In the fast lane

It’s not the ideal date. We are in unfamiliar territory, the traffic is relentless, and with the sun beating down on us, it takes a while to find Atchayam’s Food Box (afoodbox.com). It’s a bright, air-conditioned nook in the not-so-salubrious environs near Chennai’s Koyambedu bus terminus, and overlooks the grim wholesale vegetable market. Tucked into a small kiosk at the entrance of Hotel Chennai Deluxe, the ‘food box’ is a large, automated vending machine that issues set meals sourced from restaurants across the city. A hulking red-and-yellow contraption, it takes up almost a fourth of the space. You can pay by card or cash, in which case, Nirmal, who mans the shop, will swipe his card for you. Barcodes match your order to the right tray inside the food box, and then begins the fun. (If you’re not watching carefully, you’ll miss it altogether.)

The food arrives through a slit just large enough to let a rectangular tray slip out of the box. The package then travels on automated rails to Stage 1. Here, a device pierces holes in its cling-film cover, before it rolls over to Stage 2, where two microwave ovens are fitted on the rails. We place two orders and the trays go in, one into each oven, and emerge piping hot. The entire process — payment to delivery — is meant to take no more than 90 seconds.

My companion asks for a soda but it’s not available. There are, disappointingly, few choices for lunch (unlike dinner, we’re told) — a chicken and a mutton biryani combo from Aasife and Brothers and a South Indian vegetarian meal from Adyar Ananda Bhavan. My companion orders the mutton biryani and I order the vegetarian meal, which includes sambar, vathal kuzhambu, potato fry and curd rice with pickle. The curd rice is issued in a separate container as it can’t be heated. We pay ₹79 for the vegetarian meal and ₹149 for the other (taxes extra).

The food is fresh and hot. But I don’t care very much for the taste and find myself making sorties into my companion’s. The biryani comes with fried mutton, brinjal curry and raita. Both the meals are far too spicy and rich for a hot March afternoon, but perhaps, that’s what an average customer here wants — either a traditional full meal or a biryani to lift the mood, if fleetingly, on a hot and hard day that may even involve a long and tiring bus journey.

Nirmal tells us that travellers can order by phone or online, and meals will be delivered to them at their seat in the bus. For now, however, novelty outweighs utility at the Food Box. Most customers prefer to eat at the spot, says Nirmal, who sells about 20 lunches and 80 dinners each day. When we ask to have a look inside the box, he doesn’t refuse, and leads us to the back of the kiosk and opens the doors. There are rows upon rows of slots, 250 of them, stacked with trays. It is the coolest part of the establishment and I am loath to leave. But leave I must, as more customers trickle in and the food box comes to life again.

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