Food review: Kanua in Bangalore for an authentic Konkan experience

Place: Kanua
6/2 Kaikondrahalli, Sarjapura Road ( Credit cards accepted. Valet parking available)
Price: Rs1,400 (Meal for two, without alcohol)
Rating: 4 and a half

Rarely does one come across a restaurant that doesn’t brag about its existence in the society, push sales or advertise aggressively to draw customers and yet, continues to quietly thrive in one little lane. The restaurant in question, however, is not little.

Lanua, (which is apparently another name for a variety of rice) sitting graciously in one of the lanes in Sarjapur Road, has been in business for at least six years, never quite faltering at its service and food.

In fact, so simple is its décor that you can be almost sure that the owners have not ignored the little details, be it the elegant seating, a jug of infused water on the table or the placemats — it is a bit like coming to someone’s house for dinner. Top that with impeccable service where the attendants don’t intrude into your space and can give you the longer explanation of each of the dishes without having to refer to a handbook; that, in case the names are a bit complicated for you.

And if you’re lucky enough to meet Rajesh Pai, the owner of the place, he would gladly show you around if you ask. The store room is like a village kitchen — with massive bunches of garlic hanging from the ceiling, large pumpkins on the shelf and natural rice storing systems, among other things.

The Konkani menu that Kanua so proudly (in the most understated way) presents is printed on handmade paper, with tiny little stamps here and there that bear details of the special dishes available at the restaurant.

After having tried the Chicken Ghee Roast in all sorts of places, I would have to say that Kanua could win an award for having the best recipe in town. Dipping into the dry masala, which is not as fiery as some of the others can get, with a soft and yet perfectly steamed neer dosa, a meal at Kanua begins with a lot of peace.

The ghee roast isn’t bright red and neither is it so loving that the food colour sticks to your fingers — in fact, there is no food colour.

The ghee is obvious but not over bearing, the chicken is cubed right so that you don’t have to get your hands messier than you absolutely must. I’ve been told that it takes about 20 minutes to put this dish together, so nothing burns and nothing remains suspiciously under-cooked. Amidst our whole affair with the chicken, I couldn’t possible ignore the fried prawns that are coated gently with a coconut-based masala, eaten by themselves or with buttermilk.

Kanua has access to some fabulous fish, something the Kane (ladyfish) proved. Trying both the naked masala fry and the rava fry, we realised how the innate flavour of the fish makes such a big difference to the overall taste. It doesn’t matter how long you cook it for, if the fish isn’t fresh, the dish will be a disaster.

Deciding between the Kanua Mutton Curry or the Prawn Curry was a hard one so we went with both. The mutton curry, as Rajesh Pai told us later, bore a striking resemblance to the bafat — a typical Mangalorean mixture of spices that’s primarily used to season pork but over time has been known to be used on other meats and vegetables.

It can be prepared at home and even stored for a while. So the whole blend of chillies, coriander and cumin seeds, peppercorn, turmeric, cinnamon etc lends a complete flavour to the whole curry. And while it does look quite benign, with its mild colour, it is as devilishly delicious as it can get.

The prawn curry on the other hand was a beautiful red with the gentle flavouring of coconut milk and fresh curry leaves (you could eat a whole sprig). The prawns aren’t chunky but smaller but sweet nevertheless — the curry is best eaten with red rice but we had some with sannas.

Over the nearly three hours that we were there, I tried very hard to find fault with the place. But when a place like that can marry bitter gourd with chopped sugarcane stalk in a tamarind and jaggery-based curry — where you can taste the unique flavours of each of the ingredients and love every spoonful of it, it’s hard to nitpick. I gave up midway.

And that recipe does not come from any secret cookbook hidden away by the masterchefs of the Konkani regions. It belonged to Rajesh Pai’s grandmother who thought it up to coerce the kids in the family to eat bitter gourd. And if that’s not culinary legacy, I don’t know what is.