Eating International in Delhi, Part 1: Mediterranean

Last spring, an American friend of mine had come visiting India and stopped a few days in Delhi. I took her shopping, and then out to lunch. When I asked Greta whether she’d prefer Indian food, or something different—like Italian—she chose Italian. "I love Indian food," she said. "And I have no problems with the spice. But after a couple of weeks of eating Indian food in restaurants, I’m finding it difficult to handle the grease."

I agree with Greta: the Indian food, especially the North Indian food, served in restaurants is heavy on cream and butter and ghee, and even cast-iron stomachs can’t take too much of that. Even we, who’ve been living in Delhi for years, prefer to eat out at Italian, Oriental or other restaurants.

So here are some suggestions for all those who’re in Delhi and want something other than Indian food.

First, a brief introduction to the type of non-Indian food you can expect to find in Delhi. Although the city has a Russian restaurant, a couple of sushi bars, and some plush French restaurants (mainly in five star deluxe hotels), it’s Mediterranean and Chinese that rule the roost. And though you’ll find hummus, doner kebabs and falafel featuring in most Mediterranean menus, the most popular Med cuisine is Italian: viva la pizza and pasta! Do note, however, that a lot of the food (both Italian as well as Chinese) is often altered to suit Indian palates: don’t be surprised if you find tandoori chicken or chopped green chillies as a pizza topping, or paneer in a spicy garlicky sauce masquerading as Chinese.

Now, where to go and what to watch out for.

Budget

If you’re really on a shoestring budget, buy sliced bread, cheese spread, and fruit—all easily available and cheap. If you can afford to spend a bit more, your next best bet is one of the many chain restaurants in Delhi. Some of these are international chains; some are homegrown versions that serve mainly Italian or bastardised ‘American’ food.
McDonald’s: Obviously. It’s cheap and abundant (there’s even a store in the heart of Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi’s main shopping district), so what if the food’s a wee bit plasticky. Note that McDonald’s in India do not serve any beef products; you’ll find a fairly wide range of vegetarian options, plus chicken, fish and lamb. Call 011-66000666 for delivery.
Pizza Hut: Not one of my favourites, mainly because nearly all their pizzas have been ‘Indianised’ to the point where the resultant pizza tastes like curry on a pizza base. Not nice, but if you’re feeling adventurous, give it a try. Call 011-39883988 for delivery.
Domino’s: Better pizza than Pizza Hut, and they do lovely thin crusts (which Pizza Hut doesn’t). Call 011-44448888 for delivery.
Subway: Salads and submarines, both ‘Western’ (tuna, turkey, roasted chicken, BMT, etc) and spicier Indian ones, the latter mainly vegetarian. These guys have a tendency to pile on jalapenos, so if you don’t like that, make it a point to mention it.
KFC: Kentucky Fried Chicken is back in India after a hiatus when they ran into litigation. The usual range is available, along with some veggie alternatives (though I’ve never seen anyone at KFC eating anything but chicken). Generally extremely popular—Delhiites seem to love their chicken! (By the way, if you’re around the New Friends Colony Community Centre and you like fried chicken, give Buddy’s Broaster a try: healthier, and not bad.
Slice of Italy: A vast range of pizzas, pastas, subs and desserts. These guys are good value for money—my favourite calzone, which comes bursting with mushrooms, peppers, bacon, ham and cheese, is delicious, so big that I always have leftovers—and just Rs 125. A note of caution: don’t order any milk-based desserts like tiramisu or cheesecake: they’re occasionally off. Call 011-41708111 for delivery.
Yo China: Not a favourite of mine, though I am listing it, because it’s one of the few Chinese chain eateries in Delhi. The food’s very average, a Punjabi version of Chinese with lots of tomato ketchup and red chillies added. Portion sizes, however, are fairly generous—and it’s cheap.
Nirula’s: Long before Domino’s, McDonald’s et al arrived in Delhi, Nirula’s was the place one went for pizza, footlongs, burgers etc. They still do all of those (and Indian food as well), but Nirula’s is best known today for its ice creams: a lot of people still swear by the Nirula’s hot fudge sundae.
Costa Coffee: Good coffee (and other beverages too), and a selection of nice sandwiches, salads, pastries and cakes. Their mushroom and cheese pannini, the roasted vegetable and pesto sandwich, the garlic and mushroom tostata and the chocolate twist are especially good.
Barista: Like Costa, the Barista stores are basically coffee places that also offer some stuff to eat. Their food tends to be a little spicier than Costa’s, but it isn’t bad, and their selection of chilled drinks—spritzers, shakes, iced teas, cold coffees and more—is unbeatable.
Café Coffee Day: In the same style as Barista, and (according to a friend who’s a chef) the best coffee in town. I don’t know about that, but the food on offer is so-so. You’ll find the usual sandwiches, patties (even samosas) and cakes, but the quality varies and most stores don’t restock during the day, so entering a Café Coffee Day any time after 2 or 3 PM, you’re unlikely to find very much in the way of food other than desserts.

