My article this week is a tribute to BHH, the eatery across the street from my office. Its service has kind of replaced my kitchen these days. It is an interesting place - for many reasons. It is a small, grubby, dark, air-conditioned place with extra-small wooden tables and chairs, and a mostly dirty wash-basin. The food is excellent though - the chapathis with dal and the samosas can make mouths water even on a full stomach. Then there is the chaat, a variety of North Indian sweets (do they give you milk peni anywhere else?), the pav bhaji... well, a long list of yummies (I wouldn't really want to peek into their kitchen though!).

Only after a month of constant visits to partake of its culinary delights have my colleagues and I been recognised as its "patrons" (wouldn't do to use the word customers). The first time we went there, we only got so-so attention. In fact we noticed the waiters being treated deferentially by most patrons, they (the waiters) do not wear any kind of uniform and when the crowd is thin, they chat with the proprietor, who sits behind the sweets and savouries counter, as if they were friends of long.

Sufficient tips and a humble attitude has won us one waiter's highest regard - he places samosas at our table even before we have had time to take our seats!

Now a word about the BHH clientele. It is so eclectic that it amazes me. There are few office-goers of the middle range like us who visit BHH. More often seen are the cell-phone toting, smartly dressed "bosses" who come in fancy cars, mostly at odd hours. In the evenings, there are the families - father taking son out for some chaat, husband and wife presumably stealing an outing together without the rest of the family, or an old couple on an evening out. A lot of young and obviously unmarried couples also frequent the place. Many times a group of teachers from the nearby school, something about their appearance and attitude unmistakeably giving away their profession, descend on the restaurant for a quick bite when school gets over. One of the regulars, whom we have labelled the "tea leaves man" as he looks like the batty father in Kamal Hasan's Michael Madana Kamarajan, comes in mostly alone, starts off with a plate of kara sev (a savoury - again, the waiter has learnt to anticipate his first order), has something to eat and then washes it all down with a big glass of fruit-juice. Quite a character. You also have groups of school boys ordering a plate or two of chaat and polishing it off within minutes. (Oops, that turned out to be a lot of words about the clientele).

BHH also seems a centre for discussions. Many of the regulars sit for a long time and conduct discussions on subjects ranging from the anthrax scare in the US to television serial plots to philosophy, all in loud voices which resound in the small room. One man we have named "Encyclopaedia" for his apparent knowledge about everything under the sun - either his companion does not have anything to counter or "En" always foots the bill. Encouraged by these, we even had a official meeting on the BHH premises once armed with notepads, pen and ideas, which derailed once the ordered dishes arrived!

BHH is quite unlike any other joint I know - old-worldly, endearing, doing a service to hundreds of hungry people like me, and - it's just across the street.