Then, a priest is ushered in reverentially. Amid gluttonous assaults on delicate puris and vigorous onslaught upon Pongal, Kumbakonam kadappa, and ragi halwa, we try to avail of kovil idli or its remains. Oh no, about the buffet’s vada curry! Suddenly, we find ourselves smacked as businessmen charge ever-replenished food counters. Presumably about some confidential corporate matter. We arrive at breakfast to a hushed dialogue. Twice weekly, corporates stampede into the Aaharam restaurant for post-conference refreshments. Different kinds of idli served at Svatma. Or would it? We hear with astonishment the demands of other guests, including some VIP politico’s PA. The gargantuan ‘cookie monster’ dessert would daunt even the most resolute gourmand.
We are astounded by an immaculate medley: sumptuous carrot and cilantro soup worthy of London the best garlic bread we’ve had in a decade fattoush to shame anything in Arabia and lasagna an Italian ‘mama’ would want the recipe for. Nobody sane goes to Thanjavur for Continental cuisine! But Suresh is persuasive in his quiet way. So, when Suresh suggests a five-course Continental supper, I look at him as if he were mad. Svatma’s seven-course South Indian suppers are marvels. Star-sprayed skies look like someone has popped a bottle of champagne across them. A meticulous composition of dainty idli, uttapam, millet dishes, etc.
One day, Suresh conjures a magical garden- set seven-course extravaganza. There’s also a Maratha thali capturing a vignette of Thanjavur history: that the Marathas once ruled Thanjavur. These thalis offer a culinary traipse around the region, although Mysore bonda seems an oddity on a Thanjavur thali. Lunch presents seven Thanjavur thalis with seven sambars, including an unusual mochakottai sambar comprising fat slug-like white lentils. The property pays homage to the heritage and artistic traditions of the city. Svatma’s seven seven-course menus include traditional rice-based dishes recreated with gluten-free millets to indulge international tourists, including celebrities, afflicted with all the en-vogue alimentary restrictions. You leave eating everything but feeling you’ve had nothing-it’s almost like reading the Upanishads, so tenuous they ostensibly say nothing and yet tell you everything. Supper unleashes seven sophisticated South Indian courses, which are terse but tremendous in flavour and texture. No, not because I’ve had a few, but you actually can. I suddenly spot the Brihadeeswarar Temple. Then, Sentil Kumar hands me a rakish mango pina colada and directs my gaze to the bar window. An elixir of sorts awaits me at the rooftop bar Nila, where the new general manager Suresh concocts seasonal cocktails including a deviously good mango daiquiri executed by Vimal, who remembers my postprandial idiosyncrasies from when we last met-five years ago. While many hotels have withered with the pandemic, Svatma’s plush foliage seems plenty nourished on magical elixirs. So we find ourselves engaged instead in a culinary pilgrimage at the temple of taste that is Thanjavur’s vegetarian abode Svatma. But a trip to the state must perforce involve temples.
We reach Thanjavur to learn that Raja Raja Chola’s stupendous Brihadeeswarar Temple has just shut due to the pandemic. A culinary pilgrimage at Thanjavur’s vegetarian abode Svatma A Thanjavur thali at Svatma. Such is the significance of food in Tamil Nadu, rivalled only by temples. Book a medical procedure and medics ensure they don’t violate your mealtime, or indeed their own. Visit a doctor and it’s the first question their secretary asks. “Saptingla?” (“Have you eaten?”) is the single most frequently asked question in Tamil Nadu. As the pandemic deals India a severe second blow, a traveller finds nourishment in the vegetarian renditions of authentic Thanjavur and Chettinad dishes.
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