Chokola, Basant lok, Vasant vihar

My visit to Chokola, Vasant Vihar with my mom.

It’s great for a winter evening, when you don’t mind driving a few kilometres just to savour a large mug of very good, very chocolatey hot chocolate. It’s equally enticing on a hot summer day, when you’ve been out shopping and only want a light lunch and a long, cold drink.

Choka La is unassuming on the outside: large glass windows, lamps, a few plants. We go through the door, up a few steps, and we’re in the restaurant-cum-bakery.

A large counter, displaying a selection of cakes, chocolates, and breads is on the left. In front of it, between the counter and the plate glass windows looking out on the pavement, is a row of two-seater tables. We, however, with our bags and whatnot, are looking for more space, so we head right, where there are four-, six- and eight-seater tables. One of the walls is a deep rust, with large niches filled with bric-a-brac (yes, this is a common element of decor in Delhi’s restaurants). The most striking section of the restaurant, however, is the far wall, which is completely painted over with a mural: a landscape with a cottage, and a woman’s face with huge blue eyes, outlined partly in brown, across the middle. Combined with the array of tomato-red, orange and yellow cushions on a sofa in front, this is absolutely my favourite section of Choka La.

We sit at one of the tables facing the mural. Once we’ve settled down and a waitress has come by with the menus, we study the food on offer. Choka La isn’t the place for you if you want a hearty, meaty meal. The food on offer is Mediterranean, with the usual array of pastas, bruschettas, sandwiches, mezze and so on, but all of it is vegetarian. The closest they come to non-vegetarian stuff is eggs, and that too mainly in the breakfast section. The menu’s a very limited one: you’ll find only about four or five choices under each section.

Mom and I start off by ordering a sandwich and a drink each (and no, they don’t serve alcoholic beverages). We guess that will be filling enough, since the sandwiches are listed under the `meals’ section of the menu, not the ‘small bites’ section. I order a grilled vegetable focaccia and an iced chocolate, while Tarun asks for a humzinger—a blend of fresh mango, pineapple and papaya juice—along with a Caprese sandwich.

My iced chocolate, described as melted Belgian dark chocolate, blended with ice and served chilled (now doesn’t that sound good?!), arrives shortly after. I wait for a while to see if Mom’s drink will turn up too, but when it doesn’t, I have a sip. It’s not ice cold, and the chocolate, though good and strong, doesn’t taste like dark, but I’m not complaining: it’s still delicious. While we’re waiting for the rest of our meal to arrive, Mom discovers that she’s sitting right under one of the air-conditioning ducts, and every now and then a drop of cold water—condensation—drips on to her. Not very nice, but instead of making a fuss, Mom decides to simply move her chair a bit.

Which is just as well, because the staff seems to be in a flap as it is. After a long wait (how long does it take to make a couple of sandwiches and blend some juices?), my plate arrives. The waiter places it in front of me and moves off without a word. When I reach out to shift the plate closer, I discover it’s hot as hell—straight out of a very hot food warmer, obviously. When mom summons the waiter, there are no apologies, no explanations, nothing. In a Trappist-like silence, the man removes my plate and takes it away. A couple of minutes later, it’s back; the food is now on a plate at room temperature.

We end up waiting another five minutes for mom’s meal to arrive, and even then, it comes only after she’s reminded one of the waitresses hovering around. The humzinger, light and summery, is refreshing, and Mom’s plate, thankfully, is at the right temperature.

And now a word about the food: my focaccia is stuffed with grilled mushrooms, courgettes, bell peppers, feta and garlic mayonnaise, a tasty sandwich, grilled crisp on the outside and deliciously full of veggies on the inside. On the side, I get a large helping of herbed potato wedges: very nice. It’s not a massive portion, but filling enough when eaten along with the rich iced chocolate.

In sharp contrast, Mom’s Caprese (which was also listed among the sandwiches and should logically have been a similar portion size?) is woefully small. It consists of two thick slices of rye bread, covered with a colourful array of ingredients: overlapping slices of buffalo cheese and skinned tomatoes, with whole basil leaves between. A little like having the Italian flag on your plate! Mom assures me it’s delicious, but it leaves her feeling hungry. The only side she’s given is a dollop of pesto. I share some of my potato wedges with her, but Mom decides she needs a dessert too, so after going and examining the desserts (mainly cakes, tarts, pies and tiramisu) at the counter, we both order the same thing: blueberry cheesecake.

This again is a smallish portion: a modest wedge of creamy cheesecake about two inches across at its widest. The base is nice and crumbly, but the blueberries are conspicuous by their near-absence: there’s a dollop of chewy gooey stuff (blueberry jam?) on top of the cheesecake, and that’s about it.

Our bill comes to about Rs 1,300, which is steep, considering the portion sizes. Despite that and the abysmal service (they invariably bungle things if you’re having anything other than a hot chocolate and/or a dessert), and the drippy AC—Choka La is still worth it. Their food’s decent enough, and if you order a soup or salad, a sandwich and a dessert, you can make a full meal pretty easily. And their hot chocolate is really the best in Delhi: a large mug of a dark and rich Tanzanian or a Sao Thome at Choka La is absolutely heavenly.