Mid Range

Most of Delhi’s mid-range non-Indian eateries are restricted to the many Chinese restaurants across town, and a few other places that do Mediterranean or other cuisines. Among the good Chinese restaurants are The Yum Yum Tree (New Friends Colony); Nanking (Vasant Kunj), The Near East (Basant Lok) and Oriental Bloom (Ansal Plaza, near South Extension). All of these do very good Oriental food, including dishes that are unusual in Delhi. Oriental Bloom has an especially superb dimsum lunch that is to die for.

There are also the more `American’ eateries—TGI Friday and Ruby Tuesday, both offering everything from pork chops and racks of lamb to fried shrimp, Cajun spiced fish and similar food. Also along the same lines is the All-American Diner at the India Habitat Centre. A word of caution: the latter is very popular, and since they don’t accept reservations, you just may have to wait 10-15 minutes for a table at peak hours.

Equally popular is Big Chill, which has stores in Khan Market and East of Kailash. Big Chill has superb pastas, grills, sandwiches, shakes, smoothies, waffles—the works. Or, for a more Italian range of dishes, try Flavors, opposite Moolchand Hospital. Very good Italian food (it’s owned and managed by a Sicilian who left Italy because of the mafia. Good for us!), and substantial portion sizes. Also Italian is Amici (Khan Market), from the same food company as Baci, but more affordable and with a more everyday menu.

Upmarket

Somehow, the poshest restaurants in Delhi seem to focus on Continental food—typically Mediterranean, though there’s some fusion as well. The most expensive restaurants (not necessarily the best!) are in the deluxe hotels, and there are some standalone eateries that are also very stylish and very expensive: the sort of place where you’d pay an average of at least Rs 1,500 per person. Some of the best standalone restaurants are Olive (at the Hotel Diplomat), Diva (M-Block Market, Greater Kailash Part-2), Ivy (New Friends Colony Community Centre) and Baci (Sundar Nagar Market). All of these specialise in Italian/Mediterranean food, and use fancy imported ingredients. One of my favourite upmarket restaurants is the stylish Smokehouse Grill in Greater Kailash Part-2: superb food and a luxurious feel to the entire experience. They do eclectic and innovative dishes: beefsteak with wasabi, John Dory with smoked Shimla chillies, even pimento cheesecake—with plenty of dishes using ingredients that are smoked on hickory, apple, maple or other woods.

If you’re looking for more ideas, buy yourself a copy of the Times Food Guide, easily available in most bookstores in Delhi: it has a listing of Delhi’s best restaurants, including brief reviews of what’s good and what’s not.

Although Pizza Marzano is part of a chain, there are only two outlets in India—both in Delhi. The one in the Ansal Plaza Mall is a favourite for family celebrations, because it’s centrally located (in the heart of South Delhi). What’s more, while the adults have the chance to try grills, pastas or other somewhat fancy food, the more conservative tastes of children can rejoice in good old fashioned pizzas.

We’re here this time to celebrate my sister Swapna’s birthday. There are nine of us, including four children ranging in age from a five-year old who thinks Pizza Margarita is the ultimate in adventurous cuisine, to a fourteen-year old who’s just beginning to realise there’s more to Italian food than pizza. Luckily for us, Ansal Plaza isn’t one of Delhi’s most happening malls, and even on a Saturday evening, it’s uncrowded. We arrive at Pizza Marzano without a reservation, but have no problems finding a table: the restaurant, with its bright walls (red and orange, with large canvases painted in yellows, blues and more red), its large central pillar that acts as a side station for the waiters, and the brightly tiled but otherwise dingy show kitchen—is fairly empty.

Our waitress, a quiet and efficient sort, distributes menus, both food and drink. Although Pizza Marzano offers a range of wines, spirits, cocktails and mocktails, nearly all of us opt for iced tea or Coke. Ordering our food takes a little bit longer: there are some enticing-sounding dishes on the menu, and I remember having had, on an earlier occasion, a simple but superb pasta with pesto. This time, though, I decide to settle for something fancier: pork filet with Marsala. Tarun and Swapna order the same; two of the children share a Pizza Margarita (yes, I knew that was coming!), another kid chooses a calzone while her little brother has a Pizza Bali. The two remaining adults order a pizza, and a chicken with herbs, respectively. Since we’re hungry, we also order some appetisers—two plates of garlic bread and a plate of baked goat cheese.

