café, which approached the tiffin tradition from another direction: ghee, and plenty of it. Its ghee-based preparations have become a rage. Traditionalists may complain that the dosa sometimes seems to be providing merely a platform for the ghee, but the crowds appear perfectly happy with the arrangement.

 

Its extraordinary rise demonstrates that Bengaluru's food culture is not simply nostalgic. It is constantly reinventing itself. The old masters have their loyalists; the new generation is producing its own heroes.

 

And then there is Koshy's

 

No portrait of Bengaluru's eating culture can be complete without Koshy's on St Mark's Road.

 

If the tiffin rooms belong to the city's appetite, Koshy's belongs to its conversation.

 

For decades it has been a meeting place for intellectuals, politicians, advocates, writers, artists and people who invariably seem to have something important to discuss. Great matters have been debated over coffee and toast, politics dissected and reputations made or demolished, while the waiters carried on with the calmness of people who have heard every argument before.

 

Koshy's is also known for its fish and chips, while Sundays bring another attraction: appam with vegetable or mutton stew.

 

But perhaps its most charming institution is the regular customer. There are people who appear there every day, occupy their familiar table, meet familiar faces and regard their visit as an essential part of the day's routine. For them, missing Koshy's would leave the day slightly incomplete.

 

That is what makes Koshy's different from a restaurant famous merely for its food. It is a Bengaluru institution of sociability. The food brings people in, but the conversation keeps them there.

 

Andhra arrives with an appetite

 

Bengaluru's food story cannot, however, be written entirely around tiffin. The city's love for Andhra meals is another major chapter.

 

Andhra restaurants have become almost ubiquitous. Every few days there seems to be another one opening somewhere in the city, but the tradition goes back much further.

 

Hotel Annapoorna in Gandhinagar, established in 1979, belongs to the older generation. Navayuga, Nagarjuna and Nandini are among the other names that helped establish Andhra food as an important part of Bengaluru's culinary culture.

 

Nagarjuna may have the strongest brand recognition today. My personal vote for meals goes to Annapoorna.

 

There is also a distinct Nellore/coastal Andhra influence in much of the city's Andhra restaurant culture, reflected in the chilli, gongura, pappu, pickles and generous rice-based meals.

 

An Andhra meal is not really an exercise in portion control. It is an announcement that lunch has arrived.

 

The other Bengaluru: military hotels

 

For all its devotion to vegetarian tiffin, Bengaluru has another long-standing food tradition: the military hotel.

 

In the early years, many non-vegetarian establishments were known by this name, serving hearty and affordable meals built around rice, palav, meat curries and other robust preparations. They were not intended to be glamorous. They were intended to feed people, and they became an integral part of Bengaluru's culinary identity.

 

Shivaji Hotel, known for its palav and non-vegetarian fare, Govind Rao's non-vegetarian hotel and Rajanna Military Hotel, along with the Maratha Hotel on Queens Road, belong to this tradition. Then there is Chickpet donne biryani, closely associated with the city's old markets and neighbourhoods.

 

The little leaf donne in which the biryani is served is part of the experience, as are the generous rice, meat and unmistakable aroma.

 

The military-hotel tradition also reflects Bengaluru's history as a meeting place for different communities. Marathi, Andhra, Tamil, Telugu, Kannada and other culinary influences have met here and gradually acquired their own Bengaluru identity. That is why the city cannot really be reduced to a single cuisine.

 

From military hotels to Empire

 

The non-vegetarian story has since moved into another phase with the success of Empire.

 

Beginning humbly in Shivajinagar, the Malabar-style hotel has grown into a widely recognised brand, with outlets across Bengaluru and on the highways. Its coin parotta, kebabs and other Malabar-influenced preparations have become particularly popular with youngsters.

 

The late-night opening hours are clearly part of the attraction. In a city where software companies work late, traffic refuses to sleep and conversations routinely continue beyond midnight, a restaurant that remains open when everybody else is shutting down is almost performing a public service.

 

Empire's rise also illustrates how Bengaluru's food culture has changed. The old military hotels were rooted in particular neighbourhoods and communities. Empire took the idea of a hearty, affordable non-vegetarian meal and turned it into a city-wide brand.

