Buffets are vexating. You need to survey all the items, taste all of them once, have seconds of the shortlists, have thirds of the finalists, and then squeeze in two last bits of the absolute showstopper. All while the mind is ticking (have I missed anything, what’s that on his plate, will it get over before I get to the counter again) and the stomach resisting (but you can do it, there’s still dessert, let me go pee to make space).
It all becomes so peaceful when you’re vegan. You know there are all of seven items that qualify. As I’ll be talking of breakfast: brown bread, jam/marmalade, juice, idly/dosa/paratha in the Indian breads, poha/upma in the Indian staples, hash brown or some other potato dish, and of course, old faithfuls, black tea/coffee. (If you’re very lucky, in some places, you can have an eighth: cereal with soy milk.) It’s as if there are no surprises for the vegan. Until you go to places like Hotel Regaalis in Mysore (now Mysuru), I guess.
My bro’s family, his bro-in-law’s family, and I recently made a quick trip to the city. Since I was the non-family man, I got a room all to myself, and so had the leisure of coming to breakfast at my time – which ended being not with them. Perfect for an even more peaceful breakfast.
I went through the line-up (brown bread, jam/marmalade…), then the routine (black coffee > brown bread > jam/marmalade/baked beans…), and then couldn’t go through the routine. I began vexating: Where was this brown bread my entire life? Should I move to Mysore? At least weekend visits?
That brown bread was that bloody good. It made my tongue turn, had obscure juices come out from their hiding places, goaded the uvula to push the bread back to the tongue to get extract more tastes. Next you know, I’m balancing a tower of toasts back to my table, decimating that tower like Bread Kong, and turning into that other monster – the one who urges his stomach: you can do it, don’t give up on me, maybe I should pee and come…
Smacking my fingers, licking my non-fine-bone-china plate (whoa, another item in the restaurant that was vegan), there was just one more thing to do: get Brown Bread’s number. Or at least, find out what gives it its comely taste.
The manager was more than obliging. “We make it in-house.” A-ha.
“Actually, many hotels make it in-house.” O-ho.
Thought: So, can I get your chef’s number? Statement: “Then, how come it doesn’t taste like this elsewhere?”
No answer. I offered: “Must be in the air.”
Wow, two vegan secrets in one day. I must have died and gone to animal heaven.
Mercifully, More is more accessible, so I needn’t vexate about rushing back to Mysore. Plus, there was still next day.
Brown Bread’s number, actually, Hotel Regaalis’s number and other contact details are below. Enjoy the city, enjoy the hotel, and have one for me.