ASHOK KURIEN, the Malayali bossman of Bombay's ad. agency Ambience D'Arcy, used to smoke 60 Charminars a day until 20 minutes past 3 o'clock on April 18, 1981. What happened then? "I chucked up the habit, threw my last pack at a milestone that was 27 kilometres between Madras and Bangalore," he says poker-faced. "I was a sportsman, I played rugby, I boxed, sprinted, and I was just pushing my body. Something had to give.

Obviously it would be me. So I gave up smoking!" The upshot was that his tastebuds came alive once again! "Suddenly, I realised I was getting all the flavours of life. As a heavy smoker, I ate only spicy food, and if it didn't burn, I didn't get the taste. I used to find Italian food boring. And even with subtle Indian food, I was not getting the flavours. Then suddenly, I realised, I was tasting the coriander in the fish!" His lifestyle and his unconventional macho looks suggest he's a cigar smoker. But Ashok says cigars are a no-no. He is a single malt drinker.

In his bar at home, he has a fine collection of bottles. He agrees that cigars and single malts go hand in hand. "But, believe you me," he says, tongue firmly in cheek, "a lot of people have learnt to live with one hand!"

Wines go better with him. Bottles lie around his living room in a leather holder, like bullets in a gun-belt. He says, "I'm comfortable with full bodies and aromatics, the Chiraz, New Beaujolais, sometimes even a simple white Zinfandel." Then he opens a fridge in the living room. It�s packed with pints of beer, the occasional champagne. "Makes sense, eh?" he asks, with a sly grin.

Actually, it doesn't. Single malts, wines and then beer! He loves food, but admits he will not be able to tell what's right or wrong with a meal. "I can tell you if it's great," he says. He belongs to a foodie travel group with Elsie and Hossi Nanji and architect Nozer Wadia. They do homework, read Condenast Traveller, Time Out, Food Illustrated, Sunday Times, make calls to fellow foodies, get menus faxed, prebook restaurants, and know exactly what they are going to eat in which restaurant abroad. "It's unbelievable, heaven, pure orgasm," he describes.

Food fascinated him early. His parents struggled through a lower middle-class existence. Mother was a teacher, literature was food for body, mind and soul, Ashok learnt to be grateful for dal and rice, the taste of which it was heathen to even discuss. Then in the 1960s (he's 52, but doesn�t look it) he got involved with the Oxford & Cambridge Theatre Group in Bombay and mixed with a floating population of expats. "They were wonderful, wild, fascinating, creative people. A part of that expression was the food they conjured up. To me it existed only in books. Meats and vegetables unheard of, sauces and wines undreamt of, tastes and flavours which were hallucinatory experiences."

The Malayali in him surfaces once a year. He must go down to Kerala. He loves that food. "You don't get that anywhere but at home. I return to my roots, pretend to visit relatives, but actually go for their food!" At home in Bombay, he's got Mary, a divine Mangalorean cook, and outside, he prefers to eat at the small joints rather than the five-stars. Eating out has been a five year experience for him. "I ate every meal in a restaurant for five years... that translates to 2,500 meals, a record I doubt will be broken!"

As an advertising man, he's been involved with food commericials, not directly, but by watching. "I'm fascinated by the fact that food can be made to look so good," he drools. "The food stylist's work is a piece of art. And I get vicarious pleasure watching such artists!"