At Regent talkies, licking one’s chops, literally

Nagpur: It may be struggling to stay afloat, but Regent talkies in Sitabuldi has had a running hit for over eight decades now.
Nagpur’s die-hard foodies will nod their heads in knowing approval: Yes, we’re talking about the mutton chops (deliciously corrupted to ‘mutton chaap’ in Nagpurese) served at Café Regent, the cinema hall’s canteen.
The deep-fried delicacy with its trademark Bengali-style potato coating and expertly-frenched bone sticking out from the top is priced at a measly Rs40. Dipped in the tamarind chutney that you only get at the café, it’s heavenly, fans say.
So popular have the chops been over the years, they attracted not only the intermission crowd and walk-in customers, but even movie stars. But more on that later.
The soft-spoken Niranjana Nandi, along with her son Parth, runs the café now. It was Niranjana’s father-in-law Shailendranath, originally from Calcutta, who started the café and put the dish on the menu, at the same time the cinema hall was inaugurated around 1932. Shailendranath passed away when his son Prabhat was just eight years old. He took over a few years later and ran it for a long time. When Prabhat, too, died over a decade ago, Niranjana, his wife, took over. “But it was my father-in-law who made the chops famous,” she says.
So famous, in fact, that there was a time before independence, when only the British would visit the café, and Indians would stay away. “Partly because we served non-vegetarian food and partly because they felt uncomfortable in the company of the sahibs,” Niranjana reasons. The firangs loved the mild flavour of the chops so much, they would tip the servers generously. “The servers would be able to save their entire salary,” Niranjana recalls the apocryphal tale with a smile.
In later years, the snack became legendary, attracting film legends. “Shammi Kapoor was very fond of them. He would accompany his father Prithviraj who would come to Nagpur to stage plays. Shammi ji would help him set up the tent on the premises on Variety theatre and then come to the café to dig into the chops and kheema samosas,” Niranjana says, recounting something she has heard but not seen. Another of these stories: “Once, Dilip Kumar ji came too. But he remained inside a black car and his driver came inside to get the chops.” And Niranjana remembers seeing Jalal Agha at the café herself. “He even suggested to my husband to open a branch in Bombay,” she recollects. Former Union minister Vasant Sathe and former state minister Satish Chaturvedi were fans of the chops too.
Shammi Kapoor would make it a point to call for the chops on his visits to Nagpur, where his sister Urmilla is married into the Sial family. “I’ve heard he would love to have them with his drinks,” Niranjana says. Urmilla’s nephew Gagan, a businessman and foodie, also grew up eating the chops. “Oh, they are really fresh and addictive,” he says, adding that many picnics in the old days would be incomplete without a parcel of the chops. “Even today, I have to carry them when I visit my out-of-town relatives,” he says.
The consistent taste comes, in no small part, due to the fact that the Nandis have had the same meat supplier ever since the café began, says Niranjana. Since the recipe is from Kolkata, has she ever tried the original version in the City of Joy? “Yes, of course,” she says. “But there, they call it mutton cutlet. They keep asking me why we call it chops.” Chops, chaap, cutlet. A rose by any other name…
(This occasional column looks at some old eateries in the city, when they started and how they have evolved. Do you know of any? E-mail this reporter with exact locations and a little description. We will try featuring it if it fits the theme)