A New Start

FT: Starbucks goes skinny as froth withers

Starbucks goes skinny as froth withers

By Jonathan Birchall in New York

Published: July 2 2008 20:05 | Last updated: July 2 2008 20:05

As US consumer demand started to falter last summer, Starbucks was opening new company-owned stores in the US at the rate of three a day.

But on Tuesday the world’s largest coffee retailer decisively put its foot on the brake, with Peter Bocian, chief financial officer, bidding farewell to the era of growth that has made Starbucks’ green and white sign a symbol of urban America.

EDITOR’S CHOICE

Starbucks to close 600 US stores - Jul-02

Kuwait business takes Starbucks to Russia - Jun-11

Starbucks curtails its musical ambitions - Apr-25

Starbucks blames slowing economy for fall in sales - Apr-24

Starbucks in drive to improve ‘experience’ - Mar-19

Starbucks plans revamp amid falling US sales - Jan-30

“We believe with the stores we have today, and incrementally [adding] a couple of hundred more per year, we will have the right answer for Starbucks in the United States,” he said.

In its coming 2009 fiscal year, which starts in October, it plans to open fewer than 200 new US company-operated locations, down from this year’s reduced target of 650, and the more than 1,000 US company-operated stores that opened in both 2006 and 2007.

Starbucks also plans to close 600 stores, many of them less than two years old, leaving a network of more than 6,600 company-run stores in the US, as well as more than 4,000 licensed outlets in locations such as airports, bookstores and supermarkets.

Mr Bocian argued the decision to close stores and slow growth reflected more than the current economic climate, following a detailed review of local market factors by the company’s real estate team.

“We believe absolutely that we’re seeing a major impact from the economy,” he told investors and analysts. But, he added, the decision to close the 600 stores had been taken because of other factors too. “We didn’t believe it was all economy”.

Those factors include proximity to other stores – reflecting Starbucks original readiness to allow new openings to cannibalise about 30 per cent of the traffic at existing stores as a way of reducing lines and improving customer service.

This aspect of the cutbacks in planned growth mirrors similar decisions by two very different but equally ubiquitous US retailers – Wal-Mart, and Home Depot, the home improvement chain.

Over the past year the two largest US retailers have slowed new store expansion plans and capital investment, with Home Depot saying in May it would close 15 of its underperforming superstores. Like Starbucks, both Wal-Mart and Home Depot are approaching saturation coverage of the available markets, with new stores taking some customer traffic away from existing outlets.

But at the same time, the slowdown in demand is manifesting itself in a string of store closures and trimmed expansion plans from retailers that are more clearly linked to economic conditions.

JC Penney, the mainstream department store, said last week, for instance, that it was planning to open 20, rather than 50 stores in 2009, and was halving capital spending plans.

Other retailers have also announced the closure of underperforming stores, including Ann Taylor, Liz Claiborne and Talbots, the women’s fashion retailers and Zales, the jewellers.

Richard Hastings, consumer strategist at Global Hunter Securities, noted that the current inflationary environment, combined with slowing demand, was making capital expenditure reductions increasingly attractive to retailers. Cutting store costs and expenditure on new stores were “the most logical next steps in this story once you saw demand begin to decline in the summer of 2007”.

Starbucks says it is not actively expecting any further closures, but will be closely monitoring the performance of its remaining US store portfolio. Its international expansion plans also remain unchanged, with a further 950 new licensed and company-owned stores opening this year, including its first store in Argentina.

It also argues that its store development team will be more effective, under a new president of global development, Arthur Rubenfeld, a veteran of its 1990s expansion, who recently rejoined the company.

Mr Bocian also said Starbucks would be looking at further cost-cutting measures under Howard Schultz, its chief executive, that are aimed at restoring the reputation of the brand battered by its expansion.

“We understand we are in a tough economic environment and have to innovate and invest but also work on things we can control.”

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2008

FT; Coca-Cola

Coca-Cola

Published: July 1 2008 09:33 | Last updated: July 1 2008 19:31

Muhtar Kent should not take it personally. On his first day behind the desk as Coca-Cola’s new chief executive, shares in the drinks group sank to their lowest point in just over a year. Much like a new president inheriting a disastrous legacy, however, that trough ought to play to Mr Kent’s advantage. Not because he can blame his predecessor – he enjoys a good relationship with Neville Isdell, who remains as chairman. And the transition has been smooth, exceptionally so by Coke’s standards.

Rather, Mr Kent inherits a group that has recovered well but now faces headwinds largely beyond his control. In the US, structural decline in sales of carbonated soft drinks has been reinforced by an economic slowdown forcing Americans to trade down to cheaper brands and eat out less often. Meanwhile, investors are nervous about the impact of rising prices on consumers in faster-growing emerging markets, their concerns heightened by gloomy outlooks from some of Coke’s bottling partners.

Such pessimism, with Coke’s stock now trading at a lower multiple of earnings than during its meltdown of 2004, ignores Coke’s defensive qualities – and the role Mr Kent can play. Only a fifth of Coke’s operating profit is derived from North America, considerably less than for arch-rival PepsiCo. While Coke does not enjoy Pepsi’s exposure to snacks, the flip side is less pain from rising crop costs. Similarly, the warnings from Coke’s bottlers have more to do with their exposure to plastic and aluminium costs than slumping sales.

Mr Kent’s background in bottling provides the first chance to make his mark. Low-margin bottlers are in the business of picking up pennies. Applying that mindset more rigorously to Coke’s marketing-led model should yield efficiencies.

Longer-term, Mr Kent’s strategic challenge is like that faced by Microsoft – what to do when you sell the soft drink equivalent of Windows in a mature market? Fortunately, Coke’s strong balance sheet and free cash flow provide the necessary tools. In the meantime, streamlining the existing operation should give investors a short-term rush.

