There is nothing that a human being takes more seriously than food, and several parties, excluding the directly involved ones like restaurants, milk money out of this purely emotional bond that man shares with food. Yes, we're talking about food & restaurant critics and columnists. While the food-critic industry is a thriving business in the West (where one would gladly spend a few dollars to feed his pet with garlic bread from a particular restaurant if the critic declares it tastes like dog food), the concept is still in a nascent, albeit growing stage in India. What pains me is the biased nature of these critics, who cover only the upmarket restaurants with metaphysical-sounding food names and tongue-twister type branded ambiance. I doubt if anyone ever reads such columns, except of course the champion professor who chooses such articles for Reading Comprehension questions in MBA entrance exams. No one bothers about the people and restaurants at the bottom of the pyramid. So here is my humble attempt at starting a critic-culture for Small and Medium scale food businesses.
Thanjavur Mess:
Directions: Ask for Subba Reddy street, perpendicular to Lakeview Road, West Mambalam. Nestled between a broken Syntex tank and a never cleaned Corporation dust-bin.
You don't have to book a table in advance at Thanjavur Mess, but there is some considerable amount of waiting time involved, thanks to the popularity of this eatery with Tam-Brahms and neighboring working-class bachelors. But hey, the waiting area is as fascinating as the food is. The line of LPG cylinders stacked outside serve as seats, and for those with XL size bums, there is always the odd cycle parked inside the waiting lounge. You may pass your time by marveling at the patience of the cockroaches, which line themselves up at a corner, until water has been pumped into the underground water sump, right in the middle of the waiting area. Or if you're lucky, you may get to see a few pretty girls passing by on Scooty Peps, taking a detour to avoid a T.Nagar traffic.
How soon you enter inside depends on how sharp you are in noticing an empty seat, and how strong you are in muscling out others wanting to get in, since the doorway can accommodate only one person at a time. Once in, there are 3 tables to choose from, each with four stools. It would be safe to choose the middle one. The 1st table can be dangerous for your ears, since the owner sits near that and shouts out parcel orders to the cooks inside, and the echos can persist for a really long time. The 3rd table is just behind the wash-basin, and unless you want a simultaneous head bath while eating, never go there.
Thanjavur Mess has about every South Indian dish imaginable, and a dozen variants and varieties in every dish. I'm not going to Google for 'adjectives for tasty dosa+puri+blah blah blah' and type them out. Take my word, every dish is as delicious as it can get. You might have to swat flies with one hand, but then, it's not as bad as those places where you've to swat flies with both hands, leaving you handicapped to eat. This place hasn't got famous with musca domestica linnaeus yet. You might also occasionally notice the staff's underwears drying on the window grill. You could take it back as a souvenir, no one's gonna complain, or just ignore it.
Just a word of caution when it comes to asking for sambar. Rumor has it that Subbu, the old chap who serves sambar here, once wanted to be an astronaut. His serving sambar to customers is inspired from GSLV launches. The sambar karandi keeps going higher and higher and higher as he serves, and he doesn't stop until you notice sambar splashing on your shirt and literally shout at him to stop. So just be careful, unless you're the other champion professor who wants to quiz MBA aspirants about the diameter of blot on a shirt given the volume of the hollow hemi-spherical karandi, gravitation, acceleration and escape velocity.
The staff's sense of humor, and their pride in their acquiescence with regular customers is worth mentioning. The owner can effortlessly swap between inquiring an old man about his daughter's pregnancy, and commenting on Yuvraj Singh's belly to a cricket aficionado. The pricing is pretty decent as well, with the median price being Rs.20 for most items. The quantity keeps getting lesser every time, but there's no compromise on the taste. So in a nutshell, Thanjavur Mess doesn't pinch your pocket, tickles to your taste bud.