While we’re waiting for the appetisers and our drinks to arrive, we look about a bit. The show kitchen (actually a rather seedy counter in one corner) seems to be a hotbed of activity, with men in black-and-white horizontal striped T-shirts rushing about, looking like deckhands from a classic 30’s film. There are definitely more staff members in this restaurant than there are guests.

Our drinks and appetisers arrive swiftly, with our waitress remembering whose drink is what. I’m impressed. Not so with the appetisers, though, which could’ve been better, both in quality and quantity. The garlic bread is swimming in butter and is deliciously warm, but I must admit to not being able to taste much garlic in it. The melting goat cheese sits on a bed of bread, surrounded by chopped tomatoes tossed with pesto. It also gets a thumbs down from us: the tomatoes in pesto are excellent, the cheese and bread indifferent.

The main course arrives shortly after we’ve finished our appetisers. The children find no fault with their pizzas and calzone; but my brother-in-law Gourab remarks that while his pizza tastes fine, it’s hardly thin crust, which was what he’d ordered. Gourab’s cousin, who ordered the chicken with herbs, doesn’t comment on her meal and since she’s sitting at the other end of the table, I really can’t tell—but Swapna, Tarun and I aren’t especially enamoured of our pork filet with Marsala. The portion size is fine, but that’s where it ends. The three large pieces of pork are not uniformly cooked; some sections are more chewy than others. The extremely unappetising looking greyish sauce on top contains mushrooms and what seems like a hint of Marsala. I can tell there’s wine here, but only if I have the sauce by itself. There’s a badly battered, mushy grilled tomato slice alongside, and a spoonful of grilled bell peppers—overdone nearly beyond recognition—too. On the side are a few greasy wedges of potato. The highlight of the dish is the set of six tiny bread rolls, soft and very warm, along the rim of the plate. The entire dish is, to say the least, disappointing.

By the time we finish the main course, our knees are hurting (Pizza Marzano has weirdly designed tables that sit on a broad square base which bangs against diners’ knees and prevent any stretching of legs). But we’re in the mood for a pudding, so call for the dessert menu. Gourab’s cousin has left by now, taking with her the two youngest children, so the rest of us glance through the modest selection of desserts. I order a budina di caffe, a caramel custard flavoured with coffee; Swapna asks for an apple pie; her son orders a tiramisu, and Tarun orders a chocolate cheesecake, which he’s told is unavailable—he ends up ordering a vanilla cheesecake with strawberry coulis instead.

The portion sizes of our desserts are very varied: Deb’s tiramisu is a good hefty wedge, while the apple pie and cheesecake are positively anorexic in comparison. My caramel custard is also rather small, but since I’ve just had a filling meal, I’m not complaining. The coffee, though, is too mild and is drowned out by the stronger flavour of caramel. Not that I mind caramel; it’s just that when I’m ordering something supposedly flavoured with coffee, I expect a more pronounced flavour of coffee. In Swapna’s case, the apple pie has so much cinnamon that she can barely taste the apples.

Considering that Gourab pays nearly Rs 1,000 per person for the meal, I’d have expected much more from Pizza Marzano. True, our waitress was a pleasant change from the often inefficient and incompetent servers one comes across in Delhi’s restaurants; but even she can’t compensate for the poor quality of the food, the uncomfortable seating and the lack of ambience. I’ll probably give this place one more chance—after all, I’ve had some very good pasta and pizza here in the past—but that’s it.

And did I mention? Tarun developed a terrible stomach ache shortly after dinner, which lasted well into the night. Maybe I won’t even allow Pizza Marzano that one remaining chance.

Tarun and I adore chocolate, so the opening of a restaurant called Choka La—and, true to its name, devoted to chocolate—was greeted with much excitement. This was a couple of years back, and ever since we’ve been to Choka La several times. It’s great for a winter evening, when you don’t mind driving a few kilometres just to savour a large mug of very good, very chocolatey hot chocolate. It’s equally enticing on a hot summer day, when you’ve been out shopping and only want a light lunch and a long, cold drink.

This time round, it’s a muggy, hot day in August and we’ve been on our feet shopping for groceries at the large Le Marché food store in Basant Lok (tip: this is an excellent place to buy cheeses, cold meats, breads, and a vast range of other foods if you want to do your own meals, or stock up for a picnic). Shopping complete, it’s a given that we’ll cross the few feet of pavement separating Le Marché from Choka La. Choka La is unassuming on the outside: large glass windows, lamps, a few plants. We go through the door, up a few steps, and we’re in the restaurant-cum-bakery.