Within his first month, Mr Isdell made two substantial changes, appointing a new head of human resources who would report directly to him - giving him close control over what he calls "the people equation" - and creating a new "bottling investment group" to repair the relationship between the two halves of the business.

His next move was to create a shared agreement among Coke's own people about what needed to be done. It was important, he says, to focus on the obvious question of what exactly Coca-Cola was, and what it was not, in spite of a clamour of calls from investors and analysts for action on everything from Coke's assertive board to its lack of non-carbonated beverages.

Before his arrival, he says, Coke had various strategic statements about its purpose. "But there was [no] coherence to them and . . . there were clearly mixed messages out there."

So in the summer of 2004, 150 of Coke's top managers were brought together for three days in Miami, for a series of discussions on a new "manifesto". In the break-out sessions, Mr Isdell sat listening to people "pour out what they felt was wrong". "That is an important part of the rebuilding process . . . And then you say, 'here's what you said is wrong with our business . . . so what are we going to do about it'? "

As Mr Isdell prepares to stand down, he says that the toughest period came 18 months after he took over, when Wall Street and the media could see no measurable improvements. Then, he said, he focused on keeping people on course, by preparing them for a difficult stage that he argues is part of every turnround effort.

"You know it's working. But most people don't believe it's working . . . That's when people tend to panic, and go back to short termism. And then you have to stick with it . . . I talked to everyone a lot about that, just to make sure I kept those people with me."

==

Final encore for a man of the people

By Jonathan Birchall in New York

Published: June 9 2008 03:00 | Last updated: June 9 2008 03:00

Neville Isdell is an imposing figure; more than six feet tall and solidly built, he is often referred to in the media as a former rugby player, a reference to his sporting days at university in South Africa. But as he prepares to step down after four years as chief executive of Coca-Cola, it is a more nuanced biographical detail that he prefers to accentuate.

"My major was sociology; I'm a qualified social worker," he says. "I do think it is all about people."

When he took the helm in June 2004, many of the people at Coke were not very happy. Neither were the board nor the shareholders. Nor were the independent bottlers who mix and distribute Coke, Sprite and the group's other leading brands.

The world's biggest soft drink company seemed to have lost its way after the dramatic global expansion in the 1990s under Roberto Goizueta. Sales of sparkling drinks in the US were in decline and its marketing was uninspired. Its strategy was unclear: Coke had lost out to PepsiCo in a battle for Gatorade and had abandoned a botched attempt to launch its Dasani water brand in Europe. There was also a simmering war going on with its independent bottlers over price increases.

Mr Isdell, a former senior bottling executive who turns 65 this month, was enticed out of retirement by a board that wanted a CEO who knew both sides of the Coke system - meaning both CocaCola and the bottlers.

He says he had a clear idea about what he wanted to achieve, and how he intended to go about it. "You don't want to come and do quick fixes. When I accepted I agreed with the board that I was going to set it up for the long term and I believe that I have," he says.

Within his first month, Mr Isdell made two substantial changes, appointing a new head of human resources who would report directly to him - giving him close control over what he calls "the people equation" - and creating a new "bottling investment group" to repair the relationship between the two halves of the business.

His next move was to create a shared agreement among Coke's own people about what needed to be done. It was important, he says, to focus on the obvious question of what exactly Coca-Cola was, and what it was not, in spite of a clamour of calls from investors and analysts for action on everything from Coke's assertive board to its lack of non-carbonated beverages.

Before his arrival, he says, Coke had various strategic statements about its purpose. "But there was [no] coherence to them and . . . there were clearly mixed messages out there."

So in the summer of 2004, 150 of Coke's top managers were brought together for three days in Miami, for a series of discussions on a new "manifesto". In the break-out sessions, Mr Isdell sat listening to people "pour out what they felt was wrong". "That is an important part of the rebuilding process . . . And then you say, 'here's what you said is wrong with our business . . . so what are we going to do about it'? "

Mr Isdell's people skills are integral to his management style. He is at pains to put people at their ease, a characteristic shown by his habit of waiting outside the interview room to greet his guests.

He can also still deliver an authentic Northern Irish accent, although he left his birthplace for southern Africa at the age of 10.

After leaving university, Mr Isdell joined Coke's local bottler in Zambia in 1966, and six years later became general manager of Coca-Cola Bottling of Johannesburg, the largest Coke bottler in Africa. Subsequently, he held positions in Australia, the Philippines and Germany, before moving to Europe and spearheading the expansion of Coke into new markets in India, the Middle East and eastern Europe and Russia in the 1990s.

By the time he retired for the first time in 2001, he was vice- chairman of Coca-Cola HBC, the company's leading European bottler. He was running his own Barbados-based investment company when he was called back by Coke.

Mr Isdell's long history at the company strengthened his resolve to focus on core products. At one break-out session in Miami, managers echoed Wall Street analysts who were suggesting that Coke should try to emulate Pepsi's acquisition of the Frito-Lay snack company, which reduced its dependency on the historically declining fizzy drinks business.

"My reply was simply this: 'You're all telling me that we are not running our own business at all well. So why would we buy another business, and think we could run that any better than the people who are there? Unless, you're telling me that we need to get their management to come and run our business.'

"That closed down that debate. That's where you swing it, and they say, 'Got it, we're clear'."

The new manifesto, by his own admission, "is not earth shattering"; it says, for instance, that the company will "reinvigorate growth . . . by building a portfolio of branded beverages, anchored in our icon, Coca-Cola". But, he says, "it does reflect who and what we are".

Armed with $400m in additional spending on marketing and innovation from the board, he helped select Weiden & Kennedy as Coke's new advertising agency - working with Mary Minnick, whom he had brought to Atlanta from Asia in May 2005 to head marketing and innovation.

