Da Vinci Da Dhaba, #HumorinDesiLife

  Da Vinci Da Dhaba

The late Shri Arun Jaitely was a connoisseur of the arts. He was also very knowledgeable and particular about food. He preferred purity in cuisines and from what I knew about him, detested fusion. Master chef Vikas Khanna once told me that his art took a turn from fusion towards authentic cuisine after discussion with Jaitley Sahib at a Buckingham Palace reception that Khanna had catered for. 

I’d had several opportunities to eat with him, and mostly agreed with his preferences—except for when he said that Amritsari fish fry was better than the Bengali fish curry in mustard. I resolved to change this (clearly flawed!) opinion by treating him to some authentic Bengali macher jhol but sadly, that day never came. 

In October 2015, Jaitley Sahib came to Lima, Peru for the World Bank/IMF Governors Meeting. I was then posted as ambassador to Peru and got to spend some time with him. For dinner, aware of his penchant for authentic food, our Bengali-Bihari combine decided to go in for Punjabi food—with butter chicken, palak paneer and baingan bharta as staple fare. Jaitleyji loved the baingan bharta and would reminisce about it several months later when he met me in New York. He opined he had had several preparations of the bharta, but somehow, the one he’d eaten in Lima lingered in his memory. It was food for thought for us, trying to recollect the exact recipe, but it gave us a clue about what to make for him at the next opportunity. 

In the autumn of 2017, as India’s finance minister, he travelled to New York, where I was then serving as the consul general. I was aware of his food preferences and tried my best to keep it simple and pure—no mixing of cuisines. 

From New York, we took the Acela Express to Boston for a day to meet with investors and for the minister's address at Harvard University. Some business persons from India were also accompanying him and suggested that we all go out for dinner together. I pointed out to them that if we couldn’t find an authentic place, it would be better to order room service at the Taj Boston, where we were staying. One senior industrialist and a president of one of India’s leading chambers told me that they had done a recce and found a genuine Italian restaurant by the name of Da Vinci. They said it would be nice if I could convince the minister to go to Da Vinci.

When I asked Jaitleyji if he would like to go out for dinner, he said: “Sandeep, we have had a long day, I'd rather stay back and order room service.” When I conveyed this to the proposers of the Da Vinci dinner, they insisted I convince the minister to reconsider. I asked them if it was worth the effort, fully aware of the potential risks of culinary disaster. They had asked around, they said, and insisted that the place was highly rated. I managed to convince the minister and we stepped out of the Taj Boston. The president of the chamber asked if he  could sit in the car with the minister, and I readily obliged. 

Da Vinci was an impressive restaurant—well appointed, on a prominent avenue with  classy furniture and decor. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling casting a mellow light on the tables covered with white tablecloths and gilt-edged maroon runners. On the tables were large wine goblets and flower arrangements, characteristic of fine dining. A long table had been laid out and everyone sat around the minister. 

The place gave me a good delicious feeling and I felt confident. I stood around for some time making sure all of us got a seat. As people settled down, the waiter went around asking for drink orders. Conversation around the table was crackling and luckily, there weren’t too many other diners that evening. Everything was good and I looked forward to a relaxing evening. 

Before I could sit down, I saw a big burly Punjabi with a funky, close-cropped hairstyle dash out of the kitchen’s swinging doors and come up to me. I was a bit startled by his sudden appearance from the inner bowels of the restaurant. He asked in chaste Punjabi- “Ai Jaitley Sahib haige, nahin?” (Isn’t he Mr Jaitley?). Growing up in the Punjabi-dominated neighbourhoods of Patel Nagar, Malviya Nagar and Vikaspuri in Delhi, I have a reasonably good understanding of spoken Punjabi, and replied in the affirmative. He followed up his question with a request. “Meri gal karwa do?”(Can you introduce us?). I agreed, and asked him “Tussi kaun?” (who are you?). He said he was the chef and went on to add: “Tussi Jaitley Sahib nu das do ki koi chinta di gal nahi. Assi unha vaste Indian style Italian banawange.” (Tell Mr Jaitley not to worry. For him I will make Indian style Italian food). The moment he said this I heard fire engine bells go off in my head. After some seconds of panic, I gathered my wits and told him that since Mr. Jaitley had come to Boston from India, he would prefer Boston food, and there was no need to make it taste “Indian”. He was undeterred and unshakeable. “Tussi chinta na karo. Assi butter chicken flavour da non veg, hor paneer butter masala flavour da vegetarian banwangey, ekdum desi style.” (Don’t worry I will make non-veg dishes with butter chicken flavour and vegetarian dishes with paneer butter masala flavour, totally in Indian style). Hearing this the acid in my stomach began to rise. This dinner was awaiting a buttery grave. 

In a desperate attempt to fix the situation, I asked him who the owner of Da Vinci was. He replied with elan: “Pai sahib main hi Da Vinci da malik hoon. Sada sarey Boston vich paanch-chey Italian restaurant hai, sabhi jagah Indian style Italian fusion milde hain, sarey bahut hit hain, tussi chinta na karo ji.” (Brother, I am the owner of Da Vinci. In the Boston area I have five-six Italian restaurants. In all of them, I serve Indian style Italian food— they are a big hit). My hopes crumbled like a crispy amaretti cookie.

Obviously fed up with me, he confidently strode towards the minister and greeted him in Punjabi. They both exchanged pleasantries in Punjabi and then Mr Da Vinci, dropped his masala spiced bomb. He repeated what he told me, that we were not to worry, his chefs make Italian food with masala which brings out the butter chicken flavour. The convivial atmosphere around the table suddenly changed and there was pin drop silence. Instead of opening up for the food, all the jaws dropped. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, so I went up to him and tried to discourage him from carrying out his plan. He took me aside and said “Koi nai, tussi chinta na karo.” (It’s okay, you need not worry). But my worries had just begun.  

We finally sat down to eat and the food started to come out of the kitchen—paneer topped pizzas, cannelloni and masala ravioli in tomato sauce (which tasted suspiciously like butter chicken gravy), and risotto that tasted like biryani. It was a mishmash of Italian dishes prepared with Indian condiments. We ate silently, with the only sounds being that of the cutlery against the crockery. It was one of the shortest meals ever. 

As we exited and walked towards our cars, I asked the president of the chamber to accompany the minister, as he had done on the onward journey. He snuck off, leaving me to accompany the minister on a ride that turned out to be largely silent. In my mind I was wretchedly recalling Da Vinci’s Last Supper. As we were crossing the Boston Common, Jaitleyji remarked “What an interesting character!” To my slightly shocked query about whom he was referring to, the minister smilingly replied: “This man, the owner of  Da Vinci da Dhaba!” I wanted to respond with an enthusiastic “Yes, minister!” but could only muster a weak nod as relief washed over me.

It was a marvellous lesson in wit, humour and compassion, and one for which I will always remember Shri Arun Jaitley with admiration.

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