A large counter, displaying a selection of cakes, chocolates, and breads is on the left. In front of it, between the counter and the plate glass windows looking out on the pavement, is a row of two-seater tables. We, however, with our bags and whatnot, are looking for more space, so we head right, where there are four-, six- and eight-seater tables. One of the walls is a deep rust, with large niches filled with bric-a-brac (yes, this is a common element of decor in Delhi’s restaurants). The most striking section of the restaurant, however, is the far wall, which is completely painted over with a mural: a landscape with a cottage, and a woman’s face with huge blue eyes, outlined partly in brown, across the middle. Combined with the array of tomato-red, orange and yellow cushions on a sofa in front, this is absolutely my favourite section of Choka La.

We sit at one of the tables facing the mural. Once we’ve settled down and a waitress has come by with the menus, we study the food on offer. Choka La isn’t the place for you if you want a hearty, meaty meal. The food on offer is Mediterranean, with the usual array of pastas, bruschettas, sandwiches, mezze and so on, but all of it is vegetarian. The closest they come to non-vegetarian stuff is eggs, and that too mainly in the breakfast section. The menu’s a very limited one: you’ll find only about four or five choices under each section.

Tarun and I start off by ordering a sandwich and a drink each (and no, they don’t serve alcoholic beverages). We guess that will be filling enough, since the sandwiches are listed under the `meals’ section of the menu, not the ‘small bites’ section. I order a grilled vegetable focaccia and an iced chocolate, while Tarun asks for a humzinger—a blend of fresh mango, pineapple and papaya juice—along with a Caprese sandwich.

My iced chocolate, described as melted Belgian dark chocolate, blended with ice and served chilled (now doesn’t that sound good?!), arrives shortly after. I wait for a while to see if Tarun’s drink will turn up too, but when it doesn’t, I have a sip. It’s not ice cold, and the chocolate, though good and strong, doesn’t taste like dark, but I’m not complaining: it’s still delicious. While we’re waiting for the rest of our meal to arrive, Tarun discovers that he’s sitting right under one of the air-conditioning ducts, and every now and then a drop of cold water—condensation—drips on to him. Not very nice, but instead of making a fuss, Tarun decides to simply move his chair a bit.

Which is just as well, because the staff seems to be in a flap as it is. After a long wait (how long does it take to make a couple of sandwiches and blend some juices?), my plate arrives. The waiter places it in front of me and moves off without a word. When I reach out to shift the plate closer, I discover it’s hot as hell—straight out of a very hot food warmer, obviously. When Tarun summons the waiter, there are no apologies, no explanations, nothing. In a Trappist-like silence, the man removes my plate and takes it away. A couple of minutes later, it’s back; the food is now on a plate at room temperature.

We end up waiting another five minutes for Tarun’s meal to arrive, and even then, it comes only after he’s reminded one of the waitresses hovering around. The humzinger, light and summery, is refreshing, and Tarun’s plate, thankfully, is at the right temperature.

And now a word about the food: my focaccia is stuffed with grilled mushrooms, courgettes, bell peppers, feta and garlic mayonnaise, a tasty sandwich, grilled crisp on the outside and deliciously full of veggies on the inside. On the side, I get a large helping of herbed potato wedges: very nice. It’s not a massive portion, but filling enough when eaten along with the rich iced chocolate.

In sharp contrast, Tarun’s Caprese (which was also listed among the sandwiches and should logically have been a similar portion size?) is woefully small. It consists of two thick slices of rye bread, covered with a colourful array of ingredients: overlapping slices of buffalo cheese and skinned tomatoes, with whole basil leaves between. A little like having the Italian flag on your plate! Tarun assures me it’s delicious, but it leaves him feeling hungry. The only side he’s given is a dollop of pesto. I share some of my potato wedges with him, but Tarun decides he needs a dessert too, so after going and examining the desserts (mainly cakes, tarts, pies and tiramisu) at the counter, we both order the same thing: blueberry cheesecake.

This again is a smallish portion: a modest wedge of creamy cheesecake about two inches across at its widest. The base is nice and crumbly, but the blueberries are conspicuous by their near-absence: there’s a dollop of chewy gooey stuff (blueberry jam?) on top of the cheesecake, and that’s about it.

Our bill comes to about Rs 1,300, which is steep, considering the portion sizes. Despite that and the abysmal service (they invariably bungle things if you’re having anything other than a hot chocolate and/or a dessert), and the drippy AC—Choka La is still worth it. Their food’s decent enough, and if you order a soup or salad, a sandwich and a dessert, you can make a full meal pretty easily. And their hot chocolate is really the best in Delhi: a large mug of a dark and rich Tanzanian or a Sao Thome at Choka La is absolutely heavenly.

