The Food of Love

How a marriage of minds, and the occasional squabble over recipes, gave birth to one of the country's most celebrated dining rooms.

By Jamie Maw; photograph by Brian Howell

IN THE CONVERSATION THIS MORNING at a small restaurant in Vancouver’s South Granville neighbourhood the man supplies the vowels, his wife the consonants. He wanders, colouring his language with his hands and eyes, eyes that engage—often zealously—and miss little. She defines his perimeters with her own, darker eyes, supportive but never deferential. The restaurant still has the tousled look of the night before, a night of controlled abandon, the kind of passion that you might expect from a still-exciting marriage: it knocked the tables and chairs out of alignment; shiny knives and forks and colourful candle holders lie on the bartop like abandoned jewellery. It is 11 o’clock in the morning on the floor of Vij's, perhaps Canada’s most internationally famous restaurant.

In 1994, Meeru Dalawala and her now-husband Vikram Vij, both 42, met through their mothers, who were childhood friends in India. For the preceding decade Dalawala had commuted among India, Washington, D.C. and Europe, completing advanced degrees in Third-World developmental studies at several universities, including post-grad work in Bath. In 1994 she was working for an aid agency in D.C. that oversaw projects throughout Africa, including two in Rwanda during the time of the genocide. All of the agency’s Rwandan staff were killed. Dalawala arrived in Vancouver later that year.

After stints in Europe and two-and-a-half years at Bishop’s, Vikram Vij had opened his first restaurant. Vij had soul-searched and dithered a while. Finally John Bishop told him, “You can do it.” In a tiny, 14-seat West Broadway space, he did do it—shopping, schlepping, prepping, cooking, serving, cleaning—if barely surviving. “My break-even point was $100 a day,” he recollects. “My first day I made just $37 in sales. And there were many days where I’d fall a few dollars short of break-even. So I’d top it up with my tips to convince myself—and my dad—that I knew what I was doing.”

The unlicensed room (although gewürztraminer-filled teapots were not unknown) slowly attracted Vancouver’s food cognoscenti. Word got around about the bright Indian kitchen cooking, but we also went to see the young man with an ambition to “have the best Indian restaurant in Vancouver,” as Vikram writes in the introduction to the couple’s new book, Vij’s—Elegant and Inspired Indian Cooking.

Meeru and Vikram fell in love. In their book they tell the story of their fledgling romance, kindled over late-night picnics at Spanish Banks long after the restaurant had closed. They also talk of the recipes that bound them. And they each write an introduction, both endearing, the loquacious Vikram’s rather longer: “Our recipes, developed and refined over the past 10 years, are as close to our hearts as our marriage. I don’t know what other newlyweds talk about, argue about or discuss for hours on end, but Meeru and I built our relationship through our recipes. Our first argument, hurt feelings and personal accomplishments all occurred at Vij’s while we were coming up with our recipes.”

They married months later, in December 1994, and quickly expanded, adding two daughters and then, in 2004, their casual, all-day restaurant, Rangoli, as well as a successful sideline in take-away curries and chutneys.

Meeru began her culinary career a decade ago, as a self-avowed novice. She knew only the basics. Her knowledge came quickly, and the new book is proof; virtually all the recipes are her creation. Meeru’s education would strongly colour an underlying business philosophy to which the couple stubbornly adheres to: No reservations. “It’s egalitarian and it will stay that way. Some nights it creates friction. We’ve had big shots try to bribe us, and princes and celebrities wait for a table alongside neighbours. It works equally for all.”

At first, the menus at Vij’s—while delighting its customers—created consternation among other Indian restaurateurs. “They said we weren’t ‘authentic,’” Vikram says. “Or ‘traditional.’ But the truth is we were serving what you’d eat in an Indian kitchen—I began with my mother’s recipes, after all. It’s really elevated home cooking made with prime ingredients.” This was largely true. Indian restaurant cooking in Vancouver had become dependent on heavily creamed sauces, poor cuts of meat, too much heat and muddy flavours. Indo-Canadians used Indian restaurants for occasion dining, “for a night out” as Vij says. “They wanted to order things they wouldn’t typically eat at home, such as a rich butter chicken, or anything from the tandoori.”

Meeru and Vikram figured out another form of marriage quickly, and revolutionized the Caucasian perception of Indian cookery by carefully layering flavours and interweaving top-drawer ingredients. The clarity of the food seemed brilliant by comparison; there was an absolute aversion to hiding behind the butter and heavy heat found elsewhere. It was as if they had crafted a baton where others used a plank.

But there was more, born from the force of personality that is Vikram Vij. He is the first thing you’ll see when you arrive at Vij’s, by night in kurta pyjamas and always-interesting shoes. And through the night he will visit your table, briefly, charmingly explaining the order of proceedings, the cuisine, new additions, even helping plan a little menu to your taste. It is here that he plays his master card, ensuring that the dishes come out in the appropriate order, with more subtly spiced dishes first, hotter or more substantial meat dishes last. It is an education in Indian cuisine, but what Vij and Dhalwala innately understood (especially after witnessing the small plates revolution in the late-1990s) was accessibility. “Let me in and make it easy” was what city diners demanded. And so they did.

The first shift of kitchen staff—“the aunties”—begins preparation for the day ahead at 6:30 a.m., peeling vegetables (including buckets of ginger and garlic cloves, one-by-one, for the way garlic is prepped will affect the taste of the curries), washing small forests of cilantro and grinding and roasting off spices. The preparation of Indian food is labour-intensive; the combined operation, including their Rangoli take-away business, now employs 72 people. The couple have instituted a benefits program that keeps their staff motivated and loyal in an industry that is often a war of attrition.

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