Small Tastes of the Novel Experience

Yasmin reached out to grasp a brass ring, but then hesitated when faced with the intricate lock mechanism, certainly crafted by former masters. She tried to peek through the keyhole, but then, to her surprise, one of the doors opened with a profound click.
A man wearing white gloves and holding a silver tray appeared. “Welcome to The Spice Temple. We’ve been expecting you,” he said.
He handed her a small, blue and white porcelain plate. She looked down to find it bearing a warm golden pastry – too small to bite in half, but big enough for a mouthful. Two thin strips of nori seaweed wrapped it as if it were a gift, but instead of a bow, a small edible flower topped the creation. She wondered what delicious secrets it held within.
She placed the delicacy in her mouth and was immediately overcome by the most heavenly combination of flavors she had ever tasted. The outside was flaky and gave way to a warm, gentle cream. The filling had something smooth, then crunchy. The flavors shifted from pungent to sweet, with subtle notes of citrus. The taste sensation finished with sweet umami and something that tickled the palate. The welcoming gesture had both surprised and comforted Yasmin. She did not know what this strange flavor shifter was, and did not care.
When she looked up, she saw that the man had disappeared. The cat placed a paw on Yasmin’s shoe and looked up and tilted his head as if saying, ‘It is time.’ She turned and gazed at the garden once more before taking those next definitive steps. Although she had only sought a short reprieve, life sometimes has other plans.

They entered the first room of the Spice Temple that welcomed all guests. The Salon – a unique amalgam of drawing room, literature café and lounge – was adorned with artefacts so unique that each piece seemed to have a story to tell. At the center of the room, a round wooden table carried a collection of gilded wooden candleholders. The candles were lit throughout the day, and Yasmin stopped for a moment to rekindle one that had lost its flame.
Her gaze followed the candlelight that was reflected above in a gold leaf dome. Just below, arches – like long gothic fingers – reached down to frame the stained-glass windows. Rumor held that they had come from an old church, reputed to have healing powers. Commerce came and the church went, but the sacred glass was somehow saved and found its way to the Spice Temple.

Ishan walked past a small Indian take-away and was reminded of how the idea to open a restaurant came to him. He had been frustrated by the Europeanized versions of Indian dining pervasive in his adopted homeland. Standard Punjabi or Bangladeshi curries were served in the same copper pots, often greasy and devoid of any bold flavors. The decor of hanging mirrored cloth, time-worn Indian Tourist Board posters, and faded plants in the windows was like the food – starved of color and light, and ultimately uninspired. Ishan quickly realized that he had left behind the desert sands of Rajasthan for a washed out culinary desert.
Knowing that Indian cuisine had far more to offer, Ishan longed for flavors more authentic and inspired. He thought back fondly to the years of his childhood, traveling with his father. The climates, religions and traditions transformed the cuisine, some changes occurring within just a few kilometers. His mouth watered, thinking of the fiery Kashmiri chilies of the north, the fish and sweets of Bangladesh, and the generous ghee and butter used in creamy Punjab dishes. He had sampled Delhi street food and enjoyed the snacks and sweet undertones of Gujarati cuisine. The cuisine of the Mughals was rich with the use of fragrant saffron, nuts and dried fruits. In his own Rajasthan, he had savored special recipes of the Maharajas. The thought of the coconut and fresh seafood of Kerala, with the special touch of his grandmother, always brought a smile to his face.
Ishan had started to cook for himself and introduced his newly made friends to his culinary world. Showered with compliments, he began to realize that his true calling was not to engineer black and white bits and bytes, but rather to create with colorful spices and flavors. The need to be creative, and not follow the path of the “international consultant,” awoke within him.
With some savings, and a small loan from his father, Ishan was ready to create. He thought back to his first home, the large mansion of the extended family in Rajasthan. It was a place of childhood memories, celebration and intrigue. It had always been welcoming, at least for him. He decided to give his restaurant, his home away from home, the namesake of that special place. The Haveli, meaning palace, became his homage to his family and culture.

Rafael and Jeremy made their way through the open-plan office to their favorite coffee corner. It was an ideal spot for observing, as it was tucked away from the peering eyes of senior management. (…)
Just as they were about to get their second cup of coffee, Bryce joined them. He had just left the academic world and was still getting accustomed to his new work environment, and colleagues.
Rafael and Jeremy fleetingly greeted him, but then turned their attention to Rita, a senior assistant, who was leading a young woman into the room. New hires were commonly introduced in the mornings, and recent graduates, in particular, were hard to miss with their fresh, yet nervous, enthusiasm.
This new recruit was dressed in a dark blue skirt suit and heels, with a string of pearls hanging loosely from her long neck. Rafael and Jeremy fell silent as they watched her greet her new colleagues with a warm smile and a wide-eyed expression of hope and anticipation.
Rita led her away around the corner, and Jeremy craned his neck. “Well, there goes a nice, new piece of eye candy!” he said, while the others followed his gaze.
“Yes, very sweet…” said Jeremy again, as he nodded to himself.
Bryce frowned at their leering expressions. “I fear too sweet for this place,” but his quip went largely ignored.
“So, you think she’s sweet?” said Rafael to Jeremy, with a turned shoulder to Bryce. “Interested in facilitating a transformation?”
“Oh, now that could be fun! What do you have in mind?” said Jeremy.
Bryce maneuvered away from Rafael’s shoulder. “What do you mean transformation?”
They snickered, continuing to ignore him, so Bryce tried again, this time a bit louder. “Excuse me. Transformation? What kind of transformation?”
Rafael sighed and rolled his eyes. “To turn her into one of us, Bryce.”
Jeremy gave Rafael a sharp look and put his arm around Bryce. “Yes, to introduce her to the ways of the world – like a kind of education. We have so much to share,” he said and flashed a wink at Rafael. “So, I’ll take her under my wing and show her how to fly.”
Rafael spluttered a little as he took a sip of his coffee. “So much to share, indeed. What good colleagues we are!”

Chapter 1: Awakenings

Be introduced to Yasmin and her arrival at The Spice Temple.

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