ONE of Calcutta�s big foodies is West Bengal Governor Viren Shah. But he is the closet type, and not like one of your Park Street foodies who are as authoritative on the chelo kebab at Peter Cat as they are about the acid rock being played at Tantra. Or one of those Ballygunge mahasays who, blindfolded, could smell out a homemade rasogolla from those commercially sold by K. C. Das and Co.

In Bombay, Mr. Shah is something of a bon vivant. A big-shot industrialist and an elite politician, with a discerning taste for the good things of life. Naturally, these include food and wine. But Bombay is his city. And Mr. Shah is equally at home here listening to blues singer Dana Gillespie over his drink at the Bayview Bar as he is at tossing a coin to choose between the fish and chicken at Thai Pavilion.

Calcutta is not his city, however. And you would have to be Jyoti Basu, to get invited to the Raj Bhavan for a homemade Gujarati meal, to discover the foodie in Mr. Shah here. The book on him in Calcutta is that he is not happy with the Raj Bhavan kitchen. He would like the official banquets to serve haute cuisine and has started the old Chittagong chefs here on cookery classes already. It is said Mr. Shah slips off his mojadis, rolls up his kurta sleeves, and daintily lifts his starched dhoti off the floor to enter the kitchen and plan the banquet menus himself.

While Raj Bhavan is a fine place for Mr. Shah to indulge his passion for food through state receptions and things like that, his drinking habits have taken a beating here. Alcohol is not permitted in the Raj Bhavan. This is a pity, because Mr. Shah is an extremely sociable drinking companion. And at home, he is known for keeping a well-stocked bar. Still, you cannot be a governor and have your drinks too. The Calcutta politicians don�t mind. They prefer exclusive sit-down meals at the Raj Bhavan to a round of cocktails that might be had anywhere.

I was less fortunate. Mr. Shah invited me to tea when I was in Calcutta. The tea itself was Darjeeling, lightly-brewed and served in dainty china. And it came with watercress and cucumber sandwiches of the Raj, and a Bengali mithai, brought on silver platters and with embroidered serviettes. Smart, liveried attendants clicked their heels, curtsied to �His Excellency�, and mixed sugar and milk in the tea without checking for Mr. Shah�s preferences or mine. Protocol demanded that I wait for the governor to sip his tea first and then have mine. And that I keep pace with him, here a bite of sandwich, there a sip of tea, conversation in between. But Mr. Shah, with twinkling eyes, said: �I have changed all those rules. Go ahead!

He told me of his despair at the Raj Bhavan kitchen. The three chefs, who had been there for 20 years, had no experience of gourmet cooking at all. Governor Nurul Hassan, who was there much earlier, and who entertained frequently, kept his own Mughlai bawarchi in residence. You would have thought with such a distinguished chef there the Raj Bhavan chaps would have learnt a recipe or two, but no. So, Mr. Shah had decided to take their training in gourmet food in his own hands. �The future is being taken care of. Tomorrow when I invite Calcutta ministers for lunch, they should be able to taste Goan fish curry instead of ilishe jhol,� he told me.

And typical of the man, he got down to tackling the problem in a direct manner. First, he brought down his family�s Rajasthani cook from Bombay, Maharaj Shanti Lal Menaria, to take care of his own daily meals. Then he sent the Raj Bhavan chefs to the Calcutta Club to learn how to make Continental cuisine. And later, Mr. Shah went out shopping himself. To the Taj Bengal and the Oberoi Grand, from where he invited master chefs in international cuisines to come to the Raj Bhavan and polish the skills of his own chefs. �They will learn,� he said confidently, �because they come from a tribe in Chittagong that is known for its good cooking.

Did he miss the eating out culture of Bombay, I asked, because Mr. Shah had already told me he did not visit restaurants so much in Calcutta. �No,� he replied. �I never do. Even when I was in jail during the Emergency, and was locked in a cell next door to terrorists and prisoners sentenced to death, I never missed Bombay�s food. I lived like a Rajah on the jail ka khana.� But his sentence in jail, and living with Piloo, Rusi and Kali Modi in Delhi after that, made Mr. Shah a semi-gourmet.

The Modis are great gourmets, you know the story of Rusi and his 12-egg omelettes, and my association with them developed my taste buds for diverse foods,� he said. And it is this taste for diverse foods that he now wants to introduce to Calcutta through the Raj Bhavan kitchen. �I have got nothing against their hilsa and bekti,� he explained.

In fact, I used to eat the bekti in Delhi also. And the hilsa I will have only if seasoned in mustard and smoked, that way it gets deboned - the bones melt! But I cannot have fish every day. I like chicken and meat too, and, yes, I eat vegetables. I am a good Hindu and a good Muslim. But I must do the ordering for official banquets at the Raj Bhavan myself. Rest of the time, my wife, Anjana, runs the kitchen.

He was even then planning a thali dinner for West Bengal�s MLAs the next evening at the Raj Bhavan. �Shall I tell you the menu I have drawn up,� he asked. "Yes, it is a good idea. There is gazpacho soup, Parsi fish fry, prawn patia, mulligatawny rice, puris, cauliflower and potato sabzi, chana dal with coconut, kachumber, papad, and mango souffle for dessert and paan after that. Sounds good? Good! I thought, better to keep it Indian. There�s no use giving them a Continental menu. My maestros are better with Indian food. And I�ve got Rusi Modi�s chef here to help them out."

He dug out from somewhere an old menu he had planned when the Turkish prime minister had come to Calcutta and called on him for dinner. �There was such excitement in the kitchen! I organised a real banquet,� he said. �And I had a six-day training programme for it. The chief petty officer of the Indian Navy was here to look after that. And two master chefs from outside.

There were two days of rehearsals. The entire menu was cooked here. Earlier, for such functions, the food used to be brought in from out. But I won�t have that. I can manage with my Chittagong chaps. The Rajasthan governor has seven chefs and my friend in Maharashtra, Dr. P. C. Alexander, has three. But I count myself as a semi-gourmet. I don�t actually do the cooking. In my family, all the men, my father, brothers, and cousins, can cook. I am a bit of a badshah. I can order.