Note that Choka La has a second outlet, at 36 Khan Market. It’s up a steep flight of stairs, and though the chocolate and the desserts are as good, the one time we visited, we didn’t find anything else in the way of food.

Delhi’s dotted with Mediterranean restaurants, ranging from middling to excellent. Among the best of the lot is Olive Beach, in Hotel Diplomat. The Diplomat—very aptly named, since it’s in Chanakyapuri, Delhi’s diplomatic enclave—has never been one of Delhi’s plushest hotels. Even today, though it’s been through a facelift and is smart and minimalistic, it’s an unpretentious and quiet place. Its big draw is Olive beach, and that’s so popular that you shouldn’t even think of arriving here without a reservation.

My sister Swapna has booked a table for the four of us—herself, her husband Gourab, Tarun and I—for 9 PM, which (by Delhi standards, and on a Friday night) should’ve meant a fairly empty restaurant. We’re surprised, therefore, to find Olive Beach already pretty full.

The décor is understated and unintimidating, from the frosted glass door (on which the name of the restaurant is etched in letters so small we first don’t notice it) to the white textured walls. The wooden tables and our comfy cane chairs are painted (white? I can’t tell, the lighting’s too muted). The curtains at the large windows are flimsy, pale greenish-blue, a colour that matches the cushions on our chairs. There’s a large flower arrangement of white gladioli in one corner, and odds and ends—a silver candelabra, a tiny vase—in a couple of niches in the walls. Someone has obviously, in the past, placed lit candles in these niches, because some of them have soot-blackened interiors that look vastly out of place in an otherwise elegant restaurant.

But, to get down to business. We’re so hungry that we quickly read through the menu—appetisers, entrées, grills, pizzas—and place our orders for the appetiser and the main course. After much battling with a meat-loving conscience, I finally settle for chargrilled mushrooms, followed by a meaty main course: foie gras crusted tenderloin with roesti potatoes and blue cheese sauce. Swapna orders Mediterranean dips and chips to start with, followed by a braised pork belly with a mustard and honey sauce. Tarun orders the same main course as Swapna, but has chicken on a spit as an appetiser. Gourab gets adventurous and orders a foie gras brulée to start with, followed by an Olive special paper thin pizza. We also order a bottle of Château Mouton-Rothschild to go with it.

While we’re waiting, our waiter comes by to place a basket of assorted breads on our table, along with some herbed butter. Nice, but a little inadequate for a quartet that’s ravenous. We also discover that our table’s rather cramped: what with our cutlery and glasses, the breadbasket and butter, and a little vase of pink carnations, it’s a very tight fit. There’s also a fat, low candle burning in the centre, so reaching across for the bread requires some manoeuvring and lots of caution if we don’t want charred cuffs!

Our appetisers arrive after about ten minutes, but before that, we’re served complimentary soup: tiny cups (about the size of a coffee cup) of a delicately flavoured purée of corn. It’s at just below room temperature, and very nice. Once that’s over, the appetisers arrive, all on interestingly shaped white china plates: mine has a scalloped edge, Swapna’s and Gourab’s are rectangular. Tarun’s order is served interestingly: a delicate metal stand is fitted over a large soup plate full of mixed greens tossed with dressing; and from the stand, like clothes on a line, hang two thin skewers on which pieces of lightly spiced smoked chicken are threaded. Eye-catching!

Swapna’s plate comes with a bowlful of chips—what looks like triangles of baked filo—and three different sauces, each in substantial quantities. There’s a deliciously garlicky yoghurt dip; a hummus; and a pale green dip which appears to have coriander in it. My chargrilled mushrooms (eight of them, and not too big either) are served with two tart sauces drizzled over them: good, but not exceptional. Gourab’s foie gras brulée, lightly seared and served with thin wedges of brown bread, along with mixed leaves, gets a thumbs-up from him.

Our main courses are served within a few minutes of our finishing the appetisers. The pork belly both Swapna and Tarun ordered is rich and delicious (I can vouch for it: I tasted some). Each helping consists of three thick rectangles of meat, with fat and rind, juicy and very succulent. Not recommended if you can’t bear fat, but tasty—especially with the very mustardy sauce that accompanied it.

My meal consists of two `islands’ of roesti potatoes, topped with wilted spinach, which in turn is topped with a hunk of just-so tenderloin (I’d asked for medium, and it’s perfect). On top of that is a wedge of foie gras, topped off with a sprinkling of alfalfa sprouts. Around the `islands’ is a pool of blue cheese sauce. Very good, but the name, I think, can be misleading: the tenderloin is hardly crusted with foie gras, just topped with it. And getting a forkful of the entire lot—potato, spinach, tenderloin, foie gras, sprouts and sauce—is impossible, because it’s very precariously balanced. The sauce, though good, doesn’t taste much of blue cheese: more like good old melted Cheddar.

