(<<> Friday, June 5, 2009
The Grill. - A tribute.
(<<> "The Grill was simply awesome."
"What? The Grill? Sizzlers? Hmm."
The previous extract has been heard for too long now. The former sentence, spoken by myself, accompanied by a glint in the eye, and the latter, spoken by most people accompanied by a sort of "I-don't-care-about-the-grill-" look. It's an insult, in my opinion. The Grill, a restaurant which existed till 2007, if I remember correctly, beside the Malhar Hotel, in Thane. It was a small restaurant, which would give no idea to a normal passer-by that it was home to the most delicious gastronomic extravaganzas that ever existed. This is a tribute to the wonder, The Grill. I remember brushing through random Shakespeare books complilations in the school library. Those small books with around fifty pages which just give you a gist about the story in general, omitting the original dialogues. I distinctly remember as I type this, about the chap Othello, who tells the listener (I'm not sure who) about his adventures with the cannibals. Now, picture this : Othello tells the girl about a particularly nasty meeting with a cannibal and is waiting for the listener to ejaculate an awestruck "Wow! Cool! Really? Woah!", but instead the reply is, "He probably must be a vegetarian, stop exaggerating." Now, imagine how Othello would have felt had the chain of events occurred. Hold that imagination, because that's exactly how I feel, after the bored look that follows the mention of The Grill.
This is the snag of expressing yourself when your musings are mixed with deep emotion. You just go off the rails, and, as in my case, saliva just fills up your mouth and you can think of nothing else. If I fooled about more, without getting straight to the point, trying to establish atmosphere, as they call it, I will fail to grip and you'd be banging your head on the wall. Thus, I will move straight towards the point where you walk into The Grill. I have visited The Grill on various occasions, with different people, but my personal feelings about the whole thing have always been the same. I will do my best to express them.
There are very few feelings, which make the hair on my neck stand up still as the feeling I have sitting on a chair in The Grill. Wow, I know that I would soon renew my acquaintance with those unbeatable eatables dished up by the God forsaken chefs, who are undoubtedly God's gift to gastric juices. Looking at the menu, in another restaurant, I always regret having a single stomach, and having Dad's eyeballs fixed on my face, on the prowl, ready to raise his eyebrow, to evince his anger and make it more evident courtesy a comment on me gaining weight, if I order, in his opinion, a larger amount of food than needed. Never in The Grill. Not needed. I just glance at the menu as a formality to activate my salivary buds, but what eventuates is always the same.
"One Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri sizzler, please."
Why, you may ask, and people have asked, don't I order anything different. It's simply because it is perfect. I adamantly refuse to believe, that even The Grill could give me more satisfaction with another dish. One Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri sizzler, nothing more and nothing less. Perfect. Perfect for my appetite. Dad's eyes move elsewhere, and his eyebrows do not rise, thus I'm spared of having the feeling that there is soft clay where my spine ought to be, and also of having to cancel out the "extra" food. That done, DD waits in anticipation.
THE WAIT. Oh, it's a long wait. I don't know if there is such an aroma but during 'The Wait', I get this invigorating aroma of something mysterious. The nose, during the wait, is always busy trying to find out what the aroma is.
Then, it seems that the world is conspiring against you, wanting you to just watch on, as everyone including people who have given their orders after you have their meals served before you. DD, as a general rule [or as my personal belief] , is a man of iron, having all his class and etiquettes, but is reduced to wax during 'The Wait'. I shamelessly look at what others have ordered and the salivary glands get activated. That said, I have to mention, when you look at what is served on the table opposite to yours, you regret and feel you should have ordered the same. I do, too. But not in The Grill. I am sure of my order. I wait on, for my Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri. All this torture of waiting is doubled when you see the waiter move towards you, and you prepare to leap, when you observe that he's just given you the pickled cabbage. I have to admit here, though, that the pickled cabbage is amazing too. The orange couloured cabbage which roams about your mouth, and almost gives you a warning, of what your mouth is going to receive. It's as if the cabbage says "Consume me mate, but you will surely get something better, though it is hard to imagine. Sit back, relax and enjoy 'The Wait'.
We're now done with seeing, smelling and now we proceed to hearing. The noises that get out of DD are as follows :-
"Yes mum, I called him and gave him your message. *Grunt* I HAVE cleaned my room, dad! *Growl* Why is the beastly chef taking so much time, man! *Brrr* I'm hungry like hell, someone ask the chef to wake up! *Growl-rumble-grunt-brr* "
The noises enclosed within the "*" are from my stomach, and the others from my wet mouth. You also might have noticed, that I have addressed the people making my sizzler in the singular. I assure you, it hasn't been done inadvertently. I strongly believe that the chef who makes the Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri is an artist, and there cannot be more than one artist that create the exact same work of art, and make it have the same delicious taste every single time. I feel that the chef is a monarch of his profession, unequalled, at taking raw material and stirring and boiling and baking and cooking it into stuff that would melt into the mouth of the ultimate consumer, and leave him speechless. That man had been the magnet, I supposed, that drew me to The Grill.
