Recent weeks have seen plenty of air time, column inches and chatter surrounding the capital city’s Delhi Gymkhana Club. Long perceived as the last bastion of Imperial legacy — not true; there are roughly 50 to 60 British-era clubs still functioning across India — with its antiquated protocols and so-called rarefied atmosphere of exclusivity, the Delhi Gym (as it is fondly called) is of late on pretty thin ground.
For members, the word ‘club’, whether in India or elsewhere, has immediate associations. A quick swim or a game of tennis, followed by a drink or two (okay, maybe more) and then a usually satisfying meal in one of the club’s dining rooms.
I use the term ‘dining room’ advisedly, because that’s exactly what they are — quite distinct from a restaurant. Last week, senior journalist and food guru Vir Sanghvi devoted an entire column to club cuisine, or rather (in his opinion) the lack thereof. But with due respect, that’s exactly what club grub is — wholesome, tasty, familiar and, above all, relatively cheap! And while I concede Vir’s point that half the charm of a club’s (or any institution for that matter) kitchens may well be nostalgia, much as I respect and admire his vast knowledge, I disagree with all club food being branded as ‘disgusting’!
Most old colonial clubs adapted to suit the Indian palate. A ‘baked dish’ comprising a motley crew of veggies bathed in a stodgy white sauce forms the backbone of most club menus. Istock
Fine dining this is not, and it doesn’t aspire to be. The whole point of club food is that it is vaguely ‘foreign’; what most Indians refer to as ‘Conti’, but mostly adapted to suit the Indian palate. So, a ‘baked dish’ comprising a motley crew of veggies — and perhaps a protein if you’re so inclined — bathed in a stodgy white sauce, forms the backbone of most club menus.
Perhaps back in the day of flapper girl fashion and Black Tie dinners, the then mostly British members might, for instance, have been served roast lamb done just so, but when the old guard left, the food became diluted versions of the original dishes. So, out went the mint sauce and red currant jelly, to be replaced by an eye-wateringly strong house-mustard, lashings of butter and green chillies (on request), to become the signature Roast Mutton Sandwich that is highly re-ordered at the Delhi Gym.
Retro sizzlers that arrive with great fanfare, filling the room with enough smoke to fog out entire neighbourhoods, are another great staple at not just the Delhi Gymkhana, but as friends who have recently relocated to Conoor tell me, at the Ootacamund Club (1841) in Tamil Nadu as well.
Colonial club menus across the country, in a sense, map the culinary evolution of how cities eat. They reflect changing times and tastes and so often there’s a bit of a tussle between the old and new. While old-time favourites like crisp mutton, chicken and even paneer cutlets and Chicken Kiev still valiantly survive, they now sit cheek by jowl on the menu with biryani, tandoori broccoli and chicken tikka — the new-ish kids on the block.
Clubs are where Anglo-Indian dishes originally found their way out of colonial home kitchens and on to their menus, providing the opportunity to ‘eat out’. The Madras Club (1832), for instance, claims to have invented Mulligatawny Soup, and the recipe for its iconic Prawn Curry is a fiercely guarded secret. At the Byculla Club — Mumbai’s oldest club established in 1833 — the eponymous Byculla Soufflé became legendary, initially giving its gora patrons, and eventually later-day Mumbaikars, their first taste of the boozy, chilled, no-bake dessert. Unlike a classic baked souffle, this vintage recipe is essentially a mousse stabilised with gelatine, flavoured with four specific liqueurs and finally topped with biscuit crumbs.
The dish took Bombay (as it was known at the time) by storm, leading to many pretenders popping up elsewhere; most notably, its humbler cousin Caramel Custard, that introduced most desis to angrezi puddings and is a favourite even now in clubs nationwide.
India’s club capital, Calcutta (Kolkata now), the erstwhile rajdhani of the Raj, has between eight and 10 colonial-era clubs that are still fully operational and that managed to survive the almost 30-year period of Communist rule in the state. Among these, most notable are The Bengal Club, which is India’s oldest club founded in 1827, and Tollygunge Club — spread over 100 acres of a former indigo planter’s estate.
The former still does a full silver service at meal times, as does the aforementioned Ootacamund Club, where a jacket and tie are de rigeur at dinner time.
Once again, the menus at these storied clubs are reflective of what their members want to eat, so while steaks, roasts and Baked Alaska for dessert still reign supreme, The Bengal Club also boasts of its over four-decade-old Chinese Room (Chinese food being arguably India’s favourite foreign food), and Tollygunge Club is synonymous with Chicken Masala Toast.
To come back to Vir’s point, if these dishes were so uniformly bad, why do modern restaurateurs recreate them in their highly priced kitchens? In a word, because they are beloved! So while most clubs do strive to keep these old recipes alive, much of their catering has been outsourced to private players — hence the advent of pizzas, burgers, etc. Some clubs have managed to hold on to the old ways, while others are bordering on the positively shabby (genteel). And strangely, that’s how we like it!
And (with tongue firmly in cheek), where else but at the good old Delhi Gymkhana Club (dating to 1913, so a mere Johnny come lately), can you ‘exclusively’ share your table with the resident Tom cat?
For those who crave a Crème Brûlée, or with a more refined palate than mine, please give the clubs a miss. I for one, will order another Caramel Custard (while I still can)!
— The writer is a freelance contributor
