The Teriyaki Mushroom

Kenny loved the Peri-Peri Paneer burger at Truffles. He had just come down from Bombay and wanted to meet me at Truffles for dinner. Kenny had spent much of his time on St Mark’s Road and Church Street before moving to Bombay. Church Street gave him artsy vibes that helped him create music and clear his mind. But generally, he sought to come to Central Bangalore to find himself whenever he felt lost.

I left home at 7:30. Kenny was wrapping up a meeting on Lavelle Road — another of his favourite spots in Bangalore.

It was a cold June Thursday evening — reminiscent of the times Kenny and I spent contemplating what we should do next with our lives. Covid had screwed us over — mostly our mental health.

The drive to St Mark’s Road from Frazer Town was around twenty minutes. There was a drizzle in the air. The monsoons were looming in Bangalore. There was no downpour yet, but the clouds looked threatening. And the tiny drops on my windshield were signs of things to come.

I reached St Mark’s Road at 8. I found a parking spot right outside Truffles, which usually never happened. I bought a two-hour parking ticket and leaned on my car, waiting for Kenny to arrive. The smell of Chicken 88 wafted out from Kebab Korner into my nostrils. I closed my eyes and breathed in the delicacy-infused air. My stomach growled in response.

I opened my eyes and glanced at the edge of the road that turned into Lavelle Road. Kenny had arrived. He was walking up towards Truffles with a smile on his face. Everything about him looked different. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt with BOMBAE printed on it. As he came closer, I realised he was wearing socks and sandals. I was amazed how three months of being in Bombay had transformed his fashion sense.

“Whoa, whoa. Sup, bro?” he said excitedly.

“Bro, sappenin’,” I said, welcoming him back to the city he loved with a hug.

“All good, dude,” he said, looking around St Mark’s Road nostalgically.

“Good to be back?” I asked.

“Gweeeens,” he said. His response brought out the Bangalorean in him. Gweeeens meant greens, which meant ‘great’ and biloooos meant blues, which meant ‘not so great’.

“Let’s go in?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, Peri-Peri Paneer Burger — can’t wait!” He smacked his lips in anticipation.

We got in and found an empty table for two at the entrance.

“Damn, this never happens,” I said. You’d have to wait twenty minutes to get a table at Truffles.

“Mad, da,” Kenny echoed.

We scanned the menu barcode on the table mat and browsed through our phones to decide what to order. Kenny had already decided, but he enjoyed reading names and recalling how good the dish was when he last ate here.

“Order, sir?” the waiter asked.

“One Peri Peri Paneer Burger and one… “

“… All American lamb burger,” I finished.

“What’s been happening, bro?” Kenny said while he looked for a charging socket around him.

“Trying to write more,” I said, expecting a great discussion on the creative process. Kenny would discuss the creative process every time we met. It was part of the DNA of our meeting.

“How’s the book coming along?” he asked.

“Bit stuck on the fifth chapter; something in the process isn’t working out,” I said, anticipating a backlash for my excuse.

“Bro, you must show up one hour a day — that’s all there is to it. Don’t complicate the process; vomit for one hour and clean it the next day.”

“That’s true, but I’m stuck on good premises,” I said.

“A premise is anything — this table could be a premise, this barcode could be a –”

“All-American Chicken Burger… Perri-Perri Paneer Burger,” the waiter cut him off.

“No, I get that a premise could be anything, but does it include inner conflict?” I asked.

“In my opinion, it’s the setup of the story,” he said, holding the burger with both hands ready to bite into it.

And then there was silence. We both bit into our burgers, devouring them without saying a word.

A few bites into his burger, Kenny wiped his hands and mouth and said, “Do you think we should order a starter?”

“Um, okay, what do you wanna get?” I asked after swallowing the bite I had just taken.

“Spicy Potato Wedges, Devil’s Paneer, Teriyaki Mushroom –”

“Wedges,” I suggested, cutting him off.

“Haven’t worked out for ages — no wedges, bro,” he said.

“Mushroom?” I suggested again.

“Cool,” he said, calling the waiter back.

We returned to our burgers, and there was silence again. Midway through our burgers, the waiter returned and placed the appetiser between us. Kenny and I looked at it and then at each other, realising we had made a mistake.

“I’m full,” Kenny said.

“So am I,” I said, pushing myself to finish the burger I had left in my hand.

“… think we should send it back?” Kenny said, wincing at the sight of the mushroom in front of him.

“How?” I asked.

“Let’s say it’s too oily,” Kenny said, looking at me for a reaction.

I liked the idea and committed to the plan.

Kenny summoned the waiter. I put on a straight face and played the support role.

“This mushroom is too oily,” Kenny said, pressing on the mushroom with his fork to prove his point.

“Sir, that’s normal — we have strict proportions for each dish,” the waiter debated.

“There could have been a mistake; the chef might have gone overboard — human error — it happens,” Kenny argued.

“Okay, sir, you may speak with the chef directly,” the waiter said, walking away from our table.

“This could be a premise… sending back the mushroom,” Kenny said, giving me an example of a starting point.

“And you arriving here in shorts on a windy night could be the –”

“I’ve been told there’s an oil problem?” a voice interrupted us.

“Oh, hi… S-sherya,” Kenny said, looking up at the woman. They knew each other, but how? But, for now, in my head, she was the ‘inciting incident’ that had thrown Kenny off.

“Um, Hi, what is the issue with the dish?” Shreya asked.

“Ah, no, it’s oil good,” Kenny said, changing his stance on the food.

“I heard it was too oily?” Shreya said, looking at Kenny with piercing eyes.

“I mean, it’s, uh…”

“Are you ghosting my dish like how you ghosted me?” Shreya said, drawing the connection between them.

“Oh, no, that was because I had to leave for Bombay suddenly –”

“Are you going to ghost the mushroom or not? Shreya asked, cutting him off before he could explain himself.

“Of course not, we’re going to eat it… right, Jawad?” Kenny said, smiling at her awkwardly.

“Yeah, absolutely,” I said, serving myself a portion of it. And then Kenny served the remaining on his plate and gobbled up a few pieces in front of her.

“It’s my first day and my first dish of the day…”

“Oh, that’s amazing; let me take you for ice cream to celebrate this delectable dish,” Kenny said, trying to mend the situation or what I would call a ‘plot twist’.

“No, I’d be stupid to accept and be ghosted again,” she said.

“I promise you won’t be ghosted. I’m sorry about last time,” Kenny said.

“I’ll be done at 10,” she said.

“Corner House at 10:10,” Kenny fixed the place and time.

We left Truffles and walked to Corner House. Kenny told me about Shreya and why he ghosted her.

“Didn’t want to do the long-distance thing, dude,” he said. “Need a tap in Bombay, da.”

I gave Kenny company in Corner House till 10 and left.

At 10:30, Kenny texted me.

She ghosted me

Damn, I’m sorry, I replied.

Paneer Burger, Hot Chocolate Fudge, auto ride, one-and-a-half auto charge, wind in my hair — a perfect welcome back to Bangalore

Fair enough, I replied.

That’s it da…

A few minutes later, I texted Kenny.

The part where you gobbled the mushrooms, would that be the climax?

I’ll belt you da, came his reply.