“I want the full thali, not the mini thali,” I told the waiter who had just plonked the plate on the table.
“You should have said this in the beginning,” scowled the snarkiest waiter in the world
“But I did,” I protested by which time he had stomped off with the thali and brought back what I wanted. Mama Kane’s Swatccha Upahar Griha has run full since 1910 and our waiter saw no reason to bother with niceties. It’s easy on the tummy & wallet food made it popular with the worker bees of Mumbai. The sort of place that the city runs on. You come here, refuel yourself and walk on ‘Food forward’ as they say in modern lingo. Don’t expect to be mollycoddled.
The young man sitting opposite us smiled apologetically as the waiter fired him for wasting his (the waiter’s) time deciding between vada with rassa or without. He told me that he was from Pune. I jokingly said, “then you should be used to this service,’ referring to the Puneri pata tradition of brusque, borderline rude, signages. Our tablemate was replaced by two businessmen who countered the waiter’s ire with fire.
The service was sullen but the food was soulful. Dal rice, puri sukha bhaaji, chhach, vatana bhaaji.
This was my first time at Mama Kane. I went there to cover their Maharashtrian vegetarian thali for my #thalimumbai series.
While it was my first visit to the place, I had seen Mama Kane from outside when I moved to Mumbai in ‘97. I used to get off at Dadar Station for work. I found the name rather amusing. Turns out that mama (uncle) comes from how second gen owner, Shankar Kane, was referred to by his nephews.
I tried out the misal, vada pav & piyush. I explained what piyush (a lassi-like, shrikhand based sdrink) was to our table mates. Who would have thought in ‘97 that this boy from Kolkata would find a thali sans meat ‘soulful.’ Or would introduce the food of Mumbai to folks? I had never imagined while navigating the crowded overbridge from Dadar Station, the flower market, hosiery stalls & carts selling piyush (I had no idea what the yellow liquid in the glasses was then) and a road characterised by open defecation, to work; that I’d be a Mumbaikar one day!
I went on a trip down memory lane after the shoot. My videographer, Srishti, was so impressed by the misal pav that she packed some for home and that’s why I carried a brown paper bag in my hands in the ‘mood shots.’ She had her hands full with her gig.
Address;
222, Smruti Kunj, Senapati Bapat Marg, Dadar West, Mumbai – 400028 (Near Railway Station)
