Coffee and Cutlet at The Roadside Indian Coffee House

On our road trip from Alappuzha to Kochi, Fafa suggested stopping at the Indian Coffee House by the main road. Because that’s what you do here, he said. “Stopping at an Indian Coffee House mid-road trip is practically a Kerala tradition, and the place itself is an institution,” he explained, ending with, “It’s right up your alley.”

Okay, sure. I got curious too about this Indian Coffee House that was supposedly my thing.

This branch sits right in front of a massive construction site, which reminded me of what our Uber driver had told us: Kochi is busy building four highways. This must be one of them.

Inside, a long hallway leads you past a rack of magazines on the left and the cashier on the right, surrounded by knick-knacks for sale. Then a second door opens into the dining area, with tables of four. It reminded me a lot of Ananda Bhavan and its neighbours along Serangoon Road in Singapore, the kind of place people treat as a pit stop between two errands.

We grabbed a table in the corner. Mainly so I could observe.

The menu was pasted on the wall, with a few more copies dotted around the room. I had already eaten a whole day’s worth of meals at my parents-in-law’s that morning, but when in Rome and all that. Our waiter arrived in his full uniform, and honestly, that alone told me why this place is an institution. I get it. Also, I imagine that keeping calm, keeping cool and keeping white (the outfit, I mean) in this heat and dust must be a daily battle.

I wanted the chicken cutlet, but the white-hatted man told me it was sold out. So I stuck to coffee.

The coffee came quickly, along with the vadas and everything else the fam ordered. My father-in-law offered me half of his beetroot cutlet. Now, I don’t like beetroot, so logic says I won’t like this. But my rule of thumb is to try something new before saying no. So I did.

I didn’t like it. Rule honoured, though.

The room filled up quickly. Families. Couples. Uncles on their afternoon catch-up, exactly how I picture Appa spending his evenings with his friends in Medan.

The coffee is good. So is the tea. And once again, I felt like I had walked into an old Indian movie flashback. I will happily take another one.

Dusty signage and all, Indian Coffee House turned out to be a delight.

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