Gourab’s pizza is the last to arrive, and we have to do a lot of juggling to fit in the large wooden spade-like plate on which it’s served. This is a really thin crust pizza: the crust’s just slightly thicker than paper, and is topped with mixed green leaves, thinly sliced parmesan and Parma ham. It’s huge too, and takes a while to finish off.

While serving our main course, the waiter had asked us if we’d like to have some more bread, but we’d refused. Main course over, we’re glad we didn’t fill up on bread: we have just enough space for dessert. Swapna, whose willpower is commendable, orders a cup of Darjeeling tea, but the rest of us succumb to temptation. Gourab orders the trio of sorbets (today’s sorbets are lime, strawberry and wild berry; the menu also offers a trio of gelati). Both Tarun and I order the baked avocado cheesecake. Our desserts are served up within the next few minutes: Gourab gets a scoop each of the sorbets, with one little twirl of chocolate sticking jauntily up from each scoop.

The baked avocado cheesecake is creamy, the piecrust just right. There’s a large dollop of a lime sauce—with strips of rind in it—on the cheesecake, and there’s a spoonful of a berry sauce on the side. Between them, they effectively drown out any mild flavour the avocado may have imparted to the dessert! There’s also a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a little `basket’ of caramel along with it.

All in all (despite the minor problems—the so-so chargrilled mushrooms, the low-on-taste cheesecake, the foie gras crust that wasn’t a crust), this was a delicious, luxurious meal. The ambience is great for chatting with friends or family, and though the food is definitely fine dining, the aura is more relaxed than you’d expect. The staff, too, is good: efficient, knowledgeable and unobtrusive.

It’s very expensive (expect to pay about Rs 1,500-2,000 per person for a three-course meal without alcohol): in my opinion, overpriced. Note that the portion sizes are small, too: this isn’t one of those places where a main course and a cup of coffee will be enough to fill you up—unless you opt for a pizza, perhaps.

But yes, they have a good cellar. Our Mouton-Rothschild was sublime, mellow and gloriously smooth.

The Community Centre at Saket, better known as the PVR Complex, was, till some years ago, one of Delhi’s most happening places because the city’s first multiplex theatre—Priya Village Roadshow (PVR) opened here. On the heels of the cinema, loads of eateries set up shop, from kathi kabab joints to Domino’s, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Bennigan’s, Subway, Ruby Tuesday, and a handful of more upmarket restaurants. Among the classier—yet surprisingly family-friendly—places to eat was Azzurro, at 3, Community Centre (opposite Ruby Tuesday).

Some of the other eateries have shut down ever since multiplexes became the norm in Delhi and PVR lost its uniqueness. Azzurro, thankfully, continues to flourish and is a great place for a bite of good, wholesome Mediterranean (mainly Italian) food. The restaurant has a glass door on the ground floor, with a corridor leading to a flight of stairs that take you to the restaurant on the first floor. Azzurro is divided into two sections: the lower portion, on the first floor, is the restaurant; from it, a flight of brushed steel steps lead into the bar. We weren’t really interested in the drinks (and anyway, with two children in our group, wouldn’t have been able to legally sit in the bar area). So we got a table for six in the restaurant and sat down.

Azzurro has a fairly minimal, unfussy but pleasing look about it: creamy-white textured walls, a few lampshades with coloured glass, and huge windows that overlook the bustle of the community centre. There are chairs with prettily thatched backs; solid wooden tables, and cream-beige leather sofas. I end up sitting on the sofa (not by preference: most restaurant sofas in Delhi are too low and though I’m relatively tall by Indian standards, I usually have my chin barely topping the table). Azzurro’s sofas are the correct height and just right: not too soft, not too firm. The table has a largeish bottle each of olive oil and balsamic vinegar; there’s also a bowlful of red chilli flakes.

We’re handed the drinks menu and the food menu, and simultaneously, a plate of assorted breads is placed in the centre of our table—they’ve probably noticed the hungry looks on our faces! The bread is lovely: long thin slices of French bread, and flavourful cubes of a bread full of oregano and sundried tomato. It tastes delicious with a generous sprinkling of olive oil, so we have a quick bite while deciding our orders. We eventually settle for shared starters and individual main courses.