Ms Minnick's proven talents created one of the toughest decisions of the four years - who would become the next chief executive.

Mr Isdell's preference was for Muhtar Kent, rather than Ms Minnick. The two had worked together at the Amatil-Europe bottling subsidiary, building market share in eastern Europe in the 1990s.

However, Mr Kent had left Coke in 1998 after a sale of Amatil shares led to his investigation by Australian regulators for alleged insider trading. But Mr Isdell was convinced of his former colleague's leadership potential and persuaded the boardthe younger man should return to Coke.

In 2006 Mr Kent was appointed chief operating officer and the following year was named international president. Though Ms Minnick subsequently left the company, Mr Isdell says he would have loved her to stay.

As Mr Isdell prepares to stand down, he says that the toughest period came 18 months after he took over, when Wall Street and the media could see no measurable improvements. Then, he said, he focused on keeping people on course, by preparing them for a difficult stage that he argues is part of every turnround effort.

"You know it's working. But most people don't believe it's working . . . That's when people tend to panic, and go back to short termism. And then you have to stick with it . . . I talked to everyone a lot about that, just to make sure I kept those people with me."

Under Mr Isdell, the company has recorded steady international sales growth of more than 4 per cent over the past 12 quarters. And while sales in the US are being depressed by the slowdown in economic demand, he argues that the key carbonated drinks business is "on track" for better results, supported by initiatives such as new bottle design.

Mr Isdell believes Mr Kent is, like himself, a man with people skills, and describes the UK-educated son of a Turkish diplomat as "ambassadorial".

"He's one of the world's great best networkers, and that's what you need in the business that we're in. He's really excellent at that."

Reputation-builder refused to be sidetracked by Olympic protest

Neville Isdell is an advocate of leading by listening. But he shows flashes of deep irritation when talking about the protesters who disrupted this year's Olympic torch relay, of which Coke is the leading international sponsor.

"I am really opposed to what the demonstrators have been doing. And I'm really opposed to the way they have treated the Chinese government as a result.

"It's the 3 to 4 per cent who try to influence the 96 per cent by utilising a symbol," he complains, comparing the protests to the "Killer Coke" campaign by student and labour activists that has led to a number of US campus boycotts of Coke products.

Under Mr Isdell, Coke has adopted a more engaged response to reputational issues. Last year, Coke joined the Business Leaders Initiative on Human Rights, formed a partnership with the WWF on water conservation, and set a goal of "water neutrality" for its own manufacturing plants.

"If you do those things, the other 96 per cent looks at you in a positive way, they see you in a positive part of society. And the siren song of that 4 per cent doesn't get that resonance."

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2008

NY Times: A Tiny Fruit That Tricks the Tongue

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/28/dining/28flavor.html?ex=1228190400&en=4cb4875dcee7443f&ei=5087&excamp=NYT-E-I-NYT-E-AT-0604-L1&WT.mc_ev=click&WT.mc_id=%20NYT-E-I-NYT-E-AT-0604-L1

==

A Tiny Fruit That Tricks the Tongue

Joe Fornabaio for The New York Times

RADISH, WHERE IS THY STING? At flavor-tripping parties, guests find that miracle fruit makes everything sweet.

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By PATRICK FARRELL and KASSIE BRACKEN

Published: May 28, 2008

CARRIE DASHOW dropped a large dollop of lemon sorbet into a glass of Guinness, stirred, drank and proclaimed that it tasted like a “chocolate shake.”

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Joe Fornabaio for The New York Times

HOW’S IT DO THAT? Franz Aliquo, who calls himself Supreme Commander, right, supplied miracle berries grown by Curtis Mozie, left, to party-goers in Long Island City, Queens, last weekend.

Joe Fornabaio for The New York Times

Those who attended sampled the red berries then tasted foods, including cheese, beer and brussels sprouts, finding the flavors transformed. Beer can taste like chocolate, lemons like candy. Mr. Aliquo says he holds the parties to “turn on a bunch of people’s taste buds.”

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Joe Fornabaio for The New York Times

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Joe Fornabaio for The New York Times

Nearby, Yuka Yoneda tilted her head back as her boyfriend, Albert Yuen, drizzled Tabasco sauce onto her tongue. She swallowed and considered the flavor: “Doughnut glaze, hot doughnut glaze!”

They were among 40 or so people who were tasting under the influence of a small red berry called miracle fruit at a rooftop party in Long Island City, Queens, last Friday night. The berry rewires the way the palate perceives sour flavors for an hour or so, rendering lemons as sweet as candy.

The host was Franz Aliquo, 32, a lawyer who styles himself Supreme Commander (Supreme for short) when he’s presiding over what he calls “flavor tripping parties.” Mr. Aliquo greeted new arrivals and took their $15 entrance fees. In return, he handed each one a single berry from his jacket pocket.

“You pop it in your mouth and scrape the pulp off the seed, swirl it around and hold it in your mouth for about a minute,” he said. “Then you’re ready to go.” He ushered his guests to a table piled with citrus wedges, cheeses, Brussels sprouts, mustard, vinegars, pickles, dark beers, strawberries and cheap tequila, which Mr. Aliquo promised would now taste like top-shelf Patrón.

The miracle fruit, Synsepalum dulcificum, is native to West Africa and has been known to Westerners since the 18th century. The cause of the reaction is a protein called miraculin, which binds with the taste buds and acts as a sweetness inducer when it comes in contact with acids, according to a scientist who has studied the fruit, Linda Bartoshuk at the University of Florida’s Center for Smell and Taste. Dr. Bartoshuk said she did not know of any dangers associated with eating miracle fruit.

During the 1970s, a ruling by the Food and Drug Administration dashed hopes that an extract of miraculin could be sold as a sugar substitute. In the absence of any plausible commercial application, the miracle fruit has acquired a bit of a cult following.

