Taaza Aahara — Restaurant in Bengaluru

A Most Woeful and Calamitous Chronicle

Lo, lend thine ears, good friends and hungry kin, For I shall tell of grievous wrongs and sin Inflicted on my tongue and mortal frame By a Southland inn, unworthy of the name. “House of Southern Spice,” it did proclaim— Yet spice was fled, and honour lost to shame.

Upon a weary eve, when moon hung low, And hunger in my gut began to grow, I chanced upon this hovel, dimly lit, With promises of dosas warm and split. “O joy!” quoth I, “Some sambhar for my soul, With coconut chutney to make me whole!”

But folly clung to me like garlic’s breath, For I had stepp’d into a trap of death. The waiters stumbl’d in their own domain, As though confusion cours’d through every vein. They brought me menu scrolls all grease besmirch’d, And left me in the shadows, cold and perch’d.

“Ho there!” I cried, “What ho! Good sir, attend!” But none did hear, or if they did, pretend. At last a youth of pimplèd cheek did near, With pen in hand, and wax within his ear. “Kind sir,” said I, “Pray bring me forth with speed A plate of idli—nay, a humble feed! Vada, too, with crispiness divine, And coffee filter’d dark as cursed wine.”

He nodd’d and scribbled something ill-conceiv’d, Then vanish’d as though never once believ’d That orders taken must indeed be fill’d, Or else the hungry heart is left unthrill’d.

Anon, the minutes fled like coward knaves, And hunger, raging, crash’d like ocean waves. I sat and watch’d the paint peel from the walls, While somewhere yonder rang a hundred calls— Not orders made, but yells from chef to hall, As chaos reign’d and thali plates did fall.

At last! A plate was cast before mine eyes, So bland, so pale, it smote my soul with sighs. The idlis, cold as corpses in the frost, Were hard of heart, and texture dearly lost. The sambhar, watery, with spice forgot, Did mock the South with every bitter jot. No tamarind within, no joy, no heat— It tasted like a puddle in the street.

The vada, round and lifeless as a stone, Was dry of soul and crack’d as ancient bone. No golden crunch did grace this fiendish ring, No savour did this demon pastry bring. Its centre hollow, like their solemn vow, To honour taste—but taste had fled ere now.

The coffee came not till my stomach turn’d, And what I drank was but a potion burn’d. A charred, forsaken brew, both weak and sour, That ruin’d every hope of waking hour. No chicory, no strength, no sacred foam— I wept, and wish’d I’d taken meals at home.

And lo, the bill! A parchment steep’d in lies, That listed every dish with princely price. I paid in grief, with coin and broken pride, And left that hall wherein my hopes had died.

O cursed kitchen! Den of sins untold! Thy dosa flat as scrolls of ancient mold! Thy pongal gruel! Thy curd rice, sad and meek! Thy sambar but a puddle, weak and bleak!

Is this the South whose bounty tales have sung? Where every dish once danc’d upon the tongue? What devil’s hand hath seiz’d thy mortar-pestle, And cast aside the art thou should’st nestle?

If ever thou should wander near this place, Turn ‘round, dear friend, and quicken then thy pace. Seek elsewhere for the glory of the spice— Here, taste hath perish’d in the grave of rice.

Thus ends my tale, in sorrow steep’d and woe, Of cursed meals and service laid so low. A single star I give, for pity’s sake, For even in the worst, one must partake Of some faint hope—but nay, not here, not now. I curse this inn, and make this solemn vow:

Ne’er shall I darken Southern Spice again, Nor suffer through its tasteless, dull disdain. Let crows and demons feast upon their wares, For I, poor fool, shall seek my meals...

A Nostalgic Breakfast on Margosa Road. Idli, Vada, and a Cup Memories -Welcomed by a Smiling Manager Rajesh.

Five years ago, I had breakfast at a tiny restaurant on the corner of Margosa Road and 15th Cross. Now, in March 2025, I decided to relive the experience—mainly to check if their idli and vada were still as heavenly or if time had turned them into mere mortal food.

As I strolled down Margosa Road, the rich aroma of filter coffee enveloped me like a warm embrace, irresistibly pulling me in.

The place buzzed with a quiet energy—customers engrossed in their breakfasts as if partaking in a sacred ritual. And there it was, Taaza Aahaar, the shop sigh created with blue neon lights.

The manager, Rajesh,  beaming like a long-lost friend, asked what I wanted. “The usual,” I declared, as if I were a regular (even though I hadn’t been there in half a decade). A plate of idli and vada, drowning in Mysore’s legendary sambar, was my obvious choice.

Payment sorted, I was directed to the counter near the kitchen, where the cook—whistling away as if he were on a morning trek—casually grabbed a plate. In one swift motion, he plopped two piping hot idlis fresh from the steamer and a perfectly golden vada from the tray. Handing it over, he grinned and said, “Come back for more sambar if you dare!” Challenge accepted.

I found an empty desk, freshly wiped down by a young man wielding a wet cloth like a samurai with a sword. Settling in, I devoured my idlis and vada, each bite soaked in that divine sambar. To complete the experience, I ordered a coffee made with fresh milk. The final touch? A glorious frothy top, formed as the coffee was dramatically tossed from one cup to another—South Indian style. Pure bliss.

As I took the final sip of my frothy coffee, I leaned back, letting the warmth of the drink and the satisfaction of a perfect breakfast settle in. The world outside bustled on, but inside this little eatery, time seemed to pause—just long enough for me to savour the moment.

I glanced around at the familiar sights: the cook still whistling, the manager still smiling, and customers lost in their plates of idlis and dosas. Nothing much had changed in five years, and that was the beauty of it. Some places, like good food and strong coffee, don’t need to change. They just need to be there, waiting for you to return.

With a contented sigh, I stood up, gave a nod of appreciation to the cook, and stepped back onto Margosa Road. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, promising that whenever I came back, my perfect breakfast...

One of the tastiest restaurants in Bangalore!

I had mini meals for 50rs. It was worth every penny. The mullangi sambar was amazing! Unlike the usual bangalore sambar which is sweet, the sambar here was actually tasting like real sambar. I even got an additional bowl of sambar for free. The rasam was lovely! So smooooth and a little thick as well. It's taste was unbeatable.

♿️ No wheelchair accessibility 🚰 Free RO drinking water 🅿️ Street parking 🤳 Digital payments accepted

Note: I had lunch here on 12...