Heart's Delight: Restaurant Review of Chougle's Manisha Mess

I had heard a lot about home-like ghar-guti messes in Belgaum that serve spicy Non-Veg dishes. “Laivit astat, be.” My friends have been telling me from a long time, “LaiiBhaari.”

I was a little skeptical about visiting these so-called less-than-standard places, but the foodie in me got the better of me and I went ahead with an open mind and an empty stomach to check out the messes.

I visited a few. But what really requires a praise, first-off, is Chougle's Manisha Mess.

Chougle's Manisha Mess is tucked deep inside Goodshed Road area, about 100 mts from Nartaki Talkies. Situated on the top second-floor, the pent-house-converted mess serves marathi mutton preparation only.

Yes! it is a mess, and is in a chawl-like structure. Even the interiors are very humble: red cement floor; tin roof supported by non-painted thin wood beams; no running water in the basin, instead there is a bucket-tumbler arrangement; simple tables and benches – that's right: benches and not chairs from the sitting furniture. The whole dining area is not more than 250 sq. ft. But the place is kept clean and tidy. The cutlery and crockery are basic: steel plate, spoon and chota plate. And just like the cutlery and the restaurant area, the menu is also limited, and so is the staff – just two waiting staff and 2-3 kitchen staff. But don't let its appearance fool you, because in true global terms it is a signature restaurant – meaning, the owners themselves are involved with the day-to-day operations of the hotel. And this is why this hidden gem boasts of its sparkle.

It is a mutton lovers delight.

The mess is open only for Lunch and Dinner; Six days a week, Monday being closed.

As you climb up four flights of stairs, an engulfing aroma of rustic spices not just greet you, but, knock you off your balance. In a way it's okay to go off-balance a little for very rarely you will not have to wait. Because of the limited sitting capacity the mess is always full, with a minimum waiting time of fifteen minutes. If you are going in a group of four, be prepared for the group-split and its members eat alone. But that seems too small a price when compared to the hot, spicy per-plated Thali that will appear in front of you.

Mutton Thali, the only option there is, is very economically priced at Rs. 90, with the choice of either Kheema plate or Mutton plate or Chops plate – any of the plates ordered extra is priced at Rs. 60. The Thali comprises of a red-hot main mutton dish, redder-hotter tambda rasaa (mutton curry), two just-off-the-tawa Jondla chi Bhakri (served one plus one), sliced onion and tomato laced with curd, lemon quarters & salt, and plain rice. That's it. That's all of it. No Pickle, or Chutney, or Curds. No frills. No shu-sha. Just hardcore marathi mutton na cha jevvan. The food is – and I kid you not – is fit for the Gods. The first morsel itself hit me in the right spot.

The constant sounds of thup-thup-thup-thup of garam-garam bhakri being flattened by the sari-clad ladies in the kitchen, and the crowd's collective hizz-hizzing from enjoying spicy mutton is the only sound heard.
It feels you are home. Other restaurants who boast of “serving home food away from home” can definitely learn a lot from this Hot, Spicy, Aromatic Heaven.

The tastes and the fragrance go bang! directly to your head, like being hit by a cricket stump.

But the real “Home” feeling comes while and after having the well made succulent mutton. Reason being, the Chili-Spice blend used, and the way it is cooked, successfully fulfills the most difficult criteria the chefs world over strive to achieve: It is said that “Anyone can prepare Hot Spicy food, preparing it is no big work, however, the art lies in ensuring that while your audience is consuming the hot preparation he/she should not have a runny nose, or teary eyes, instead should start sweating only near the end of the meal. This can be perfectly achieved while dinning at Chougle's Manisha Mess. Your nose doesn't run, nor your eyes water while your taste buds are having a time of their life. Another acid test that certifies 100% home-made (again, a feat tried to attain by the best of chefs) is that fact that you will not get any heart-burns after you have left the premises – this is not as easy as it sounds. When was the last time you had a very heavy & spicy meal and not worried about acidity. The reason behind Chougle's Manisha Mess achieving this fine balance is because they, themselves, prepare the chilli-spice mixture. If you are lucky you may get a gimps of Chillis or other Spices been laid out for drying on the adjacent terrace, open to hot sun.

The crowd frequenting Chougle's Manisha Mess is mainly working class Gents; however, women can be seen once in a while. Ladies, if you want to go there yourself, I suggest you gang up with your other lady friends or family members, and form a group of 10 to 15 (15 is maximum capacity of the restaurant itself) and book your visit in advance (Afternoon recommended. Ideal time 1:30 – 2:00 pm. Contact number: 0-9844284105).

Parcel service is also available but No Plastic business – you have to take your own Tiffin Box!

The food service is fairly quick, provided you get the place :) Most customers are regulars so they know all the names. “Bhushan, we are three of us. Adjust kar na yaar, lovekar.” A edger customer could be heard every 15 minutes. “Ho! Ho! Kartoye. I am trying. Trying. 15 minutes waiting maar.” Bhushan shoots back with a smile.

Every restaurant is known mainly for its food; its at the heart of it all. Other aspects like decor, service, entertainment etc. become secondary if its core is lip-smacking. And it is at Chougle's Manisha Mess. Experience you will have there is little bit like our Belgaum: simple, elegant, and stays with you.

Rating: Laivit!

Legend:

Laivit        : *****

LaiiBhaari : ****

Chaal-tai   : ***

Hu Ba       : **

Ti Cha      : *

Shimla: A Crazy, Beautiful Muse

They say a picture is a worth a thousand words. Well, if you are someone who is not very good with a camera, the only other options is to punch out the words.
So here it is.