Sina Najafi, editor in chief of the art magazine Cabinet, has featured miracle fruits at some of the publication’s events. At a party in London last October, the fruit, he said, “had people testifying like some baptismal thing.”

The berries were passed out last week at a reading of “The Fruit Hunters,” a new book by Adam Leith Gollner with a chapter about miracle fruit.

Bartenders have been experimenting with the fruit as well. Don Lee, a beverage director at the East Village bar Please Don’t Tell, has been making miracle fruit cocktails on his own time, but the bar probably won’t offer them anytime soon. The fruit is highly perishable and expensive — a single berry goes for $2 or more.

Lance J. Mayhew developed a series of drink recipes with miracle fruit foams and extracts for a recent issue of the cocktail magazine Imbibe and may create others for Beaker & Flask, a restaurant opening later this year in Portland, Ore.

He cautioned that not everyone enjoys the berry’s long-lasting effects. Despite warnings, he said, one woman became irate after drinking one of his cocktails. He said, “She was, like, ‘What did you do to my mouth?’ ”

Mr. Aliquo issues his own warnings. “It will make all wine taste like Manischewitz,” he said. And already sweet foods like candy can become cloying.

He said that he had learned about miracle fruit while searching ethnobotany Web sites for foods he could make for a diabetic friend.

The party last week was his sixth “flavor tripping” event. He hopes to put on a much larger, more expensive affair in June. Although he does sell the berries on his blog, www.flavortripping.wordpress.com, Mr. Aliquo maintains that he isn’t in it for the money. (He said he made about $100 on Friday.) Rather, he said, he does it to “turn on a bunch of people’s taste buds.”

He believes that the best way to encounter the fruit is in a group. “You need other people to benchmark the experience,” he said. At his first party, a small gathering at his apartment in January, guests murmured with delight as they tasted citrus wedges and goat cheese. Then things got trippy.

“You kept hearing ‘oh, oh, oh,’ ” he said, and then the guests became “literally like wild animals, tearing apart everything on the table.”

“It was like no holds barred in terms of what people would try to eat, so they opened my fridge and started downing Tabasco and maple syrup,” he said.

Many of the guests last week found the party through a posting at www.tThrillist.com. Mr. Aliquo sent invitations to a list of contacts he has been gathering since he and a friend began organizing StreetWars, a popular urban assassination game using water guns.

One woman wanted to see Mr. Aliquo eat a berry before she tried one. “What, you don’t trust me?” he said.

She replied, “Well, I just met you.”

Another guest said, “But you met him on the Internet, so it’s safe.”

The fruits are available by special order from specialty suppliers in New York, including Baldor Specialty Foods and S. Katzman Produce. Katzman sells the berries for about $2.50 a piece, and has been offering them to chefs.

Mr. Aliquo gets his miracle fruit from Curtis Mozie, 64, a Florida grower who sells thousands of the berries each year through his Web site, www.miraclefruitman.com. (A freezer pack of 30 berries costs about $90 with overnight shipping.) Mr. Mozie, who was in New York for Mr. Gollner’s reading, stopped by the flavor-tripping party.

Mr. Mozie listed his favorite miracle fruit pairings, which included green mangoes and raw aloe. “I like oysters with some lemon juice,” he said. “Usually you just swallow them, but I just chew like it was chewing gum.”

A large group of guests reached its own consensus: limes were candied, vinegar resembled apple juice, goat cheese tasted like cheesecake on the tongue and goat cheese on the throat. Bananas were just bananas.

For all the excitement it inspires, the miracle fruit does not make much of an impression on its own. It has a mildly sweet tang, with firm pulp surrounding an edible, but bitter, seed. Mr. Aliquo said it reminded him of a less flavorful cranberry. “It’s not something I’d just want to eat,” he said.

===

FT: Sari nights and henna parties

Sari nights and henna parties

By Amy Yee

Published: May 17 2008 03:00 | Last updated: May 17 2008 03:00

On a recent spring afternoon the sound of hammers and saws drifted from my neighbour's house. This was not another example of the feverish construction that is changing the landscape of Delhi. Rather, it was part of a seasonal ritual that transforms homes all over India for the precious cool months of the year. The neighbours were preparing for a wedding.

Over the course of the day, carpenters built the frame for a tent and created a temporary foyer of white and red fabric. Trucks loaded with rolled carpets, bolts of cloth, bundles of flowers and assorted equipment pulled up and emptied their wares. In the evening guests were greeted by the bride's sisters dressed in colourful saris and throughout the night the sound of music and singing filled the air.

This is a common scene during India's wedding season, which lasts roughly from October to the end of May, before searing heat and monsoon rains set in. In recent months at houses on my street, and indeed all over India, tell-tale signs of weddings sprouted like spring flowers. An otherwise anonymous gate to one property on my street was strung with garlands of bright orange marigolds and dark green paan leaves. Another home was festooned with diaphanous fabric from its rooftops so it resembled a grand ship about to set sail.

Across cultures, marriage is one of life's most important rites of passage but in India it is a milestone for which middle-class families assiduously save for years, then go all out to host a marathon of parties and rituals leading up to the wedding.

As Indians become wealthier they are spending more to stage elaborate multi-day events leading up to the ceremony. India's $31bn wedding industry is growing at 25 per cent a year, according to a report in the Indian magazine The Week.

Today, a reception might be held at a hotel in order to accommodate hundreds of guests and the largest million-dollar weddings are held at venues such as country clubs that can accommodate thousands. But for many Indians, some part of the wedding festivities is still held at home.

"Home is where your memories are. You belong in that space," says Chiara Nath, who was married at her parents' home in New Delhi this spring. "The significance of every moment you spent at home before you leave becomes really poignant."