Chewing on the pickled cabbage, I say “Urgh!!” It was short for “I’ll kill the damned waiter if he doesn’t bring my food now!” After five more despairing minutes, I say the longer version out loud, in doubt as to whether I had made myself clear. My face becomes pale with frustration coupled with hunger and I continue to munch on the cabbage to induce fortitude.
BANG. It happens. The waiter has his eyes fixed on our table holding in his hands, which I realise, is the Grilled chicken Peri-Peri! Bless the soul. I was a drowning man, and he was the rescue boat. I could have kissed him, I could have leapt on the table and started dancing, but I refrained. Ignoring Dad’s stern glance, and the waiter’s “Enjoy your meal, sir” I grabbed my knife and fork and prepared to “dig in”…..Foggy…what happens next is unclear and I cannot describe it in proper sentences….Bliss…Ecstacy..Euphoria. I view what is in front of me. The tender chicken, the steamed rice, the French fries, the boiled veggies, the spinach, complete with the spicy onion ri
ngs. Man, I must have done some good deeds in my previous birth! Then no one with me talks, everyone remains silent, as I cut the first piece of chicken and chew it. Ah…for a split part of a second nothing happens. Then, suddenly, fire rages in all parts of the body. The stomach region becomes charged as if with lava. The ears start ringing. A great wind seems to blow through the world and all I am aware of is immense satisfaction. Then, as I go on relishing the sizzler morsel by morsel, the wind becomes calm, the ears cease to ring, pleasant music starts playing and all is well. All you are conscious of is a great peace. I’ve often heard about the ‘chocolates or sex’ question. If you replace the former with my sizzler, I won’t mind being a virgin!
As I munch on, I do not give a rat’s ass about what is going on around me. People often accuse me of having an inscrutable face, without expressions, which is impossible to read. Quite on the contrary, in The Grill, I am a pool of clear water, in which is mirrored in detail, each and every expression. I ignore comments from my mother about me being a ‘greedy pig’. Wow, with each morsel comes the fear that this bliss is but temporary and my meal would soon be over. And soon, very soon the last remains of my sizzler go through the oesophagus and rest in peace. If I was ever given the option of deciding my last moments before my death, I would surely say I should die eating the GCP-P sizzler. The cabbage remains on the hot plate and the waiter takes it away.. I wipe the tears off my eyes [it’s spicy!] and take a deep breath. I’m full but I don’t mind a chocolate mousse. The sweetness settles in my mouth and after gulping it all, I get up and leave the heavenly place. After leaving the restaurant I look back, the signboard, “The Grill” beams at me. With a pleasant smile, DD walks off as the happiest man in the world..
Time goes by, and after some more occasions in The Grill, disaster strikes.
“Mum, let’s go to The Grill this Saturday.”
“Dhruv, it’s shut down!”
BANG. I cannot express what I felt at that moment. The only thing close to being compared to my anguish would be running as fast you can for the final step in the Olympics 100m, having a considerable lead, and suddenly having a lamp post pop out of nowhere and hitting it. I felt that THUD. The Grill, shut down? Not possible! Within one week after the reception of the news of this calamity, while paring a visit to Dad’s office, I made it a point to go past what was The Grill. A blank wooden plank was replacing the glorious signboard “The Grill”. The blank plank, the manifestation of my worst fears. The Grill, the unknown restaurant, which gave the consumers of its delights a satisfaction that people only dream of. The Grill, buried. Buried in a grave without an ounce of honour. No news, no protest. The cursed owner goes one day and shuts down the place, not knowing that he is playing with so many people’s emotions, not knowing how appreciated his restaurant was, not knowing how long the waiting line would be on weekends.
Thus, this was a tribute to The Grill. In whichever corner of the world the owner of the restaurant is, I hope he feels a deep sense of pity at what he’s done. I raised my hand in protest, but now I finally put it down, knowing it is all in vain. The Grill, I bow down to thee…
"What? The Grill? Sizzlers? Hmm."