Swapna, Deb and I decide to have a green apple iced tea each; Neeti has an aerated drink; Tarun and Gourab order a glass of wine each—Gourab a Reisling, Tarun a Pinot Grigio. The Azzurro wine list is more or less what you see in Delhi’s mid-level restaurants: not sensational, but pleasant enough for anyone who’s not a wine snob.
Our drinks arrive soon enough, and shortly after, so do the starters. Azzurro is primarily an Italian restaurant, but they have a few dishes from other parts of the Mediterranean too. Their hummus with pita is lovely, deliciously garlicky and grainy-smooth. We’ve also ordered risotto croquettes, which resemble suppli: leftover risotto shaped into a ball around a centre of cheese and then crumbfried. The Azzurro twist is to add a little bit of tangy chopped jalapenos to the cheese, and to serve the croquettes with a thick salsa of tomatoes and basil. Our third starter is garlic bread with cheese, tasty enough but a trifle short on cheese—I like my garlic bread to drip with cheese!

The starters are good, and even better, we don’t have to sit around twiddling our thumbs waiting for the main course to arrive. The plates come, one after the other, with Neeti’s lasagne (layered with Bolognese, béchamel, mozzarella and parmesan) and Deb’s margherita pizza coming first, along with Gourab’s order of chicken Cordon Bleu. Tarun, Swapna and I get our plates right after: all three of us have ordered fish dishes. Swapna’s is a sea bass with rocket pesto, served on a (very substantial) bed of risotto. The rocket pesto is so-so; the fresh rocket leaves on the side are gorgeously peppery, but the pesto itself lacks the distinctive flavour of rocket. The fish, however, is top class: massive fillets, very fresh, panfried to a crisp on one side and absolutely delicious. Tarun has an equally good sole in lemon butter: grilled sole served on a bed of finely chopped cooked spinach, with a little broccoli, a generous portion of mashed potatoes, and lemon butter sauce. Excellent. My choice—red snapper in chives cream sauce—also has excellent fish, very fresh and cooked just right. The sauce, a combination of white wine, cream and chives, tastes good but is a little puzzling: I can’t taste any chives in it. Also, there’s too little sauce, in my opinion. There’s broccoli on the side, and a large helping of a slightly tart (pickled?) red and white cabbage—something like choucroute.

I like the fact that all our servings are large enough to be satisfying, yet manageable enough to allow space for afters. Swapna, having just discovered she’s allergic to dairy products, sticks with a chamomile tea, but the rest of us order desserts. Neeti has a semi-freddo, a vanilla ice cream (they have daily specials, which our waiter helpfully recites for Neeti: raspberry and fig are also available). It’s creamy and nice, though the vanilla flavour isn’t too pronounced. Deb settles for something a little more exotic: a chocolate fondant. This takes some time to arrive, and they’ve obviously been putting in quite a bit of effort in assembling it. There’s a cup made of a thin shortcut-like pastry, filled with gooey chocolate that (according to the menu) is freshly baked. On the side is a bowl of crème Anglais.

Tarun, Gourab and I can’t resist ordering the Bailey’s cheesecake—described on the menu as boozey. On a thin circle of cake soaked in syrup (chocolate? Coffee? Can’t tell) sits a very light cheesecake with a strong, utterly delectable flavour of Bailey’s Irish cream. It’s topped with a paperthin crust of chocolate and is superb.

Azzurro is one of my favourite restaurants simply because it’s so mid-level. It manages to combine the friendliness and informality of places like TGIF or Ruby Tuesday with the food and service of more upscale eateries like Diva. The food’s good and, in some instances, even sublime. The music is muted, the atmosphere’s comfortable, the staff helpful without being oppressively fawning or stiff upper-lipped. You won’t feel out of place if you’re in jeans or sneakers, or take your children along. And the menu has a wide range of soups, salads, pizzas, risottos, grills, pasta, and sandwiches to offer.

Expect to pay about Rs 800-Rs 1,000 per person (excluding alcohol) for a three-course meal at Azzurro. The restaurant, by the way, has a branch at Gurgaon too, in the mall on Arjun Marg.

Along with Chinese, Italian is probably the most popular `foreign’ cuisine in Delhi, with choices ranging from pizza-and-pasta delivery to upmarket restaurants that serve exotic foods like venison sausage and other dishes, mostly with unpronounceable names. Somewhere in the middle—with prices at the high end, food quality middling—is Baci.

Baci is at 23, Sundar Nagar Market, in the inner corner of the market. It has an unobtrusive entrance, with the restaurant’s name on a white signboard. A print of luscious red lips—a tribute to the restaurant’s name (baci means kisses)—decorates the sign, and a mosaic of multicoloured squares, each with the same print in varying shades of red, pink and orange, greets us as we enter. The decor’s tasteful: the walls are decorated sparingly with sepia photos of Rome, the bar counter is chic and well-stocked, and the hostesses are elegant and friendly in their black skirts and fitted tops. We’re escorted upstairs to the restaurant, where our table’s beside a large window. The walls are a muted, pale olive, contrasting with a white ceiling, smart steel light fittings and huge white-and-pink lilies in a glass vase. Very stylish.

