SIXTEEN years into my marriage with Behram, and I was never prepared to answer the one question most people asked me of him. "Can Behram cook?" they would inquire in awe whenever I entertained and they found him hovering around the dining table, laden with home-cooked food. I realised, of course, that they were curious to know whether Bombay's most renowned food writer was just an armchair expert in the kitchen. Or whether he was really a closet Cordon Bleu cook who preferred to mask his culinary genius behind his brilliant Eating Out columns.

The truth is, I never found out. And now I never will. I wish I had. Since the time we got married in 1985 till early 1991, we kind of lived like vagabonds, moving from one paying guest digs to another. And by the time I got my own kitchen, I had developed a passion for cooking that was matched only by Behram's for eating. So that was a perfect setting: me, deriving genuine pleasure in cooking for him; and he, in appreciating my natural flair and revelling in the pleasure of home-cooked meals. True, he was a renowned restaurant reviewer and great foodie. But at home, he was a simple man whose face never failed to light up when I placed an aromatic and steaming Fish Curry Rice before him.

I got to know Behram in September 1984 and at that time he was just "Busybee" to me, the great and immensely popular humour writer. I never associated him with food. But I discovered the gourmet in Behram over our first lunch together in a small Mangalorean eatery at Tardeo where we worked. Later, when I visited his bachelor apartment, I was astonished to find his bookshelf crowded with cookery books on all subjects. And beneath his kitchen sink, very casually placed were expensive-looking Scotch bottles with impressive labels. Seeing my curiosity over his improvised bar, Behram gave me a lop-sided half-smile and said he maintained it because friends came by and helped themselves to his whisky. There were possibly half a dozen people who possessed the latch key to his apartment. Yes, Behram was unconventional, almost Bohemian in his lifestyle.

It took me a while, almost two years into marriage, to realise how highly respected Behram was as a food writer. All of Bombay's hotel and restaurant industry seemed to know him and be genuinely in awe of him. The five-star hotel owners and managing directors, big and small restaurateurs, celebrity chefs who spent time in dining rooms and cooks who never stepped outside kitchens, maitre d's, bartenders, waiters, F&B people at gymkhanas and clubs. Even the burly Sardarji doormen at hotels I noticed, welcomed and sent us off with warmer smiles and salaams than usual. It was quite an exciting experience to go eating out with Behram.

Not when he was working, though. Behram was thoroughly professional then. He would bury his head in his notepad and take down notes while restaurant proprietors, chefs and waiters talked and talked and talked. About 90 per cent of his work was done by talking. Behram would taste the food only after he had finished taking down copious notes. Later, in office he would write on an empty stomach... His writing was unpretentious. It was simple and straight forward. And in detail, exactly as was told to him. Yes, Behram was unequalled. His writings had the magical ability of conveying the ambience and service of the restaurant under review. And his grasp and understanding of ingredients and spices, and their tastes, flavours and aromas, gave his descriptions of the food a zesty finish that made the reader want to go and eat there immediately! Naturally, this changed the fortunes of many restaurateurs. I saw it happening often enough. Behram delighted in reviewing restaurants that readers were not exposed to. These were small and unknown, often hole-in-the-wall places. He put these eateries on the map, made slumming fashionable.

I remember the case of Trishna. It was a Busybee discovery. At first, an average Mangalorean seafood restaurant that drew in Malabari hawkers and small-time stock brokers. The speciality of the house was a Crab Butter-Pepper-Garlic that cost Rs. 55. Then Behram brought it to people's notice. And overnight, the clientele changed to advertising and marketing chiefs, bankers, artists and theatre bigwigs, captains of industry, famous cricketers and film stars, outstation industrialists, and even visiting heads of state, Presidents and Kings! Trishna's interiors have undergone renovation three times since then, and one expansion. And the Crab Butter-Pepper-Garlic when Behram took Ismail Merchant there for lunch last year, I noticed, cost over Rs. 1,400!

I am also asked what were Behram's eating habits like at home. I'm afraid, I disappoint his fans when I tell them that they were simple. He was really a dal-chawal man. He ate whatever I served, with no fuss. And his favourite food was a Fish Curry Rice that I made. The curry was of coconut milk, it was thin, and it had the lightest of masala. I would add a zing to it by using kokum ka khatta. Behram used to say that it was like nothing he had eaten before. He was also extremely fond of dal-chawal with any two sabzis. "Get telwala tuvar dal," he would insist, "and don't wash it, it has got tel in it." I used to make this for him with a baghar of garlic in a generous blob of rich and pure Parsi Dairy ghee. How he loved it!

More than lunch and dinner, Behram was a breakfast person. Sunday mornings were big with him. He looked forward to a full breakfast. Loved fresh, soft bread, lots of butter, of course eggs, and yes cream. Layers and layers skimmed off rich milk standing in the fridge overnight. Tea had to be very strong. And cheese.

Whenever we went abroad, he would shop for cheese and butter like other food connoisseurs did for fine wines and cigars. He also picked up tins of caviar, pate de foie gras and smoked salmon. This was the height of exotic food for him at home. Rest of the time, he liked the food to be relatively simple. "Keep the menu simple, don't cook too many things," he used to advise me when we entertained and I worried over the menu.

And Behram was a Johnnie Black and soda man. That was his drink. His well-stocked bar at home overflowed onto the floor with bottles of Scotch that friends, relatives and admirers presented to him. I don't think Behram ever bought any liquor himself. He had two drinking rules that I will always go by: never drink alone, at home; and never drink when you are sad. In fact he considered just him and me �alone�. So we never drank at home �alone together�. Though largely reticent, in the presence of drinking companions Behram became scintillating company. He would regale them with stories, have them roaring and rolling and be in great spirits himself, and the more he drank, the wittier, happier and more endearing he would get. He could hold his drink. I never once saw him drunk or make a fool of himself.

Behram�s favourite cuisine? No one cuisine that he was particularly crazy about. For him it was backward integration. Moon Yu Tham of Mandarin was his best friend, so he liked Chinese food. Camembert Dariole at Zodiac Grill was his weakness, so he favoured French cooking. But Turkish cuisine, perhaps, he was most partial to. Istanbul was his favourite city because of its food and people. The interesting mix of Middle East and Europe fascinated him.

Behram of course knew all about the food of these foreign cities even before he visited them. He was a voracious reader and used to research well. He could even pronounce the names of the dishes! Incredibly, years later he could recall the taste of these foods and describe them accurately. He had the sense of taste and he could conjure them from his mind. Not his palate or taste buds. Going abroad was such fun. Behram made a celebration even of an Economy-class in-flight meal.

Finally, to address the question whether Behram could cook. I wish I knew. At home, he rarely ventured into the kitchen. Whenever I travelled on UpperCrust work, I worried about his meals. I used to prepare a refrigerator full of food and go. All that was required of him was to warm this up and serve himself. But even then I would be anxious, since he never ate because he had to or because it was time to, but only when he really wanted to. Often he would go hungry for long stretches. So when I called from Delhi, Bangalore, Calcutta and asked Behram if he had eaten, he would reply, tongue firmly in cheek, "Two minutes!" No, he had not cooked Maggie Noodles, he had merely mastered the art of using the microwave.

But perhaps, Kavita, my maid at home, knows better. She was making breakfast for me the other day, and while I watched, she confidently flipped an omelette in the pan so it cooked perfectly on either side to get a healthy golden brown colour. �How did you manage to do that?� I asked in amazement, for Kavita had never before demonstrated such culinary genius in my kitchen. �Saab taught me how to,� she replied, and left me wondering all over again...