How does a week disappear so quickly? One minute it is Monday and you are wondering how you are going to survive the week, and the next thing you know, it is Saturday noon and you are wondering how you are going to survive making lunch.
We were feeling particularly lazy that Saturday and the thought of entering the kitchen, deciding what to cook, actually cooking it and then, worst of all, cleaning up afterwards, seemed like far too much of an undertaking.
My wife, therefore, came up with the perfect solution.
“Fancy Pizza for lunch?”
Now, I may deliberate over many things in life, but when presented with a cuisine, I know better than to disagree.
So we put the name of the restaurant into Google Maps and off we went.
As we were climbing Sukanta Setu, just before the bend, we noticed a bunch of bikers who had pulled over to the side. Some were busy putting on raincoats. As we got closer, we could see that the road ahead was wet and there were raindrops falling.
Clearly, these gentlemen had seen what was coming.
We, however, decided to exercise the superior judgement afforded to people sitting inside an air-conditioned car and drove straight past them.
Barely 200 feet later, we reached the top of the curve.
Completely dry.
Not a drop.
As we descended, I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw three of the bikers riding along, laughing and chatting with each other. They had obviously decided to brave the weather and take their chances.
And, at that moment, it appeared they had won.
Unfortunately for them, their victory celebration was somewhat premature.
We reached the T-junction and stopped at the traffic signal. The same bikers came weaving through the traffic and made their way to the front.
And then...
The heavens opened.
Properly.
The poor fellows were now sitting there, exposed to the elements, with nowhere to go until the signal changed. I watched them from the comfort of my car as they waited patiently for the green light, presumably wondering why they had been so optimistic just a few minutes earlier.
When the light finally changed, they disappeared in search of shelter.
Karma, apparently, travels on two wheels.
The rest of the drive was thankfully uneventful and we soon reached the restaurant.
Outside was a rather portly gentleman in a T-shirt and shorts, hurriedly smoking a cigarette. As I began parking the car, he spotted us and immediately dashed inside.
I thought nothing of it.
Until I saw the same gentleman a few moments later behind the counter, shovelling a Pizza into the Dome Woodfire Oven.
Ah! The Chef.
That explained the urgency.
The restaurant, Olio & Sale, is run by a Bengali lady married to an Italian Chef, and the Italian influence is evident as soon as you walk in. The interiors have a lovely Mediterranean feel, with blue walls and white highlights giving the place a distinctly European character.
And, thanks to the rain, there was another bonus.
Apart from one occupied table, we had the restaurant pretty much to ourselves.
We settled down and called one of the boys over to take our order.
We were surprised to find that Pork wasn't actually on the menu. When we asked about it, we were told that although it wasn't listed, they did make it.
Well, that was hardly a problem.
So we ordered a Ham & Pepperoni Pizza and a Burrata.
The drinks weren't on the menu either because they were apparently still deciding what they were finally going to keep.
Clearly, we had arrived during the restaurant's “menu under construction” phase.
There were some bottled drinks available, but I went for a Mint Mojito while my wife ordered a Spiced Grapefruit Tonic Water, which she loves.
I, on the other hand, have never understood Tonic Water.
It tastes like someone took perfectly good water and decided it needed to be punished.
The Pizza arrived in a jiffy, followed shortly afterwards by the Burrata.
We were pleasantly surprised by the speed of service.
I picked up a quarter slice of the Pizza, folded it and took a bite.
And there it was.
A little slice of Italy.
The Pizza had that lovely wood-fired character and was absolutely delicious.
The Burrata wasn't far behind. Served with Andalusian Gazpacho and cherry tomatoes, along with Garlic Bread, it was fresh, creamy and beautifully put together.
For once, I genuinely couldn't decide which I liked more.
The Burrata was superb.
The Pizza was superb.
It was going to be a difficult decision.
Fortunately, my wife solved the problem by allowing me one slice of her Pizza.
And that one slice was enough.
Pizza won.
By exactly one slice.
As we were finishing, the restaurant was beginning to fill up. We were offered dessert and, much like the drinks, we were told that the dessert menu was also still being finalised.
At this rate, I was beginning to wonder if we were eating at a restaurant or attending a focus group.
Still, when they mentioned Tiramisu, there was no further discussion.
The Tiramisu arrived in a little box with a couple of spoons. We had a few mouthfuls and, unable to finish it, packed the rest to take home.
And that was our lazy Saturday lunch.
No cooking.
No washing up.
A rainstorm that caught a few overconfident bikers by surprise.
A portly Italian Chef disappearing into his kitchen with a Pizza.
A restaurant with half its menu still being “finalised”.
And, finally, a rather delicious little taste of Italy in Kolkata.
Sometimes the best lunches are the ones you never intended to cook.
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