The mehndi , a party where the bride and female guests have their hands decorated with henna, is usually held at the home of the bride or her relatives. The sangeet , a party of singing and dancing that precedes the wedding, might also be held at home.

"One big reason to have the mehndi at home is to integrate the whole household into the wedding festivities. Relatives and friends gather to celebrate in a more intimate way," says Mohini Bhatia, whose sister Radhika got married in Delhi in March.

Yet even in family spaces the look and feel of Indian weddings is undergoing dramatic changes. For Hindu weddings, red and gold hues used to dominate the decor. The flower of choice was the marigold, an auspicious bloom typically used for religious offerings, strung into long garlands on the house.

But conventions are shifting. Rising incomes and greater awareness fostered by more travel have made many Indians more demanding and discerning. There are also more cross-regional marriages that might combine elements drawn from the different cultural traditions of the bride and groom.

In the past, weddings were organised by the bride's family. Now brides and bridegrooms can have more influence. Pastel shades and light fabrics might replace red and gold hues and heavy cloth. Themed celebrations might draw on different cultures and aesthetics. The ubiquitous marigold might be jettisoned for roses, orchids, lilies and gerbera daisies.

Amrish Pershad, a wedding planner who designed the sets for Mira Nair's 2002 film Monsoon Wedding , estimates wealthy upper middle-class Indians spend up to Rs600,000 (£7,300) on design and decor for a single event and as much as Rs2.5m-Rs3m (£30,500-£36,500) for all the expenses of one event, which might include food, drinks, music and service. The costs of the weddings of the wealthiest Indians could amount to the equivalent of millions of dollars, wedding planners say.

Preeti Singh, whose daughter married in Delhi this February, hired Pershad to help plan and co-ordinate six events, including the marriage ceremony. Five of them were held at her home in Delhi and her sister's farm - a sprawling estate complete with swimming pool on the outskirts of Delhi.

For a cocktail party at Singh's home metres of lime green and yellow fabric were draped from a second-floor balcony over the front yard to transform the house into a pastel cocoon. Pershad, originally a florist, covered the front gate with delicate roses and used hanging ivy and creepers to hide parts of the house from view. Instead of setting the residence ablaze with white lights, as per convention, he subtly interspersed strands of lights amid the ivy.

The farmhouse was the venue for the sangeet , which was themed around Buddha. Statues of the deity, paintings and candles were set up at the party, attended by 700 people who danced to Hindi pop music played by a disc jockey.

It was just one in a series of events in the week leading up to the wedding that transformed the farmhouse day after day, like a theatre set. The mehndi had an Indian "village" theme, where 350 guests ate, drank and mingled beneath large umbrellas made from old saris, "like in Mughal times", says Singh. "Vendors" gave guests bangles, hand-crafted shoes and hair ties as though a village mela (or "gathering" in Hindi) had been transported to Delhi. About 600 people attended the outdoor wedding reception, which had an "English" theme characterised by pink tablecloths, rose bouquets and a canopy draped in pink fabric.

Traditionally, the home of the bride's family would be open to visiting family members for about a week before the wedding but in return for access to an open house of eating, singing and celebration, relatives would take charge of organising food, decorations, flowers and other tasks. But times have changed. "Now no wedding goes without a wedding planner," says Singh. "In the old days you just had a caterer and the tent- wallah [wallah denotes a vocation in Hindi] would do the needful." Families used to cook for themselves. Now caterers are de rigueur and more exotic menus are in demand. "Now you have to have sushi, Chinese and continental food," adds Ms Singh. Pradeep Bedi, another Delhi-based wedding planner, says the marriage industry has gone through enormous changes in the past five years. "People are coming up with their own ideas. They are concerned about minute details now."

He attributes the shift in attitude to increased spending power of middle-class Indians, not to mention "Indian movies showing glamorous things".

Arab, Hollywood, Bollywood and a "crystal ball" are themes he has recently worked to produce. As expectations increase, so does the pressure to stage ever more opulent events. Although Singh says an impressive wedding means you've "said goodbye to [your daughter] in the best manner you could ever do", she also laments that they are becoming too commercialised.

But in another take on the tailoring of the modern Indian marriage celebration prompted by increasing affluence, Chiara Nath had a simple, elegant event at her parents' farmhouse on the outskirts of Delhi. Only 250 guests were at the sangeet and just 80 people attended the reception.

Nath said there was initially great resistance to the idea of such a small occasion from her parents. She was told she would offend a lot of people by restricting the guest list but Nath, a designer who lives in the coastal state of Goa, insisted on a pared-down event. "For me, none of that formality was necessary."

Her restrained aesthetics shocked Bedi, her wedding planner. She requested cream hues and gold accents for the reception tent, table cloths and chair covers. "Mr Bedi thought I was crazy," admitted Nath, explaining he thought the palette was too cold and drab, especially as white is the colour of funerals in India. "I said: 'It's OK. Less is more.' It was an exercise in patience," said Nath.

Ultimately, Bedi was converted to her vision. Weeks later he lauded the wedding as "subtle, simple and classy". And though the celebration was more restrained than most, the result was an intimate affair held at the bride's childhood home.

"I wanted it simple," said Nath. "I did what was most necessary to me."

Amy Yee is an FT correspondent in New Delhi

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2008

大姐 and 小妹

they were here!!

FT: In laksa heaven

In laksa heaven

By Madhur Jaffrey

Published: May 24 2008 03:00 | Last updated: May 24 2008 03:00

In the middle of Adelaide, bounded by Gouger and Grote streets, is Central Market, the city's pulsing heart. Built in 1869, as a food market it has outlasted Covent Garden in London and Les Halles in Paris. With its mix of cafés, sweet shops, meats, the freshest fruit and vegetables, and the occasional strolling players, it offers families a glorious one-stop mix of food, shopping and entertainment.

