This place is nestled in Bannimantap; even the directions to this place are nestled between the branches of trees and is dwarfed by its huge cousin, Nalpad Residency. 1961 is the bar and restaurant in the premises, apparently named because it was started in 1961.
As you enter, the open bar greets you. The lighting is low, enough to see the food but a strain to read the menu. Mangalore tiles on top ensure a cool atmosphere, so cool that the office drinking party, a strong 30 in number, decided to drown in more beer and wine. There is no separate seating for family.
We were joined by a couple with a teenage daughter, and even one on a date; soon ladies who had boarded at the lodge showed up. Including mum, it was unnerving experience sharing the hall, huge though it was, of drunken middle aged, bored of wives men.
The seats are comfortable, minus the lounge chairs and the music is the 70s oldies. This was perfect for dad, and his alcohol guzzling species at the back. The fish is exorbitantly priced, and thanks for having a chef for a dad, we were saved from being taken on a ride. For starters, we ordered prawns kolivada. A good dish, though we could not figure out why no accompanying sauce was served. Tangdi Kabab was next on the menu, instead Chicken gravy was served. We could not help but look helplessly, as the dish cooled down.
After reminding the waiter to serve us dinner plates, we finally got the main course along with Mutton Rohangosh, Roti basket, Chicken schezwan served with thick gravy; none of them went with the behemoth amount of rotis. The only saving grace was that the meat was cooked well. Probably spices from 1961 were used, as flavors were missing and lacking in punch. The momos were good.
For 120/- rupees, the Roti basket is more than worth the money. The waiter failed to inform us that it was suited for five or more people, not for the hapless three of us. We could finish barely half of the options, from butter naan to variety of paranthas. The smell of alcohol and that infamous 'drunken breath' wafting through the air made this eat-out unpalatable. The untrained staff forgot to refill water, and the bill was more delayed than the main course. But it was understaffed in the first place anyway.
1961 is good enough for a Bachelor's party, divorce party, office party, or to drown your sorrows in Scotch. The wash room, with its many patrons, smells like Oktoberfest. The prices are minimal, and smoking is allowed, with free peanuts and you can even throw-in a few jhatkas and matkas.
The risk is in your woman being mistaken for Munni and Sheela. Better avoid it during weekends, unless your lady is alright with alcohol. The boy cleaning your tables, who i'm pretty sure is under 18, is not a welcome sight. This Shikar ki pukaar den is only a once gone, forgot-about-it affair.
As you enter, the open bar greets you. The lighting is low, enough to see the food but a strain to read the menu. Mangalore tiles on top ensure a cool atmosphere, so cool that the office drinking party, a strong 30 in number, decided to drown in more beer and wine. There is no separate seating for family.
We were joined by a couple with a teenage daughter, and even one on a date; soon ladies who had boarded at the lodge showed up. Including mum, it was unnerving experience sharing the hall, huge though it was, of drunken middle aged, bored of wives men.
The seats are comfortable, minus the lounge chairs and the music is the 70s oldies. This was perfect for dad, and his alcohol guzzling species at the back. The fish is exorbitantly priced, and thanks for having a chef for a dad, we were saved from being taken on a ride. For starters, we ordered prawns kolivada. A good dish, though we could not figure out why no accompanying sauce was served. Tangdi Kabab was next on the menu, instead Chicken gravy was served. We could not help but look helplessly, as the dish cooled down.
After reminding the waiter to serve us dinner plates, we finally got the main course along with Mutton Rohangosh, Roti basket, Chicken schezwan served with thick gravy; none of them went with the behemoth amount of rotis. The only saving grace was that the meat was cooked well. Probably spices from 1961 were used, as flavors were missing and lacking in punch. The momos were good.
For 120/- rupees, the Roti basket is more than worth the money. The waiter failed to inform us that it was suited for five or more people, not for the hapless three of us. We could finish barely half of the options, from butter naan to variety of paranthas. The smell of alcohol and that infamous 'drunken breath' wafting through the air made this eat-out unpalatable. The untrained staff forgot to refill water, and the bill was more delayed than the main course. But it was understaffed in the first place anyway.
1961 is good enough for a Bachelor's party, divorce party, office party, or to drown your sorrows in Scotch. The wash room, with its many patrons, smells like Oktoberfest. The prices are minimal, and smoking is allowed, with free peanuts and you can even throw-in a few jhatkas and matkas.
The risk is in your woman being mistaken for Munni and Sheela. Better avoid it during weekends, unless your lady is alright with alcohol. The boy cleaning your tables, who i'm pretty sure is under 18, is not a welcome sight. This Shikar ki pukaar den is only a once gone, forgot-about-it affair.
 |
| Bar |
 |
| Roti basket |