The previous extract has been heard for too long now. The former sentence, spoken by myself, accompanied by a glint in the eye, and the latter, spoken by most people accompanied by a sort of "I-don't-care-about-the-grill-" look. It's an insult, in my opinion. The Grill, a restaurant which existed till 2007, if I remember correctly, beside the Malhar Hotel, in Thane. It was a small restaurant, which would give no idea to a normal passer-by that it was home to the most delicious gastronomic extravaganzas that ever existed. This is a tribute to the wonder, The Grill. I remember brushing through random Shakespeare books complilations in the school library. Those small books with around fifty pages which just give you a gist about the story in general, omitting the original dialogues. I distinctly remember as I type this, about the chap Othello, who tells the listener (I'm not sure who) about his adventures with the cannibals. Now, picture this : Othello tells the girl about a particularly nasty meeting with a cannibal and is waiting for the listener to ejaculate an awestruck "Wow! Cool! Really? Woah!", but instead the reply is, "He probably must be a vegetarian, stop exaggerating." Now, imagine how Othello would have felt had the chain of events occurred. Hold that imagination, because that's exactly how I feel, after the bored look that follows the mention of The Grill.
This is the snag of expressing yourself when your musings are mixed with deep emotion. You just go off the rails, and, as in my case, saliva just fills up your mouth and you can think of nothing else. If I fooled about more, without getting straight to the point, trying to establish atmosphere, as they call it, I will fail to grip and you'd be banging your head on the wall. Thus, I will move straight towards the point where you walk into The Grill. I have visited The Grill on various occasions, with different people, but my personal feelings about the whole thing have always been the same. I will do my best to express them.
There are very few feelings, which make the hair on my neck stand up still as the feeling I have sitting on a chair in The Grill. Wow, I know that I would soon renew my acquaintance with those unbeatable eatables dished up by the God forsaken chefs, who are undoubtedly God's gift to gastric juices. Looking at the menu, in another restaurant, I always regret having a single stomach, and having Dad's eyeballs fixed on my face, on the prowl, ready to raise his eyebrow, to evince his anger and make it more evident courtesy a comment on me gaining weight, if I order, in his opinion, a larger amount of food than needed. Never in The Grill. Not needed. I just glance at the menu as a formality to activate my salivary buds, but what eventuates is always the same.
"One Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri sizzler, please."
Why, you may ask, and people have asked, don't I order anything different. It's simply because it is perfect. I adamantly refuse to believe, that even The Grill could give me more satisfaction with another dish. One Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri sizzler, nothing more and nothing less. Perfect. Perfect for my appetite. Dad's eyes move elsewhere, and his eyebrows do not rise, thus I'm spared of having the feeling that there is soft clay where my spine ought to be, and also of having to cancel out the "extra" food. That done, DD waits in anticipation.
THE WAIT. Oh, it's a long wait. I don't know if there is such an aroma but during 'The Wait', I get this invigorating aroma of something mysterious. The nose, during the wait, is always busy trying to find out what the aroma is.
Then, it seems that the world is conspiring against you, wanting you to just watch on, as everyone including people who have given their orders after you have their meals served before you. DD, as a general rule [or as my personal belief] , is a man of iron, having all his class and etiquettes, but is reduced to wax during 'The Wait'. I shamelessly look at what others have ordered and the salivary glands get activated. That said, I have to mention, when you look at what is served on the table opposite to yours, you regret and feel you should have ordered the same. I do, too. But not in The Grill. I am sure of my order. I wait on, for my Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri. All this torture of waiting is doubled when you see the waiter move towards you, and you prepare to leap, when you observe that he's just given you the pickled cabbage. I have to admit here, though, that the pickled cabbage is amazing too. The orange couloured cabbage which roams about your mouth, and almost gives you a warning, of what your mouth is going to receive. It's as if the cabbage says "Consume me mate, but you will surely get something better, though it is hard to imagine. Sit back, relax and enjoy 'The Wait'.
We're now done with seeing, smelling and now we proceed to hearing. The noises that get out of DD are as follows :-
"Yes mum, I called him and gave him your message. *Grunt* I HAVE cleaned my room, dad! *Growl* Why is the beastly chef taking so much time, man! *Brrr* I'm hungry like hell, someone ask the chef to wake up! *Growl-rumble-grunt-brr* "
The noises enclosed within the "*" are from my stomach, and the others from my wet mouth. You also might have noticed, that I have addressed the people making my sizzler in the singular. I assure you, it hasn't been done inadvertently. I strongly believe that the chef who makes the Grilled Chicken Peri-Peri is an artist, and there cannot be more than one artist that create the exact same work of art, and make it have the same delicious taste every single time. I feel that the chef is a monarch of his profession, unequalled, at taking raw material and stirring and boiling and baking and cooking it into stuff that would melt into the mouth of the ultimate consumer, and leave him speechless. That man had been the magnet, I supposed, that drew me to The Grill.