Central Market reflects how Australia has changed from being an outpost of the western, meat and potatoes world to somewhere that has become deliciously cosmopolitan with a very Asian slant.

On my first visit, about 11 years ago, I went looking for laksa. Having been told that Asian Gourmet, a small café at the market, cooked fresh pots of this Malaysian speciality daily, I hurried there as fast as I could and left with a smile of total satisfaction.

Imagine a large, steaming bowl of rice noodles with prawns and chicken and bean curd, immersed in a reddish, lemon grass-perfumed coconut curry sauce, as fiery and flavourful as a human hand can produce, topped with a mélange of raw, crunchy vegetables and herbs - bean sprouts, cucumber bits, sliced red chillies, spring onions and Vietnamese mint - served with a side of chilli sambal and lime slices.

This is curry laksa. There are many regional variations of this soupy, Malaysian noodle dish. I was introduced to my first bowl in Penang, the city's very own tamarind-soured assam laksa. Here was Asia's answer to southern France's fish soup, a very exotic version, where, instead of the dollop of the garlicky rouille on top, the soup had been showered with a fine julienne of a pink, highly aromatic, wild ginger flower and slivers of fresh, sour pineapple. I was won over on the spot. How was I to know that a few days later, a plane-ride away in Kuala Lumpur, I would be seduced by its sisterly southern version, curry laksa.

Since that time, I have been looking for laksas everywhere. I have made a quick meal of them at Malaysian airports on my way from here to there, I have eaten them in Singapore where they have a devoted following and then, to my great delight, I found them in Australia.

The family that prepared it was Malaysian, part of a wave of south-east Asian immigrants that have been arriving in Australia for several decades. Some set up small restaurants but others, more importantly, took over farming in the 1970s from earlier waves of older Greek and Italian immigrants. Kitchen gardens with Asian vegetables and herbs began mushrooming in Adelaide's western suburbs, noodles began to be extruded from machines at small Asian-owned factories and small workshops went into the business of producing bean sprouts.

Today, in Adelaide and its environs, where one in five "locals" is of foreign extraction, it is not uncommon to run into a Vietnamese farmer. I find myself driving north-west from Adelaide to Virginia where Hien Le has recently won the Australian Hydroponic Greenhouse Association National Young Achiever of the Year award. It was his father who was the migrant, a butcher with a piggery who arrived in 1981 and began to dream of a hydroponic farm but lacked the mastery of English needed to see it through.

The son has fulfilled his father's dream. In the humid greenhouses, Vietnamese workers quietly tend to hundreds of vines, seemingly rootless, magic stalks growing upwards and then outwards for easy harvesting, each loaded with either pendulous cucumbers or a bounty of tomatoes. In the semi shade of the cucumbers are spring onions, sorrel, Vietnamese mints and basils.

The bean sprouts, in another suburb, are harder to get to as the Chinese owner has perfected some unusual techniques to give the sprouts a longer shelf-life (10 days) and suspects that I might be a spy. He relents in stages, first sitting at his desk in a silent, Hamlet-like stance, tilting his head this way and that to read my real intentions, then unlocking just one room for me, then another and then another. I will not give any of his secrets away. I can say that on the whole, he sprouts his mung beans (which are grown in Queensland) just the way I do in my New York kitchen. In a seven-day process, these beans are soaked, allowed to sit in dark covered, rectangular colanders where they sprout as if underground and develop their white "tails", and are finally washed to free the original beans of their green skins.

In an effort to find the best laksa in Adelaide today, I return to the enclosed Central Market. With Lucia's Fine Food nearby to provide a fine cup of espresso afterwards, Asian Gourmet is there and still good.

I walk on the outer rim of the market, along Gouger Street, past an all-Asian supermarket, to Kopi Tim (168 Gouger Street.) The curry laksa sauce, flavoured here with dried anchovies, may be had with rice or wheat noodles or a mixture of the two. It is very, very good. I drain the last drop. Nothing could be better.

Well, not exactly. There is yet another spot to entice the laksa fanatic. It is in a recently created area in Central Market known as the Food Court. Let not the word "court" give any wrong ideas of exclusivity. In Singapore and Malaysia, food courts are plebeian affairs, of the people and for the people, created in the 1970s and 1980s to take street food hawkers and their carts off the roads, clean up their acts and put them in air-conditioned, sanitary and controllable surroundings.

In Adelaide's Central Market, the Singapore-Malaysian food court model has been imported, wholesale. It is large, crowded, noisy and impersonal, a massive rectangular hall lined with food stalls. You stand in line to buy your food at the stall of your choice and then take your filled containers and cutlery to shared tables and eat. No table manners required. Slurp at will.

Here, there is a food stall named Laksa House. It boasts a world of laksas, including seafood, vegetarian and, for my money (under A$7) the best curry laksa in town.

I ask for curry laksa with mee hoon noodle soup. I am given a bowl that could easily serve two, with a side of chilli-shrimp paste sambal and a chunk of lime. I teeter to the nearest table with my load. Pink prawns float about in the red liquid along with slices of chicken and melt-in-the-mouth, pasta-like forms of fish paste. The fried chunks of bean curd, having soaked in the numerous flavours and aromas, are now all soft and spongy. I stir a spoonful of the sambal (a pounded and sautéed mash of red chillies, dried shrimp and onion) into my laksa, squeeze some lime juice over the top, and, holding my whole head over the bowl to avoid drips, dig in with a pair of chopsticks and a Chinese spoon. Nothing could be better. I am in laksa heaven.

Madhur Jaffrey is the author of a memoir 'Climbing the Mango Trees' and 'Madhur Jaffrey's Far Eastern Cookery'

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2008

FT:How airlines try to curry favour with high-fliers

How airlines try to curry favour with high-fliers

By Rhymer Rigby

Published: May 20 2008 03:00 | Last updated: May 20 2008 03:00

Frequent flyers will have noticed some changes in airline food over the past couple of years. In economy, the meal has often shrivelled or disappeared altogether. But for those who turn left when getting on planes, in-flight meals in business and first class have got better as airlines enlist the help of celebrity chefs and try to recreate a restaurant experience in the sky.

