Is Saravana Bhavan on an intentional mission to kill its brand and rise from the ashes like a phoenix, with another brand? (The phoenix mention is more of a fervent hope, there is no visible sign of any such development) There is no other plausible explanation to the deterioration of what was once, the Mecca of South Indian food. The Madras middle class remembers HSB with fond recollections- our eating out- which was once or twice a year, usually during Birthdays, were isolated to this one restaurant. It has seen our birthdays, our celebrations when we stood first in class, our tears when we needed some cheering up and our parents took us there, in hopes of lifting our spirits with HSB's masal dosai and 14 idli. A bus trip to our native place meant an early morning 'tiffin' at the Ashok Pillar Fast Food restaurant and then catching a bus to Mayavaram. A book in hand, wonderful idli/dosai in the tummy and all set to go. KK Nagar vaasis have fonder associations with HSB than the rest of Madras. It is, after all, the hallowed ground which came up with the first HSB, some 35 years back. It stuck a chord with KK Nagar's quintessential middle class housed in Housing Board flats. It offered awesome South Indian food, it was close by, it was not expensive, it was not cheap. Not cheap, not in financial terms.. you get the point. If you don't, stop reading. This is not something you will associate yourself with.
HSB was the one place you could take your no-masala-stench-no-overdose-of-garlic/onion/fennel clause mum AND your protta-saalna-patron husband to. He could relish his parotta-side dish and mum could have her masal dosai in peace. The husband muses over the fact that his mum once said, 'we are not as conservative as you think we are. When we choose a prospective bride for you, you can have a friendly chat with her at Saravana Bhavan in an entirely different table while we are at another table close by, without disturbing you. You can decide on marrying or not marrying her after one whole conversation.' While the central idea makes him laugh even today, it goes to tell you how much HSB was interwoven into our lives. It was the instant refuge in every Madras pincode worth its salt, when I was caught between the classes I taught all over the city. It offered the humble aappam-side dish for a quick evening meal. It offered an elaborate Sunday morning brunch in the form of a South Indian saappadu platter. It came with no frills. It hardly ever saw leftovers and wasted food. Plates were left polished clean by the patrons. You developed an instant hatred (lasting though, and it was well founded, one would agree with that) when a random wannabe acquaintance accompanied you to HSB, ordered paneer and rotis, and said, 'you know, food here is sooo over rated. In my city, rotis are soooooooo soft'. Mannaangatti, keep calm and order South Indian in HSB. Not that I don't like North Indian at HSB. I like the oh-so-customised-to-our-sambar-laden-tongues North Indian/Chinese foods! I swear I like HSB's pani puri better than I like Gangotree's. During the lady of the house's distant days (dhoorathukku naal/Aunt Irma's visits), the flustered dad, confused between samabr podi and rasappodi, would be willing to shell a few Rupees and take the family out to dinner at HSB. Peace prevailed in the kitchen! Furthermore, it presented a wide array of South Indian delicacies that mum was not adept with. Aappam, kurma, parotta, kaara kozhambu, mint chutney etc.
The USP's of the glorious HSB in those days were: safe food. I don't remember falling sick after consuming HSB food. Consistency- that masal dosai- sambar was the same in any HSB outlet throughout the city. It offered a respite from giggling college students and noisy customers. However crowded the restaurant was, the patrons were of of my ilk- they came there to eat the food. They came, they did not see the menu, for they knew what to order. They conquered the food. They paid and left. I hate places like Subway Nungambakkam which play loud music and attract punk kids who make way too much noise. HSB was a haven, with its soul food, acceptable levels of noise and its unintrusive Ilayaraja instrumental music in the background. I never complained about the fare that was touted expensive by others. I liked it that it was expensive. It kept noisy people out. It let me eat in peace. During the rush hour, I could just go to the restaurant doorstep, find a valet and let him park, walk in and share a table with some stranger and yet, eat in peace. There were no sambar stains on the table. There were no grains of rice squished under the table. It was clean. There were no flies and creepy crawlies. The plate was arranged in such a way that sambar did not touch chutney. Coconut chutney was fresh. Unblemished. We always wondered how the Pongal remained in that consistency for long. We never complained about parottas getting smaller and the pongal ladle becoming miniscule. We were fine with the escalating prices; we were happy ordering another plate of sambar vadai and not harp on the ever diminishing size of each vadai. HSB was the one undisputed love of an entire generation of Madras. We felt proud when Keith Floyd showed HSB kitchens on TLC and exclaimed, 'I have never seen anything like this'.
Like a besotted spouse caught in disintegrating marriage, I remained aloof when patrons complained about HSB. The complaints grew in numbers. I stood my ground. I told myself that it couldn't be true. I told myself that the whole cosmos was conspiring against HSB. They were part of a conspiracy. And then, it struck down on me like a bolt of thunder. It was like the spouse caught the other in a compromising position with someone else. The moment of truth finally dawned. Yesterday, I visited the KK Nagar outlet. Not the hallowed first HSB ever. This was the fast food outlet some 10 steps from the actual restaurant. I walked in to be greeted by newly slashed prices, door delivery promises and combo offers. The bill amount was suspiciously low. And that was a harbinger of sorts. I don't think slashed prices can work for a restaurant like HSB. The open kitchen was a horrible sight. People handled my masal dosai and aappam with bare hands. The lady who prepared my mousambi juice poured a glass full of it, let it overflow all around the glass. She simply poured a few ml out, never bothered about the sticky outer sides of the glass, gave it to me. It was a long walk back to the table... The table was covered with sambar stains and chutney spills. I asked the cleaner to do her job. She did a lousy job. I had to call her again to clean the table surface. Shoddy job again. I don't care for 2 aappams for the price of one, HSB. But stop spicing the kurma beyond necessary. Whenever people tell me the food I eat is bland, I retort saying, 'Adding spices and chillies beyond a point is to conceal the stale taste (or lack of taste) of bad produce. I like fresh produce. I don't defile fresh vaazhai thandu from my own backyard with an overdose of green chillies'. This is exactly where HSB shone. And now, they have gone to the dogs. The sacred marriage has been broken. A multitude of Madras people are left in the lurch.
You were no one night stand. You had a solid relationship with this generation. We owned the culinary scene in Madras. Yet, you chose to throw it all away. From being a faithful wife, you have turned into an adulteress. Why, HSB.. Why?? How could you this to us?
