Day 37: Why Vikram Vij should move back to India PHOTOS
Priya Ramani -
Wednesday, May 21, 2008 10:16 PM
(Photo: #35 in line at Vij's)
Everywhere we went in Vancouver his name shadowed us.
On the first night in the city we hit a bar with a friend. "Vij's is just down this road," he said. "You must go." At our favourite food store on Granville island, the Japanese salesgirls insisted that Vij's was one of Vancouver's must-dos. Back home Gyan said even Harrison Ford stood in line for Vij's. So, we decided we had to meet Vancouver's favourite Indian celebrity.
He began his kitchen career at 12, a young boy making white bread chutney sandwiches (with the edges trimmed please) for his mum's kitty parties. Now 43-year-old Vikram Vij runs one of Vancouver's hottest restaurants and believes his food is at par with London's fancy-shmancy Indian chefs in those Michelin-starred restaurants. Last year Bombay's Rahul Akerkar proposed they work together, but Vij, who grew up in Amritsar and Bombay, is not yet ready to come back home.
North America has been kind to this son of a cloth merchant from Kalbadevi (an overcrowded, historic Bombay market).
(Photos: Vij hits the floor and the all-female kitchen. Don't miss the earings)
After a few years of running a 14-seater restaurant where he cooked and then hopped over to the other side and served, Vij hit the jackpot in 2003. One day a man walked into his restaurant and tasted most of the dishes on the menu. Six months later, he was in The New York Times. Food critic Mark Bittman called Vij's "one of the best Indian restaurants in the world."
Of course some critics say his food is not authentic enough. And I did hear the goodlooking man at the next table ask the waitress if they had any dishes off the menu. When she said no, he asked: "So if I ask for Chicken Tikka Masala I won't get it?" I'm happy to report that the answer to that question was N-O, again. Why would you want to eat Britian's national dish when you could eat Vij's bestselling lamb "popsicles" anyway?
So there we were, sitting across the light-eyed Elphinstone College science graduate, drinking the best jaljeera ever, listening to Kaanta Laaga, until Vij had pity on us and changed the music to the trendier Delhi 2 Dublin http://www.delhi2dublin.com/.
Vij's family was not made up of more foodies than yours or mine. "Every Indian father and mother is a food critic. This dish has less salt or too many chillies," he mimics what could be your father or my father-in-law. Aside from the times actor Pearl Padamsee, Vij's iconic drama teacher at school, made the young boy feel he could be another Naseeruddin Shah, he was one of those lucky few who always knew where his life was headed. "I was always a 'halwai'; a chubby boy who loved his food and drink," he says.
He's an old schooler. Someone who believes the food always tastes better if you cook for five people rather than 20. Someone who won't hide behind his spices. Who believes the best food comes from making everything yourself, from scratch. No ginger-garlic pastes or lengthy menus for Vij. "Indian food is as complex as any other cuisine. Curries on the menu are not supposed to have the same kind of texture," says the man who runs through 50 pounds of his garam masala every week.
Vij now sells masalas and a popular range of packaged foods too. The man who has always believed that the day your passion turns into a business you can just forget about it, has finally just learnt to write a business plan. He needs a bank loan to set up a production facility to cope with the increased demand for his packaged foods.
Almost every small town we've been to so far on our world trip has at least one Indian restaurant. But most of them serve violently red curries with dead spices that taste nothing like the food we've grown up with. Why aren't there more immigrant chefs who are passionate about dishing the authentic Indian experience? Why does every place serve Chicken Madras, and not Chicken Chettinad? Why are they all glorified butter-chicken breweries?
Vij says he's thought about this a lot. "When you come as an immigrant you come for a better life. You do a business that brings in the big money, say a doctor or a computer engineer. In our business, at the end of the day, there's a 6-7 % return, 8% if you're a really good operator. Why work that hard for 8%?" So the butter chicken way is the easy, cost-saving cop out. The comfort zone that will bring in the money without too much effort.
Vij says the restaurant he started in 1994 was never meant to be a business. In those days his daily breakeven was $100. In the evenings his mum would catch a bus and bring some more curries from home. Neighbouring businesses complained about the smell of Indian food.
In today's multicultural Vancouver, where customers even know the medicinal benefits of Indian cuisine, it's hard to recreate that picture in your head. Now you have to stand in line if you want to get into Vij's. At 5pm he cuts short the interview and says: "You better go stand in line if you want to get in." We rush out and we're already number 35 and 36 in line, a full half hour before the restaurant is due to open. Vij rushes off to change his clothes and taste the food. These days Vij's and Rangoli, his neighbouring casual lunch eatery and takeout have 80 staff. Sixty of these are Punjabi women who work in the kitchen. In Canada there's a huge pool to pick from. Surrey, the second largest city in British Columbia after Vancouver, has some 400,000 Indians.
By 5.20pm, the line has grown to around 60 people, mostly well-heeled Vancouver and Western tourists. One woman can't believe the line and thinks it's the perfect photo opportunity. There are teenagers, seniors, a woman in a wheelchair--we're the only Indians in the line.
At 5.25, Vij opens the door with a beam. He's changed into a brown kurta and a white churidaar and worn some more jewellery. Now in addition to the ear stud and hand cuff, he's slipped on a silver bracelet and neckpiece. I've never seen a restaurateur work the floor like Vij does. As people settle down enjoying the free chai and snacks (tapioca root, dal pakoras, puris, moong with papri) that are doing the rounds, Vij is a tsunami on the floor. He helps people order, replenishes water glasses, discusses Clinton vs Obama, explains that all dishes come with naan and rice, shows strugglers the right way to eat Indian food. "The best way to enjoy Indian food is to share it," he tells one table. "18 needs another bottle of beer," he tells a waitress as he whizzes past. Despite the air conditioning, he's hot. It's Vancouver's first really summer day.
The restaurant was designed by customer Marc Bricault and almost everything is locally made from the plates to the bar in the back room. And the back room is another story too. Those waiting in line are promoted to this buzzing space where the snacks flow freely and where, ever so often, Vij slips away from the diners and makes it a point to be the life of the party.
So does the food match up to the talk? He kindly does half portions for us so we can taste more items on the menu. When I tell him I'm done and I can't go beyond the appetizers, he doesn't look happy. The husband keeps the family flag flying high. He keeps going. And the food is better than anything we've tasted back home. It's fresh, it's innovative, it's flavourful. "I never thought all my senses would be awakened by a smoothtalking Punjabi in Vancouver. Restaurants in India don't stand a chance," was the husband's verdict.
Here's what we ate for dinner: BBQ spot prawns in coconut masala on grilled kale; Paneer, eggplant and green beans in tamarind chutney on a paratha; Khoya parathas with tangy tomato chutney; Jackfruit in black cardamom and cumin masala; Wine marinated lamb popsicles in fenugreek cream curry on tumeric spinach and potatoes; Beef short ribs in cinnamon and red wine curry with warm greens. And if you're wondering about the lamb popsicles. Well, it's rack of lamb really. But Vij used to have a hard time convincing people to pick them up and dig in. He thought calling them popsicles might be all the encouragement people needed.
We get chatting with the Californians on the next table. The only other person of Indian origin in the restaurant, that same goodlooker who asked for Chicken Tikka Masala wants to know whether we enjoyed the food. Samar says it's among the best Indian meals he's ever had. "Have you been to Moti Mahal?" the young man wants to know.
Come back to India Vikram, is all I can say.
(Photo: Us, hard at work)