Hotel Subhalaxmi is a small, unpretentious dhābā
tucked away in a village just
beyond the farthest reaches of Cuttack. It is not a particularly
well-known place, nor is it given to offering exotic one-off
preparations. But over time it has built up a local reputation for
hearty everyday fare at reasonable prices. Denizens tend to speak
highly of its
mutton curry and fried fish. It is only a couple
of kilometres away from our University campus, and some colleagues are
regular lunchtime visitors. We'd been hearing about it for quite some
time. So the other day we three of us - Bishwa Kallyan, Ramakrishna, and self - decided on a whim to check it out.
Ram had in fact finished a substantial lunch by then. He came along mainly for the good-humoured conviviality and camaraderie that make our little jaunts so memorable. That and a little fried fish on the side
- he ordered um, four of them. Bishwa and I were fortunate he didn't want anything more. They had
nearly run out of mutton by the time we arrived (at about 2.30) and could scrape together only two servings. To
this Bishwa and I helped ourselves with an easy conscience since Ram
was, of course, too full for another meal!
The place is typical of dhabas in Odisha. It is housed in a small
single-storied cemented building, one among a row of shops. In front
of the entrance is a kind of porch made of concrete columns topped by
a canopy of corrugated iron. This serves to stave off the heat, and
also provided some shade for regulars who sit there for a chat. What
really caught the eye was the shop's startling colour-scheme. The
columns are painted a bright lime green with a blue and, now much
faded, at the bottom. Inside the green gives way to an equally vivid
mustard yellow. Here the blue borders and edges are much more
prominent. The sides of the cashier's desk, and the iron door at the
back, also flaunt similar shades of blue. As is common practice among dhabas, the kitchen is situated
right in front, with tables laid out for diners towards the back. The
inside is spartan, with the furniture tending to granite-topped
iron tables and backless wooden benches. The ceiling has begun to look a little
sooty. That said, it is reasonably clean throughout, even the kitchen is
respectably tidy. The benches are not too uncomfortable either, a
sentiment evidently shared by the group at the next table who had
sneaked in some (very strong) beer and were surreptitously doling it
out amongst themselves.
Even though we had come for the first time, the manager sized us up as
favoured customers. This favour was bestowed in curious fashion.
Perhaps overly cautious of hygiene levels, he came and spread
newspapers on our table before setting down the plates. The full thalis
(plated meals) for Bishwa and self arrived first. And a good thing too.
We were starving by then; the freshly-lunched Ram was, well, not
starving. The trays contained rice, some mixed veg, dry stir-fried
potato and parwal, and that famed mutton. The rice was the inexpensive, thick-grained variety served in cheap eateries all over Odisha and known simply by the generic name usna chaula (pronounced 'usnā cāulô') or 'parboiled rice'. Sophisticates disparage it as coarse, hard to chew, and heavy on the
stomach (hence lethargy-inducing). I tend to differ. It has a robust
flavour and texture I love, which you simply don't find in the more refined
varieties. If made properly it is not very chewy either. And in this place it was
made most properly too, cooked just right. I used up all the rice
finishing off the veggies, and had to ask for a second helping to have
the mutton with.
The mixed veg was tasty enough, if not particularly interesting. I liked the potato and parwal much more. It was well cooked, not oily at all, and I have a weakness for parwal. I would have asked for seconds had it not been for the mutton waiting patiently across the rice. Ah! the mutton. Lived up to expectation in every way. The gravy was excellently made. It was browned evenly, replete with meaty juices and flavours, and without the slightest hint of scorching even though what they served us must have been the dregs from the day's cooking. The meat was well-cooked, succulent, soft, neither chewy nor mushy, and fell off the bone at the slightest touch. Humble surroundings be damned, it compared handsomely with the finest mutton I've had anywhere in Odisha.
I had just started on the mutton when the fish arrived. By the time I remembered to take pictures, and
also get myself a taste, Ram had polished off two of them. They were
locally procured small fish, possibly caught that morning off the
nearby Kathajodi, and then fried whole. I confess I am not much of a fish
eater. Still I helped myself to a couple of chunks just to get a taste. It was not bad, but not very juicy either, and a bit on the bland side. Ram
enjoyed it thoroughly, though.
They charged us about Rs 120 per mutton thali. (Or at least that's what Bishwa told me later. While Ram and I were busy with fish and camera respectively, he had sneaked out and quietly settled the bill.) While not cheap, it was certainly reasonable considering the price of mutton these days. And certainly well worth the money. The fish sold for about Rs 30 each, which I thought was on the steeper side. But this is a minor nit. We had a wonderful time, no doubt about it. I certainly intend to be back soon.
The place is typical of dhabas in Odisha. It is housed in a small
single-storied cemented building, one among a row of shops. In front
of the entrance is a kind of porch made of concrete columns topped by
a canopy of corrugated iron. This serves to stave off the heat, and
also provided some shade for regulars who sit there for a chat. What
really caught the eye was the shop's startling colour-scheme. The
columns are painted a bright lime green with a blue and, now much
faded, at the bottom. Inside the green gives way to an equally vivid
mustard yellow. Here the blue borders and edges are much more
prominent. The sides of the cashier's desk, and the iron door at the
back, also flaunt similar shades of blue. As is common practice among dhabas, the kitchen is situated
right in front, with tables laid out for diners towards the back. The
inside is spartan, with the furniture tending to granite-topped
iron tables and backless wooden benches. The ceiling has begun to look a little
sooty. That said, it is reasonably clean throughout, even the kitchen is
respectably tidy. The benches are not too uncomfortable either, a
sentiment evidently shared by the group at the next table who had
sneaked in some (very strong) beer and were surreptitously doling it
out amongst themselves. 
The mixed veg was tasty enough, if not particularly interesting. I liked the potato and parwal much more. It was well cooked, not oily at all, and I have a weakness for parwal. I would have asked for seconds had it not been for the mutton waiting patiently across the rice. Ah! the mutton. Lived up to expectation in every way. The gravy was excellently made. It was browned evenly, replete with meaty juices and flavours, and without the slightest hint of scorching even though what they served us must have been the dregs from the day's cooking. The meat was well-cooked, succulent, soft, neither chewy nor mushy, and fell off the bone at the slightest touch. Humble surroundings be damned, it compared handsomely with the finest mutton I've had anywhere in Odisha.
They charged us about Rs 120 per mutton thali. (Or at least that's what Bishwa told me later. While Ram and I were busy with fish and camera respectively, he had sneaked out and quietly settled the bill.) While not cheap, it was certainly reasonable considering the price of mutton these days. And certainly well worth the money. The fish sold for about Rs 30 each, which I thought was on the steeper side. But this is a minor nit. We had a wonderful time, no doubt about it. I certainly intend to be back soon.
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