Debangshee B.
Google
I had long dreamt of visiting Calcutta, Bungalow in North Calcutta; after all, the place looks like it was plucked straight from Old Aesthetic Calcutta with its gorgeous interior and exterior. Sadly, the beauty ends at the walls, because what lies beyond is chaos disguised as a café.
To begin with, the entire café was apparently being run by just two people and by “run,” I mean running around cleaning, sweeping, and then remembering they also had to serve food. Food, however, is a strong word here, because nothing on the menu was actually available. Not even the humble fish fry. Imagine going to Calcutta and being told fish fry is a mythical creature.
They had only two mocktails. We made the grave mistake of ordering both. The Imli Mocktail was nothing short of a war crime. It had so much chilli powder that I half expected the Red Chilli Board of India to file a missing stock complaint. One sip, and I swear my entire bloodstream went up in flames and I could feel my ancestors sweating.
The second option was the Mango Lassi, which was so badly proportioned that calling it a drink is an insult to both mangoes and lassis. It was a disaster in liquid form, and for a brief second, I contemplated calling poison control.
When we complained (naively thinking feedback might help), we were met with arguments. “This is how it’s made here,” they said. If “here” is another dimension where taste buds go to die, then yes, perhaps that’s true.
In short, the café is aesthetic tax in its purest form: you pay for the vibe, suffer through the food, and leave with regret as the only flavor lingering in your mouth. I wanted a memorable experience. I got one. Just not in the way I hoped.
Verdict: A beautiful place to click pictures; preferably before you eat anywhere else.