Lessons from a Roadside Restaurant
When we drive to Bangalore by car from Chennai, on the Chennai-Bangalore side of the highway, we find this roadside motel called ‘ Murugan Idli Shop’. The chain started about 10 years ago, and has earned a brand for hot piping idlis. There are hundreds of motels along the way. But this experience stands out.
“Mama, I know you used to ride the bus. Riding the bus and it’s hot and bumpy and crowded and too noisy and more than anything in the world you want to get off and the only reason in the world you don’t get off is it’s still fifty blocks from where you’re going? Well, I can get off right now if I want to, because even if I ride fifty more years and get off then, it’s the same place when I step down to it. Whenever I feel like it, I can get off. As soon as I’ve had enough, it’s my stop. I’ve had enough.”
― Marsha Norman, ‘night, Mother
The road trips between Chennai and Bengaluru have become few and far between, as we now ride the trains mostly. We take private buses because of their delays — they wait to pick every passenger who sets the clock back by at least 10 minutes and normally a 30 to 45 minute delay is factored right from the start.
Then the motels — Grade B motels where a masala-allergic person like me gets the allergens, but always tempted to eat something that appeals to the aural senses. The choice is limited.
Add to that some loud music or a movie played — you cannot sleep or make any phone calls ( even though I avoid considering the nature of my business).
Last problem in a bus road trip is the bladder. In a train or when you drive in a car, you don’t have the problems — train has its own toilets, and we can park the car in a convenient spot. Buses stop in that motel where food is allergic ( to me) and the attached rest rooms. And the users aren’t responsible either. In short, the smell punches your solar plexus and empties your gut.
“Road trips required a couple of things: a well-balanced diet of caffeine, salt and sugar and an excellent selection of tunes — oh, and directions.”
― Jenn McKinlay, Books Can Be Deceiving
Now, for South Indians, it would mean a solid filter coffee — the smell of the brewed blend of arabica or robusta beans with 10–30% chicory, made into a decoction, and added in tea spoonfuls into boiled milk and then with added sugar, and mixed in a unique fashion — the brew itself stronger than 2 to 3 shots of espresso; is the caffeine and sugar for the journey.
Then the salt — South Indians add salt into their food — and the most popular of them is ‘Idli’. Essentially a rice cake, it has a unique ingredient of rice dough mixed with tinge of salt — the salt is a little supplement for health and more to the taste-craving South Indian tongue.
Now, as I had touched upon earlier, there are many highway motels and restaurants. But this one, Murugan Idli shop in Chennai — Bangalore highway, is unique. The quality of food — is excellent. The hotels and the rest rooms are clean and tidy; the waiters are smiling and professional.
Good food — salt, sugar and caffeine, smiling service and clean facilities are absolutely good but they are essential — that is what make us hit this joint — we always make it to breakfast. But these are essentially existential good qualities. What is then the lesson from this? The existential good is when you have the client says ‘ you are good’. It means that we will turn up again and again. But there is something more in this restaurant that makes is unique.
When we entered the hotel, we found our corner and sat. Then the smiling waiter walked up to us and asked what we want. We ordered our staple breakfast. They came — tickling our taste and aural buds; stirring the stomach acids eager to break the 12 hour fast.
Then the second waiter appeared. He brought the additional ‘podi’ — ‘powder’ in Tamil. The Podi is a favorite side dish — chilli, dal and few other varieties. This was priced; and put yourself in the customer’s place — all of us said yes. Add about 25 Rs to our bill.
Then came another waiter, with some piping hot halwa ( a sweet delicacy); the aura is overpowering. And it melted one of our hearts ; he said yes. The halwa was a killer — hot, sweet and a sensual delight — both gustatory and olfactory. When one of us said yes, it was only a matter of time, a lump of halwa was on our plates. Add another 250 Rs to our bill.
With the basic breakfast — idli or pongal and these add-ons, we were so happy and then the high quality filter- coffee followed. The bill was a balloon, and well, if anybody had a budget in mind ( like Rs 250), they had almost 3x of their bill — ended up with lighter wallets, but filled bellies and satisfied tongues and noses.
“Everyone is in such a good mood when they’ve eaten well.”
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Vocation of a Gadfly
The delicacies from the Murugan Idli Shop kitchen were one; the way the waiters pass it under your nose and eyes to tickle your buds is another; like bees to honey, we all fell for it. Beyond existential good, this was customer delight. We never felt bad about the lighter wallets, but we felt sumptuous and happy and the aftertaste was very, very good.
What do we learn from this? There is the existential good for any business, and there is the ‘beyond existential delight’ that inflates the customer experience and the business, in turn. I will leave the interpretation of the numbers and lessons to the reader.
~ Ashok Subramanian
