Colaba

Cafe Mondegar, where the "cosmopolitan" (read: obnoxious) downtown is on full display, is a great spot at which to meet, and an even better one from which to escape. Just around the corner is the sizzling, shimmering Bademiya, equal parts institution and mirage. My first time there, I had picked a taxiwallah at random and asked for the "sab se famous" kebab joint. He pulled it out of thin air with his index finger. Just behind the Taj, down an alley I must have walked past a hundred times without noticing a thing. It's like India's take on the exiles' colony from Atlas Shrugged.

Waiters, wearing laminated menu cards around their necks, helpfully steer you to a "table," meaning a seat on the bumper of a van set up inside with a stainless steel counter on milk crates, or around a hood popped and jacked up to horizontal with a Thums Up bottle. The rest of the block is parked up with everyone from club kids ordering from behind tinted windows to their grandmothers, enjoying the same chicken reshmi in the back seats as their drivers up front.

What you get for Rs. 50 is reasonable by Bombay standards. The seekh kebab resembles a burger more than it ought—a consequence of grilling until well-done instead of sealing in a tandoor—but makes for great late-night fare. And even if the rumali roti are a little rubbery, they're big enough to finish off the plate of garnish: thinly shredded onions (why do most places here give you the impenetrable purple core?), nimbu wedges, coriander chutney, and "gravy."

I can't complain. Even if I miss the last train from Churchgate (00h45) I can still catch the #1 Ltd. back to Bandra, and catch a vivid glimpse of late-night Bombay—thinly sliced, just the way I like it—on the way up.