Carol Conway, food innovation manager at British Airways, says the airline is working with leading British chefs including Shaun Hill of the Walnut Tree Inn, Michel Roux of Waterside Inn at Bray and Vineet Bhatia from Rasoi in London's Sloane Square. She says the current trend is British classics - such as shepherd's pie and afternoon tea with strawberries and cream.

Catherine Nugent, head of communications at Gate Gourmet, which supplies meals to dozens of airlines, says it is focusing on local sourcing: "Our procurement team searches for small niche producers - exactly as you see in restaurants." She points out that there are several constraints on preparing food in the air, adding that "a lot of chefs who work with us do it for the challenge".

Peter Jones, a professor at the UK's Surrey University who specialises in the study of airline food, says an increasingly popular trend is to prepare meals on-board in first class. Some airlines such as Gulf Air have "chefs" dressed in full whites. "Due to the constraints of equipping planes and the practicalities of cooking on board, most of this approach is the finishing of a dish through the assembly of pre-prepared components," he says.

Prof Jones concedes that while this is not the same as a restaurant experience, it does allow for fresher presentation and a degree of tailoring to individual tastes. "One airline has experimented with allowing first-class passengers to request whatever they would like so long as they give 24 hours notice," he says.

However, even in first and business class the airlines are stuck with a number of constraints that no restaurant on the ground has to contend with. Most meals must be prepared beforehand and then reheated, and the altitude - cabins are typically pressurised to 8,000ft - deadens the tastebuds. This is why strong flavours and foods in sauces tend to work well, and is one reason why the spicier cuisine of Asian airlines, such as Malaysia and Singapore, usually scores highly. Similarly, in spite of improvements in food technology, a decent in-flight soufflé remains elusive.

There are also other less obvious constraints, says Ms Conway: "One of the most important things is that we get some people again and again. Our very frequent customers are on the planes more often than the crew.Ensuring they have choice and variety is a real challenge."

For those who want to opt out of the system- but are disinclined to pack their own sandwiches - Los Angeles-based Sky Meals offers an alternative. For $20 to $30 (£10-£15) per meal, it will deliver travellers their own airline food. "As long as you call before 3pm on the day before your flight, we'll make and deliver your meal in a cool-bag to your office or limo or airport," says founder Richard Katz, adding that about 50 per cent of his customers are business travellers. He says women outnumber men two to one: "Men tend to be functional eaters, whereas women care more about what they eat and are better at planning ahead."

There is also the question of what to drink with your dinner. Liam Steevenson runs UK wine distributor Red & White and supplies business-only airline Silverjet with the wine to match the menu designed by Le Caprice. Like food, he says, wine tastes different at altitude: "Acidity and tannins get accentuated and you lose the middle fruit. So wines like Sancerre and Chablis thin out considerably, whereas many New World wines will taste much better."

But wine choice is also a question of combining what works and what passengers expect, says Mr Steevenson. "Champagne is a classic example of an acidic wine. But everyone wants it - it's a feel-good product." He saysSilverjet conducts in-air tastings for passengers and that one of the real pluses of working for a small airline is that you can offer more esoteric boutique wines that are produced in far smaller quantities.

So, what meal would work best given at 35,000ft? Funnily enough, says Mr Steevenson, it is a combination that tends not to be associated with business or first-class travel: "If you look at all the constraints, a curry and a beer is pretty much the perfect in-flight food."

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2008

FT:How to survive a downturn

How to survive a downturn

By Nicholas Lander

Published: May 17 2008 01:48 | Last updated: May 17 2008 01:48

Not all restaurateurs seem to have realised that the economic sands – so firmly in their favour for the past few years – are shifting. That is the conclusion I draw from two recent anecdotes.

The first concerns a visit to Tom Aikens’ restaurant in London’s Chelsea by two managers of the highly regarded Singaporean restaurant Les Amis. When booking they had been made aware of the restaurant’s dress code – in particular, no trainers – so they arrived suitably attired, although one of them was wearing what he described as a pair of shoes “like Tod’s”. One of the waiting staff promptly told him that his manager had said that as a result of what he was wearing on his feet the two men would not be served. They then asked to speak to the manager, who refused to change his mind but, as a conciliatory gesture, offered to pay for a taxi to take the visitor back to his nearby hotel, wait while he changed his shoes then bring him back. The two walked out, undoubtedly leaving the restaurant unable to fill the table at the last moment. Knowing this pair’s interest in food and wine, I would guess that Tom Aikens had deprived itself of a lucrative lunch. The restaurant’s public relations representative said the restaurant is reconsidering the policy.

This is one example of how restaurateurs are failing to inform their receptionists that they must respond more courteously to customers if they want to fill their tables. But there are other cases. Over the past month, for instance, I have experienced abrupt service trying to book tables at the Square in Mayfair and Roka in Fitzrovia. At the former I wanted a table for two at 12.30 in a week’s time but was told the only available table would be at 2pm by a receptionist who didn’t bother to take my name and number in case of a cancellation. I then phoned the restaurant’s PR, who was able to secure a 12.30 booking. Over a slightly disappointing meal, I could not help but notice that no fewer than four tables for two remained empty through lunch.

The switchboard at Roka was even less forthcoming. When I asked for a table for dinner three days in advance I was immediately told that all that was available was 6pm or 10pm. There was no interest in knowing the number in my party or at what time I might like to come, nor whether there would be any flexibility in my timing. I put the phone down and went elsewhere.

