Brown and beautiful

I was in a store in South Mumbai this morning that almost epitomised heaven for me. ‘Almost’, because I was fast developing a headache due to a combination of stress, not enough sleep (Small Cat has decided to hold early morning sessions of high opera just to liven up the proceedings when she is awake and the rest of the house is not) and an unexpected in weather from very hot and muggy to cool and wet to very hot and muggy again this morning. That notwithstanding, I was in a place that could conceivably called heaven, even for those who do not have the same tastes as I do.

The place is called Theobroma and it is located at the end of Colaba Causeway, once one of the most popular shopping destinations in the city. It stretches from Regal Cinema on one end, to Kailash Parbat on the other and runs parallel to the waterline that you can walk along in front (or behind, since it is said that the building is actually the wrong way around) of the Taj Mahal hotel. I had heard about it a while before I actually found it on my personal map, and am glad it took that long, since it would have meant a few more inches to that rapidly expanding waistline rather before I was ready for it to happen.

This morning I stopped the car right outside and hopped in to the store. It isn’t very big, but it fills your head instantly with smells and sights that are enough to delight any food-lovers heart. And a few people who do not like eating (poor souls) would be delighted too, since there was enough in there to make anyone happy. It is as if you run into a physical wall of sweet and savoury, with the tang of lemon, the sharpness of cinnamon, the richness of cream and the bite of meat luring you from every side. Trays along one wall offer up varied delights – chocolate in the form of croissants, brownies, cookies and Danish; puffs and pasties stuffed with chicken, mutton, an occasional veggie; rolls groaning with the weight of mayonnaise-gooey salad and breadsticks of various shapes, sizes and flavours. A mirror lines one wall, where those more involved with their hairdos or figures can take a good look, and there are enough people at the small tables to watch them rather than the goodies.

I stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. Then I walked slowly past all the deliciousnesses on display and cogitated, albeit only briefly, and started selecting what I wanted. I took brownies, deeply chocolate and studded with chunks of the semi-sweet brown stuff, I chose pasties for a friend who craved them, I chose plain chocolate for Father, just because he was often half-sweet-half-not and I chose a cake that was so dense and rich that it made me feel vaguely bilious just looking at it. And I chatted briefly with the lady in charge as she had it all packed up, billed and paid for.

I am in a strange way glad that I am not in that part of the city too often. Apart from the sudden wicked need to get to eat more than is my wont, I also tend to have eyes that are bigger than my stomach, if you know what I mean – I buy much more than we can really go through before we get sick of it all. And then, of course, there is my favourite pair of blue jeans that refuse to stretch…