Quality outlives time and tastes
- Shruti Sundar Ray
- Feb 1, 2020
- 4 min read
Updated: Apr 18, 2020
The consistent, traditional recipes at Madras’ pre-independence eateries continue to attract regulars, despite the changing palates of Chennai foodies
A bold, sans-serif typeface announces ‘Rayar’s Mess’ on a prominent purple-green ombré sign-board that protrudes out from a tired-looking building in a narrow, untarred, blink-and-you-miss-it lane off Arundale Street in the heart of Chennai’s Mylapore. A middle-aged woman stops at the door of this 85-year-old restaurant, abuzz with shouted instructions for service, the clanking of vessels and white noise from the conversation of customers inside. She adds to the cacophony as she calls out to place her takeaway order, drawing the attention of the owner-cum-manager, a young man with thinning hair.
The young man—27-year-old Manoj Kumar—who belongs to the fourth generation of restaurateurs at the helm of Rayar’s Mess says, “Our customers do not belong to any particular age group. Generations of customers have continued to come here.” The hole-in-the-wall restaurant with limited seating has withstood the test of time with its home-style cooking and “homely” service—the good old morning Pongal and evening Rava Dosa, its most popular dishes.
A Zomato favourite, Rayar’s makes it to the wishlist of discerning Chennai foodies as does Kalathi Rose Milk Shop, which is less than a decade older and less than a kilometre away. The stall that also sells newspapers and cigarettes is famous for its eponymous milky infusion with bobbing ice cubes made using a signature closely-guarded recipe of home-made rose syrup. “Many places have rose milk but Kalathi has the best quality,” says 72-year-old Bhaskaran who makes sure to have the rose milk every time he drops by Mylapore. He remembers coming to Kalathi during his youth in the 1970s and maintains that the taste is still as good as ever, albeit with a small degree of dilution.
Vanguards of tried-and-tested old-school recipes, pre-independence food haunts like these have managed to draw in generation after generation of restaurant-goers with their rigour for quality control.
“Commercial bread-making can be completed in two hours. But we make our bread in ovens manually in a process that takes up the entire night shift—over eight hours—so that we can serve it fresh in the morning,” says 37-year-old Venkatesh Shanker, heir apparent of Smith Field Bakery established in 1885 by his great grandfather. Despite the addition of new items such as cookies and celebration cakes, over 50 per cent of the revenue of the bakery comes from the sale of the humble bread, whose preservative-free recipe has remained consistent through the years, barring in the use of instant yeast. The celebrated establishment on the busy Perambur Barracks Road stays true its advertisement of “Tradition. Unchanged”.
The aging eateries have come a long way from serving British elites who were sampling Indian food to serving home-grown Chennaiites who want a taste of familiarity. Mathsya, a veritable Chennai institution, situated at Egmore’s “Udupi circle” named after the cuisine it specialises in, epitomises this familiarity. Beyond the crowded waiting area, a vintage wooden door with rows of hanging copper bells beckons to a tangy sambar-scented world where old meets new—cosy, “modern” seating cast in a soft sepia glow. A wooden carving of “Mathsya”, the Hindu god Vishnu’s first merman avatar, is the centrepiece of the Mathsya restaurant, also a first of its kind.
Although the oxymoronically-vegetarian Mathsya’s menu has incorporated continental dishes to better appease a metropolitan crowd, the unique selling point of the restaurant remains its authentic Udupi fare—Neer Dosai, Bisi Bela Hulianna, all-you-can-eat thalis. The manager Balu Murugan says, “We have been serving the same traditional food all these years. This has not changed so far and will not change in the future also.”
Across the board, the success of Chennai’s British era culinary survivors has been in tapping into the customers’ preference for familiarity and consistency. As the adage goes, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
A too-high ceiling, worn, mildewed walls, and cracked floor tiles are easy giveaways for the age of the Rangavilas “Veg Hotel”, which has been operating from Parry’s Corner since 1941 and is popular for its standardised South Indian dishes. The crowded location, with the Madras High Court on one side and rows of shops and administrative offices on the other, has no dearth of customers or restaurants.
In this competitive space, without the social media advantages of Kalathi or Rayar’s, the diner-like Rangavilas has culled out its niche by keeping its prices as stable as its service and food. The locals who work in the vicinity keep coming back to it. “The taste has not changed. And the service is always prompt,” says Ramakrishnan, a clerk at the Madras High Court, who has been having lunch at Rangavilas, usually sambar rice, for over 30 years.
The no-brainer formula of consistency that is the pull of these legacy eateries is not easy to replicate. Owners have reservations against expansion. Manoj Kumar of Rayar’s believes, “I may miss out on quality if I open new branches or franchises.” He is not willing to take a gamble on the omnipotent “quality”, a sentiment echoed by the other establishments.
(Co-authored by Neelanjana Mondal and Yash S)
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