All the early signs suggest that this economic slowdown will follow the pattern of its predecessors: the inexpensive restaurants will flourish, as will the most expensive, while those in the middle will suffer the most.

One important aspect of this was explained to me recently by a successful New York restaurateur. “I’ve been in business for over 20 years now and this is my fourth economic downturn,” he said. “As a result, I think I know how to manage this one better than the previous ones but an additional management challenge for me is that I’ve a lot of staff who’ve joined our company over the past six years and who have only experienced the good times.”

Equally important is that while companies have sought to limit extravagant expenditure there are still many wealthy individuals who are keen to eat and drink well. Tourists, particularly now that menus and wine lists in the UK and the US seem inexpensive if you are paying with euros, are filling the tables left by the native high-spenders.

Certainly, Mario Batali of Del Posto, a high-end Italian restaurant in New York’s Chelsea district, agrees. “I was concerned about any fall-out from Wall Street because initially we received a great deal of corporate business from there. So I was more than pleasantly surprised to see that our turnover for the first quarter was seven per cent up on last year and almost all of this had come as a result of a conscious decision by management to concentrate on securing events and dinners from private individuals and their families rather than relying on companies.”

But a weak dollar is also playing its part. “What’s crucial here is that we are now attracting far more customers than before from South America and Spain who are more than happy to come along and have a drink at the bar and then eat around 10pm or even 10.30pm. This means we can now comfortably fit in a third sitting after those at 6pm and 8pm and this makes a big difference to the bottom line,” he said.

A strong euro is obviously going to have serious implications for European restaurateurs this summer and for the imported ingredients on British menus and wine lists. An old friend, who specialises in supplying the wild mushrooms that are currently so popular with chefs, recently told me that he has barely been trading profitably over the past few months as he tries to absorb the rising costs for as long as he can.

Top chefs and restaurateurs are able to command their price in a currency to suit them and demand for their services is still strong. The most depressing press release I’ve seen in a long time arrived recently announcing the appointment of the Paris-based chef Hélène Darroze to the Connaught Hotel, whose management appear to have a short memory. For a long time when British produce and ingredients were looked down upon by many, this hotel trumpeted both. Now, in my opinion, it appears to be giving up its claim to individuality and respect for local flavours of the country in which it is located.

Experience will, I hope, guide many sensitive restaurateurs through this tricky period but one thing is certain: those who show the greatest consideration for their customers, the staff they employ and the produce they handle are those that will flourish.

nicholas.lander@ft.com

More columns at www.ft.com/lander

FT: Relaxed, laid-back, glamorous

Relaxed, laid-back, glamorous

By Nicholas Lander

Published: April 26 2008 03:00 | Last updated: April 26 2008 03:00

For restaurants, Saturday nights are very different from the other nights of the week, and not just because they can be the busiest.

I can still recall, as owner of L'Escargot in London during the 1980s, that Saturday evenings presented two particular management challenges - both because my restaurant, like many others today, was not open for Saturday lunch.

The day started with a sense of anxiety that was only alleviated when all the chefs due to work that night finally arrived. Chefs are usually divided into two brigades that work alternately one week at lunch and the next in the evenings. If a chef doesn't turn up one week-night, then it is possible to negotiate with someone working at lunch and persuade them to stay on for a "double shift". On Saturday nights, however, there is no one spare in the kitchen to call on and if a replacement cannot be induced to come in over the phone this can mean curtailing reservations to maintain standards.

The second is that because the kitchen and the restaurant had been empty during the day, it always seemed to be more difficult to motivate my team. There are fewer early evening bookings because customers won't be coming in directly from their offices and there isn't the same pre-theatre business because many people go to the theatre directly from home. It's a quieter, slower start even though later on it can get extremely busy.

Quiet was certainly the appropriate description for the Greenhouse in Mayfair one wet Saturday evening recently as we walked in for a 7pm reservation. The room would not fill up for another 45 minutes at least. But while Lyons-born chef Antonin Bonnet produced the most exciting and wellexecuted food I have enjoyed in London this year, I wondered how restaurateurs in other major cities found Saturday nights.

For Mark Williamson at Maceo in Paris, Saturday night is distinguished by more out-of-towners and fewer business dinners - a phenomenon that was reported by everyone I spoke to - and more tourists and couples on dates. "People plan their weekend dining," he explained, "and book well in advance, but we do find that they're more unreliable and forget to cancel."

In New York the two general managers I contacted, Will Guidara at Eleven Madison Park and Colum Sheehan at Babbo, which is only open for dinner, reported that their Saturday nights are different too. "We see a lot more customers for the first time spending their own money rather than the company's and as a result we sell fewer of our tasting menus, which means lower average bills. But there are always more celebrations on a Saturday and that makes it a fun night to be working," Guidara said.

While Babbo's Sheehan confirmed that Saturdays feel more festive, he also said they were easier to manage.

The larger number of first-time customers is reflected not just in the faces and the time-keeping but also in what customers on a Saturday night order, as Stuart Brioza, the chef at Rubicon in San Francisco, reported. "It's a night of higher expectations and lower sales and generally a night when customers choose the 'safer' dishes on the menu. So, for example, we will sell more crab, halibut and beef rather than the sardines, sweetbreads and tongue we'll sell the rest of the week."

Quite how different customers can be on a Saturday, and the particular attractions they can bring to a restaurant, were highlighted after my meal there by Jean-Marie Moirada, the general manager at The Greenhouse. He said: "There are invariably more women and fewer grey or black suits in the restaurant than on weeknights. As a result, Saturday nights always seem more relaxed, laid-back and glamorous."

www.thegreenhouserestaurant.co.uk

www.maceorestaurant.com

www.elevenmadisonpark.com

www.babbonyc.com

www.sfrubicon.com

nick4@jancisrobinson.com

More columns at www.ft.com/lander