 

The food retains its Malabar identity, but its audience is unmistakably Bengaluru.

 

The neighbourhood treasures

 

The famous brands are only one part of the story. Much of Bengaluru's food culture survives in smaller establishments whose names may mean little to outsiders but are treasured by local residents.

Sidappa has its pulav, idli, half dosa and thuppa kali. MLTR has its kali dose and sambar. SLN Mudanna has idli, chutney, sabakki dose and pulav. Bytwo Coffee has kharabath and filter coffee, while Uphara Darshini attracts its evening shavige-bath crowd.

 

There is Puliyogare Point for puliyogare, sakkare pongal and ambode; Davangere Benne Dose for benne kali, paddu and mirchi vada; Dwarka and Ganesh Darshan for kali dose and palya; Madappa Mess for mudde oota; Subamma Angadi for kodbale; and Mudanna in Cubbonpet for its Trimurti of chitranna, puliyogare and mosaranna.

 

Taaza Thindi represents the newer generation of neighbourhood favourites.

 

The list could continue indefinitely. In fact, it does.

 

The roadside republic

 

No account of Bengaluru's eating habits would be complete without the ubiquitous roadside pani puri vendor.

 

The humble cart may have no elaborate menu board, but it can offer pani puri, masala puri, bhel puri, sev puri, dahi puri and several variations. The surroundings may be considerably less polished than those of the famous hotels. Plates may be washed hurriedly, dust may be drifting around and traffic may be passing close by.

 

 

Yet customers keep coming.

 

For a few minutes, people who might otherwise be extremely particular about hygiene seem willing to suspend their standards in favour of appetite. Basic hygiene, of course, cannot be ignored, particularly where water and raw ingredients are concerned. But the roadside cart remains one of the city's most democratic eating institutions.

 

The student and the executive, the shopkeeper and the professional can stand beside each other and wait for the next puri.

 

Nobody needs a reservation.

 

And Bengaluru eats late

 

The city's food day does not end with dinner.

 

Nagarathpet has its night-time food. National College Circle has egg rice. Commercial Street has its late-night offerings. VV Puram Food Street has become a destination in its own right.

 

The remarkable thing is not merely that these places exist. It is that they remain busy.

 

Which brings us back to the question: does anybody actually cook at home?

 

Surely they do. But judging by the crowds, Bengaluru seems to have outsourced a significant portion of its kitchen.

 

A dosa on a weekday morning, an Andhra meal at lunch, coffee and kharabath in the evening and a late-night snack can all fit comfortably into ordinary life. Eating out is not a luxury or a special event. It is woven into the city's routine.

 

Bengaluru's other 24-hour industry

 

There is an amusing parallel between Bengaluru's two great industries.

 

The software industry made the city famous for its ability to work around the clock, with companies, start-ups and technology businesses constantly appearing and expanding.

 

The food industry seems to have adopted the same philosophy.

 

There is always another hotel opening, another Andhra restaurant arriving, another dosa becoming fashionable, another café being discovered and another roadside vendor acquiring a devoted following.

 

The software companies compete for talent.

 

The restaurants compete for appetite.

 

Both seem to have discovered that there is always room for one more.

 

A city that refuses to finish eating

 

Perhaps that is why compiling a definitive list of Bengaluru's best eating places is impossible.

 

By the time one list is completed, another restaurant will have opened. Another dosa will have acquired a following. Another Andhra kitchen will be drawing crowds. Somewhere in a quiet neighbourhood, an old hotel will still be serving the same dish it has served for decades, without advertising or fanfare.

 

That is what makes Bengaluru's food culture special. It is traditional without being stuck in the past. It embraces the old masters while making room for new ones. It can celebrate a rava idli that has been around for generations, queue for a ghee-heavy dosa that became famous almost overnight, sit down for an Andhra meal, eat palav at a military hotel, enjoy Malabar food at Empire and finish the evening with pani puri from a roadside cart.

 

Few cities offer such a broad culinary conversation.

So perhaps the question is not whether Bengaluru cooks at home. The more interesting question is whether it ever gets tired of eating out.

 

The evidence, from the first idli of the morning to the last late-night plate, suggests otherwise.

 

The list will never end. Fortunately, neither will Bengaluru's appetite.