First Cut

First Cut

I'm in the mood for Irani these days. The other day, a colleague from work and I visited this Irani joint in the back alleys of Fort. Nestled there, close to the Bombay Stock Exchange, frequented by middle aged Patelbhais and fat Parsi ladies with striped skirts, sits this place called Cafe Military, which serves up the most divine kheema with egg. Picture a bowl full of horribly unhealthy oil-laced kheema fry, topped with a poached egg, and we have three rolls of bun-maska (bread-butter, in Mumbaiya Irani lingo) alongside. And, yes, two cups each of the strongest, sweetest tea. Irani ishtyle.

Irani Heaven.

I've always wanted to try food at one of these old-world Irani food joints, and especially after I read that much-hyped book The Boyfriend. While the book itself leaves a lot to be desired, its descriptions of the Irani cafes dotting South Bombay, with their unique marble topped tables, and their bearded servers in shalwar-kurtas tantalised me to no end. So, alright, Military has no shalwar-clad servers, but Cafe Olympia on Colaba Causeway does. In addition to an amazing kheema-omelette, Olympia whips up an utterly divine mango juice.

Irani heaven made sense again to me, later that day, when I bumped into A. He happens to be this particular young man I had indulged in some dirty dancing with ages ago, at one of the GB parties, and exchanged numbers as well. Three months later, after absolutely no correspondence from either side, we bump into each other again at last week's party, and exchange numbers for the second time. Finally, that evening, I get a buzz from Iranian A, and I meet him at a ticket counter at one of Western Railways' hyper-efficient stations. Picture 5'9'' tall, lovely tanned frame, biceps that make me salivate, strips of black hair that curl above the two top buttons of his shirt (which are undone, by the way), and a lovely bubble butt. Mmmm..... so.... we chatted, smiled, and walked back to my place. Shut the door, and let the fireworks begin.

Two hours later, after I closed the door behind him, and plopped down on my bed, I took another glug of the vodka bottle we'd uncapped, and smiled to myself.

Irani heaven!