Eating Out

Word’s got around Trishna restaurant in Mumbai that Vijay Mallyais expected and the staff’s in a tizzy. Surprising, since Trishna’s always soceleb-squeezed you’d think one more would hardly ruffle the atmosphere. But then hestrides in among a flurry of stengun-toting bodyguards, unapologetic that he’s onlyan hour late. Distinctive in his Armani suit and yellow Leonard tie, the customerstemporarily give up their menu cards to watch the beer baron settle down. Hislarger-than-life flamboyance compels even fish-satiated foreigners to ask the staff who heis.

Trishna, nestled in a crowded bylane of the Fort, is a favourite eatery of millionaireslooking to slum. The place is so strictly no-frills, you know they come here only for thefood. It’s considered the final, sublime destination of fish foodies. Ask Imran andJemima Khan. Though just a notch above Udipi joints in ambience, snotty page 3 types haveno reservations being spotted here, their sleeves rolled up, elbow deep in clams and crabshells bouncing off their brows. Helpful hint: shellfish lovers are advised to take therestaurant’s offer of an apron.

But Mallya’s turned vegetarian courtesy his Art of Living affiliation, soyou’re somewhat nonplussed at this choice. But this is Mangalore cuisine territorywhere Mallya hails from and so he is a regular.

The waiter wants to know his drink. Beer, of course. Which one, he dares to ask. Theatmosphere turns frozen. “Kingfisher, what else?!” snaps our guest menacingly.The waiter scurries off. “Is there any other worth having?” he queriesincredulously.
The ‘pepper garlic butter crab’ here is to die for, swear the regulars. Mallyawill have none of it, even for me. “That’s not Mangalorean. We want a MangaloreKarwar lunch. Get some authentic dishes,” he orders.

Our table is laden with food, most of which is spicy and coconut-based. A prawn curryslips in. He spoons out the gravy, minus the prawn. Like a true Mangalorean, he wants hisrice. His billionaire lifestyle may include self-owned aircraft, yachts, sports cars,racing horses and a dozen mansions the world over but “at home,” insists he,“you’ll find me in a T-shirt and dhoti, eating simple food from a thali.”And while he might dine on asparagus pate and Camembert souffle at some of theworld’s most expensive restaurants, he does enjoy occasional meals at Kamat’s.

What he can’t do without is his supply of green chillies. He calls for some andproceeds to bite into the hottest of them. You can’t help but wonder aloud if that ishow he chews up his rivals in the liquor industry and on the horse racing tracks. Athoughtful pause later, a wicked smile springs into those arresting eyes:“Maybe.” Ah well, they don’t call him The King for nothing.