We’re handed menus as soon as we’ve been seated and water poured. Deciding what we’re going to have takes a while, but we finally settle on an antipasti misti to share as a starter, while Swapna decides to have a minestrone instead. For a main course, Neeti orders a risotto with chicken and mushrooms; Deb (twelve and unadventurous) opts for a tomato and chicken pizza from the children’s menu. Swapna, who loves olives, settles for the filetto di manzo grigliato (a tenderloin steak with black olive sauce). Gourab orders a scaloppine di pollo a piacere, pan seared chicken with a white wine sauce; they also offer lemon or port sauce as an alternative. Tarun orders a cotoletto ala Milanese—a crumbed pork chop with a prune and honey sauce; while I order an involtini do pollo, chicken stuffed with vegetables and wrapped in bacon, served with a red wine jus.

As soon as our orders are placed, a platter of mixed breads is placed on our table. The breads are delicious but, like the two dips with which they’re served, inadequate for six hungry people. Our drinks—lemonade for Neeti, Coke for Deb, Chianti for Swapna and me, Yalumba for Gourab and Tarun—are served right after. Baci has an adequate wine list (by Delhi standards), and my glass of Chianti, while not superb, is nice enough.

Our antipasti misti arrives after a while, and is a mix of good and so-so. The salami and ham are good, the chicken overcooked, and the crostini a surprise: one, with ham and figs, has so much of the fruit that the ham’s pushed into oblivion; the other has abundant canned tuna in the topping and isn’t what I’d expect at a fancy restaurant.

The food comes about 10 minutes later. The portions are sufficient, but not huge. All are served with vegetables or mash on the side; I, for instance, get mashed potatoes with the stuffed chicken; Swapna gets green beans sautéed with sesame seeds; and Tarun gets a pumpkin mash along with lots of crisp broccoli. It looks very nice, but (comparing notes later), both Tarun and I realise the food doesn’t taste as good as it looks. Tarun’s pork chop—beaten flat like a weiner schnitzel—sadly lacks in taste; and the chicken I’m served has been cooked till it’s dry (isn’t the bacon supposed to help avoid that?). The red wine jus doesn’t taste much of red wine, and the vegetable stuffing reminds me of the Chinese spring rolls so popular in Delhi’s seedier Chinese restaurants: lots of cabbage but not much else. Swapna gives her tenderloin (medium rare, the way she asked for it) a thumbs-up. Neeti, Deb and Gourab are non-committal about their food.

Main course over, we decide to go the whole hog and order dessert too. Swapna’s on a diet and asks for a chamomile tea, while Deb abstains completely. Tarun, Neeti and I order a pannacotta alla salsa di fragola (vanilla pannacotta with a strawberry sauce), while Gourab asks for a hazelnut gelato—they have daily special gelati which you can pick from. The minutes tick by and we wait for our desserts. Finally, an apologetic hostess comes by to say they only have two pannacottas available, so will one of us please order something else? Tarun offers to sacrifice his order, and changes it to a parfit al cioccolato bianco con crème Anglaise: a cake-like dessert of baked mascarpone and white chocolate, served with a vanilla sauce.

Another eternity of waiting, and another apologetic waiter approaches, this time to say that the two pannacottas aren’t in a fit condition to be served, so could Neeti and I too change our orders? Neeti opts for a sorbetto al limone, while I select a cremino al mascarpone e amaretti, a zabaglione of ristretto and mascarpone, served with amaretto biscuits.

This time the desserts do come. Tarun’s parfit is good, all gooey and lovely with white chocolate; Neeti’s sorbet is equally delicious in a tart, refreshing way. Mine’s comme ci, comme ça: the whipped cheeses are gloriously creamy and smooth, but the amaretto biscuits promised in the menu consist of one tiny cookie, about an inch across. The dessert, which is in a broad glass tumbler, has a base of cake crumbs soaked in amaretto. There’s too much amaretto, and it’s a little difficult to get some of it in each spoonful, so I end up having loads of amaretto at the end. This isn’t one of my favourite liqueurs, and the strong taste of bitter almonds needs washing down with a glassful of water.

All in all, a mixed experience: some of the food’s good, even very good (we’ve eaten here before, and found some dishes to be excellent); the wine’s okay; but then—some of the food’s very average, and of course all the confusion regarding our dessert was a pain. They were very apologetic about it, but even then. And considering that the average cost per person comes to anywhere between Rs 1,500 to Rs 2,000 (including a glass of wine), I’d have expected much greater value for money.