That 60's show - Venite

One of the two dining rooms in Venite

“You should try the soup! It’s sooo good. 30 years ago there was an old lady who used to run the place…and it was so cheap!” – My parents can go on and on about the Venite restaurant in Panjim. It was their favourite spot on their honeymoon in 1982 and the topic brings back good memories.  I visited the restaurant about 14 years ago and was impressed with the simplicity of the place. And now, whilst passing through Panjim on the way to Margao, I had a chance to have lunch at Venite once more.

I love Panjim! There’s something about the slow and wide Mandovi; that stretches time with her flow; that supports both commerce and entertainment; that in a way similar to many European cities defines the city on her banks. Panjim for her part doesn's shy away from her past, in fact she embraces it! The colonial churches, houses and other buildings are not just preserved, they are used; used by Konkani speaking Goans who love their way of life. Panjim is good meaty pie – a fine Portuguese crust with juicy Indian filling. You really need to take a good bite to get both. So, my decision to lunch at Venite was more than just a time rewind, it was a chance to stroll down Panjim’s streets as well.

Venite is at the start of the 31^st January road in Panjim. It was founded in 1955, in Portuguese ruled Goa and bears those marks till today. The first two minutes are encouraging. The menu card to start off has gone from a black and white printed, torn plastic covered sheet of paper to a coloured sheet that is well laminated. It even has a short paragraph on the history of the place. Across the corridor, the other dining room houses a renovated bar and a wall covered in graffiti lending a more contemporary feel to the space. But Venite is not about the present. 2012 Venite is standing her ground in the 60s. The wooden flooring that was taken from old shipwrecks, the cute little balconies overlooking the street, the plain old formica covered tables are still around and going strong. It’s a contradiction when compared to Goa’s restaurants and café’s- there’s no fancy theme, no jarring music, no foreigners dressed in rags whose idea of conversation is a permutation of the words ‘like’, ‘errrm’, ‘totally’ and ‘super’. Instead, I can hear soft music over the even softer voices of the customers, except one who ‘hello’s me as I walk in. Venite doesn’t just take you back in time; it makes you feel at home. In fact, it is this homely feel that can be easily mistaken for apathy.

Fish nets and fish facts

Seating for 2 on the balconies

I order Goan sausages with rice and a cola. A few minutes later I am served my cola in a highball labeled MANSION HOUSE French Brandy. Well, I am obviously not going to get a glass that says ‘Coca Cola Open happiness” – getting happy takes on a whole new meaning in this state. But to be served in a glass that in all probability was a freebie with a bottle of alcohol whose brand I haven’t heard of can so easily be taken for negligence. Later, I am served my lunch – the presentation is good, but the napkin is absent and the knife looks like it would prove more useful in the kitchen or in the hands of a Bihari thief rather than my own. I don’t know if its oversight or intentional (I’d like to believe it’s the latter), but it kind of comes with that comfort in places you can call your own – your Mum has just made the most delicious meal and you pull out the most used, the least eye-catching utensils, not because you want to save the better lot for another time, but because it doesn’t matter! It really did feel like I had a meal at home – I relished the sausages and wasted most of the vegetables.

The new bar

Time for desert and I had my eye on a Goan bananas with rum caramel. At first, I was quite puzzled with the ‘Goan bananas’ part. I mean were they supposed to peel off their skin and sunbathe till tanned and brown?! A quick google search on my phone tells me that Moira is famous for bananas and the waiter confirms that the Goan bananas are indeed the ones from Moira. I go for it. The bananas floating in the golden brown sauce are not so much a visual treat as they are a sugary harmony. But I am served with two spoons that don’t match – Venite has done it again. The empty plate is replaced by a bill handwritten on a plain piece of paper – nothing fancy shmancy – more of note from the owner reminding you that you owe him 400 bucks. As you might have guessed, credit cards are not accepted too. I pay my bill, take a recommendation for port wine from Henricks the waiter and go on my way; beyond the Latin quarters, past the promenade and out of Panjim.

I hope that Goa preserves her capital; I hope that Venite stands the test of time, literally.

My meal