Chewing on the pickled cabbage, I say “Urgh!!” It was short for “I’ll kill the damned waiter if he doesn’t bring my food now!” After five more despairing minutes, I say the longer version out loud, in doubt as to whether I had made myself clear. My face becomes pale with frustration coupled with hunger and I continue to munch on the cabbage to induce fortitude.
BANG. It happens. The waiter has his eyes fixed on our table holding in his hands, which I realise, is the Grilled chicken Peri-Peri! Bless the soul. I was a drowning man, and he was the rescue boat. I could have kissed him, I could have leapt on the table and started dancing, but I refrained. Ignoring Dad’s stern glance, and the waiter’s “Enjoy your meal, sir” I grabbed my knife and fork and prepared to “dig in”…..Foggy…what happens next is unclear and I cannot describe it in proper sentences….Bliss…Ecstacy..Euphoria. I view what is in front of me. The tender chicken, the steamed rice, the French fries, the boiled veggies, the spinach, complete with the spicy onion ri
ngs. Man, I must have done some good deeds in my previous birth! Then no one with me talks, everyone remains silent, as I cut the first piece of chicken and chew it. Ah…for a split part of a second nothing happens. Then, suddenly, fire rages in all parts of the body. The stomach region becomes charged as if with lava. The ears start ringing. A great wind seems to blow through the world and all I am aware of is immense satisfaction. Then, as I go on relishing the sizzler morsel by morsel, the wind becomes calm, the ears cease to ring, pleasant music starts playing and all is well. All you are conscious of is a great peace. I’ve often heard about the ‘chocolates or sex’ question. If you replace the former with my sizzler, I won’t mind being a virgin!
As I munch on, I do not give a rat’s ass about what is going on around me. People often accuse me of having an inscrutable face, without expressions, which is impossible to read. Quite on the contrary, in The Grill, I am a pool of clear water, in which is mirrored in detail, each and every expression. I ignore comments from my mother about me being a ‘greedy pig’. Wow, with each morsel comes the fear that this bliss is but temporary and my meal would soon be over. And soon, very soon the last remains of my sizzler go through the oesophagus and rest in peace. If I was ever given the option of deciding my last moments before my death, I would surely say I should die eating the GCP-P sizzler. The cabbage remains on the hot plate and the waiter takes it away.. I wipe the tears off my eyes [it’s spicy!] and take a deep breath. I’m full but I don’t mind a chocolate mousse. The sweetness settles in my mouth and after gulping it all, I get up and leave the heavenly place. After leaving the restaurant I look back, the signboard, “The Grill” beams at me. With a pleasant smile, DD walks off as the happiest man in the world..
Time goes by, and after some more occasions in The Grill, disaster strikes.
“Mum, let’s go to The Grill this Saturday.”
“Dhruv, it’s shut down!”
BANG. I cannot express what I felt at that moment. The only thing close to being compared to my anguish would be running as fast you can for the final step in the Olympics 100m, having a considerable lead, and suddenly having a lamp post pop out of nowhere and hitting it. I felt that THUD. The Grill, shut down? Not possible! Within one week after the reception of the news of this calamity, while paring a visit to Dad’s office, I made it a point to go past what was The Grill. A blank wooden plank was replacing the glorious signboard “The Grill”. The blank plank, the manifestation of my worst fears. The Grill, the unknown restaurant, which gave the consumers of its delights a satisfaction that people only dream of. The Grill, buried. Buried in a grave without an ounce of honour. No news, no protest. The cursed owner goes one day and shuts down the place, not knowing that he is playing with so many people’s emotions, not knowing how appreciated his restaurant was, not knowing how long the waiting line would be on weekends.
Thus, this was a tribute to The Grill. In whichever corner of the world the owner of the restaurant is, I hope he feels a deep sense of pity at what he’s done. I raised my hand in protest, but now I finally put it down, knowing it is all in vain. The Grill, I bow down to thee…
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wow....you do like it a lot dont youi!!! i share your feelings...all the numerous occasions we visited "The Grill"..memorable...!!!
ReplyDeleteand of course delicious..!!!!!
I miss the grill! Nice writing.. but it needs a bit of editing.. but great work! keep it upar!
ReplyDeleteNever thought anyone would feel so passionate about a particular restaurant!!
ReplyDeleteAnyways...nice one....keep 'em coming!!
Thanks Kshitija. Atharva, no I poured my heart out man, and no words can be cut, thanks btw. Pranav, thanks...and you too!
ReplyDelete