For the record, this is not a travelogue. It doesn’t entail names of the places to visit or of the restaurants to critique; it, however, partially, says how Shimla is and how it is worthy of the predictable adjectives that aptly describe it: Serene, Tranquil, and Pleasant. Also, I am writing this within 24 hours of leaving Shimla, while the memories of Shimla are still fresh and before the pollution and the noise of a metro city contaminate the memories of a lovely week gone by. Hence this is not an detailed account.

We all know what makes a hill station picturesque: comfortable climate, abundant greenery, lack of dense population, and a general feel-good factor that ows its existence to absence of over civilization–well, everything good owes itself to lack of over civilization. The moment I stepped in Shimla is the moment I stepped out of a Time-machine. It was the year 1947 and the date was 16th of August: the British had just left India. And in Shimla everything froze in that time–Shimla was the summer capital of British India. The roads are small and clean and elegant; buildings, along with the whole set up, are neo-Victorian: incandescent, stone white walls supporting pointy, bottle green roofs; cast-iron grills, cast-iron drain-pipes, and cast-iron chimney covers. Cast-iron bus-stands, cast-iron benches, cast-iron lamp posts. Touch any of ’em and they would still whisper: “God Save the Queen”.
Even the firang tourists are of the decent and the family type: no dread-locks or weird body piercing or gaudy tattoos that rampantly walk the streets of Goa or Kasol–the infamous pseudo sadhus of the west on a quest to find quick enlightenment in the quasi-spritual weed pockets of India. Even the monkeys, both red- and black-faced, are well behaved. Red- and black-faced Monkeys both move in packs and never cross each other’s paths, like there is a unwritten truce rule that is being observed. Monkeys are the stray-dogs of Shimla, found more abundantly than the most densely populated stray-dog area in your city.


On a personal note, Shimla for me is my summer sasural. In winters my in-laws migrate down to Kalka as Shimla gets too cold for comfort. And since I got married in winter, it was my first time in the Indo-Tudor city of Shimla. I was a guest, not a tourist, staying at a home, not at a hotel–it’s the little things that make a world of difference. I had access to local food, customs, and accents.
Mustard and Garlic are predominately present in the aromas, which escape out of the home kitchens. Ingredients are fresh and flavorful. Hill grown spinach tastes better that the topical one. Ice-cream lovers are in a for a treat. The softee is available everywhere and across various flavors. You take a bite of it and your head spin delightfully, engulfing your cold nerves, tingling them, teasing them. If you are not a connoisseur of ice-creams but of Scotchs, then you are in for a treat, too. And a more profound one. Because Scotch tastes the way god intended it to taste in the highland climate of Shimla: crisp, symphonic, and oaky; every sip packs a punch as it hits your gut, its warmth spreads from your torso to your fingers to your feet to the back of your head, giving you a heightened sense of things.

The people of Shimla are considerate and helpful and honest. I guess, a combination of extreme climatic condition and surrounding dense forests instill a sense of both nobility and community. If your car breaks down in the middle of the highway around dusk, don’t be surprised if the cars passing by stop and offer to help, without you asking for it, for the locals know that not many cars may pass-by later.

The locals say: “When in Shine it Pours”. And rightly so. No sooner the Sun shines brightly, making you go out and soak some of its warmth, the dark clouds arrive and the thunderstorm ensues. Rain. The pleasant spring turns into a merciless monsoon in minutes. And since it is Shimla, intense is the order of the day. Rain is usually followed by severe hailstorm. We were traveling back from the up hills on a bright sunny day with a plan to visit one of the more famous tourist location on the way down. And there was a crack in the dark sky. Dew become omnipresent and visibility reduced to 10 feet. The Sea of Mountains that stretched way into horizon was replaced by that of a single ghat road on the way down. Cold raindrops and hard hailstones smashed against the car’s windshield. The wiper struggled with its movement to clear the water-ice slush that kept blocking our vision. The bonnet and roof of the car cried as they took the wrath of hailstones and storm got intense. Hyper monkeys on hot tin roof, both red- and black-faced together. There was no shelter in sight to take cover from the sudden, bad weather. Not everyone on the highway was in the protection of a car. The horses and yaks and mountain sheep and their shepards had no choice but the surrender to the cold, hard whips of rain and hailstones that lay bare on their bodies and at their feet, wave after wave. Needless to say, the plan to visit a few well-know spots was disposed off. I saw a different side of Shimla that many don’t imagine exists. I guessed, Shimla was not in the mood to present herself that late afternoon and took a rather horrifying form to make her intension clear and shoo us away from her. We steered clear of the highway for home was where the warmth was.

All good vacations come to an end and it was time to part from the nature, form the mother who had held me close to her and showed me how beautiful life is. We reached the train station as the Sun got sleepy and boarded the Toy Train–or as the toddler in me calls it “Toy Toy”. The Toy Toy is narrow gauge train with chair cars that have big windows. The Toy Toy is not in a rush to reach anywhere. I guess it strongly believes the journey is the destination. The Sun was hiding, the sky red. Whistle blew and Toy Toy started moving. White Clouds crawled over the mountains, kissing them, covering them, holding them, trying to tuck them in bed. The mighty, green mountains in the foreground and the fading blue ones in back were both expression less, like they were unhappy to see me go, fighting tears, not letting one out. Or may it was just me.

It began as an adventure and ended up being a love affair. One that leaves you shaken yet inspired and with a particularly warm feeling.