On a hot tin roof. Review on Peter Cat, Park Street, Kolkata

The whole thing about food being associated with memory is true. It has to be.

For one, I have met a significant number of people who know exactly what they consumed for breakfast the day they got divorced. (Maybe it was the breakfast that triggered off the proceedings, I wouldn't know). But it's true. Smells and tastes all bring memories rushing back to the sensitive individual. (To one who is not that sensitive, it sort of trickles down like slightly stale bitter).

That aside, my last review for restaurants was also about Calcutta, a place I spent the formative years of my life in, and introduced to many uninterested readers among other things, Park Street and my disgusting penchant for really, really long sentences. It briefly touched on Park Street and a strange phenomenon, now not so, called ''Chelo Kebab''. In the following paragraphs I shall try my level best to unravel the mysteries behind 'Peter Cat' and the 'Chelo Kebab'.

Most Punjus and Bongs in Calcutta would swear by Peter Cat. At least they used to when football was still an acceptable part of social chit-chat and office projects. Not just because the aforementioned communities love to eat out or are fond of football (most Punjus in Calcutta just swim and try to play tennis, the Bongs would rather not try), but solely because of their exceptional carnivorous ability. Many a time I have been quietly amazed at their ability to consume bird after bird (which follow the peg after peg), and then complaining that the dessert should have comprised of an assortment of cold meats.

Peter Cat lies nestled in one small corner of Park Street. Cozily fit in between Music World and Flurys on one side and Times Furnishings on the other, the parking might be a small problem. (To the serious eater, that is never a problem.) I mention the parking, as I remember my earliest visit there (I have very bad memory of these things), I must have been about 5 or 6 then, we encountered a minor parking issue and I remember Dad getting into a not-so-verbal tussle with a bellicose bihari parking guard.

Peter Cat became a favourite hangout of ours when we were in our teens. It was the place to go to where one could casually pick up the tab without bothering to twitch, jerk and do the shimmy (all associated with paying the bill) and impress the reigning ''I just turned 16 and am very aware of the devastating effect I have on 16 year old boys and men thereafter till the age of 79'' queen who sort of half-smiles at you, obviously impressed.

The food was exceptional. It still is. Essentially a multi-cuisine restaurant, it serves exceptional Indian and continental food as well. I am quite sure that also serve Chinese , but can't quite recall how good or bad it was. The soups were excellent though, especially the Cream of Chicken and the Mulligatwany. The sizzlers, brilliant, complete with chicken in pepper sauce (and not soaked in soya - Zamus in Poona, are you listening?) and fried egg on top and boiled veggies. The thing to die for however, were the strangely named ''Chelo Kebabs''.

Now, I really can't tell where Chelo Kebabs originated from, but I do know that Peter Cat makes a damn fine job of it. All the other places that boast of Chelo Kebabs, all over India, were inspired by the delectable dish at Peter Cat. Chelo Kebab is not a preparation on its own, rather it is a special arrangement of dishes, so simple, yet so uniquely construed, that it brings a whole plethora of emotions, including acute hunger, just writing about it.

I shall not go on to describe it, simply because it would spoil the fun for a few. I really think you ought to go and try your hand(s) at that yourself.

My last few visits there were haphazard and distracted. The bulk of the orders, on both occasions, consisted of just alcohol.

Maybe, we were too busy trying to be nostalgic, maybe we were trying to sort out some major issue that I cannot seem to remember now.

Maybe the innocence of ordering an entire Chelo Kebab for oneself and actually managing to eat it is gone forever.

The next time I am there I intend to change all that. And you do too, if you manage to land up in the sultry City of Joy, and decide you are slightly hungry, drop in. It's an easy place to find.

Oh! Do try the shrimp cocktail as a starter though. Builds up the appetite rather nicely, I'd say.