Appearances can, indeed, be deceptive

Delfino’s, in London, isn’t cool or chichi the way some places become fashionable for a while. What it is, is terribly busy, serving the best pizzas in town — and, as we discovered, courtesy a frequent diner known for his magnanimity, that its spaghetti with bolognaise meat sauce was the epitome of epicurean heaven. It is also a magnet for India’s richest Londoners — whether residents or visitors. Our host, who regularly makes the rich list, was clearly well enough known — greeting the owner by name and shaking the hands of the waiters. He’d made a reservation ahead of our arrival, even so we were made to wait while the full pizzeria found us a place.

 
India’s wealthy like to be seen entertaining — and being entertained — in affluent places. Yet, here we were, in a rough and ready and inexpensive Italian diner with a bottle of Merlot and bowls of chilli oil and chilli flakes that it wasn’t sophisticated enough to refuse its sizeable Indian diners. One entire table was occupied by visitors from India who, back home, probably never set foot out of Lutyens tony New Delhi. Another group, London-based, comprised Britain’s wealthiest businessmen who manage companies across industries, real estate and hospitality — here, casually dressed and comfortable in jeans and windcheaters. They chatted with our host, pulling his leg, asking him to settle their presumably modest bill, with him refusing in mirthful jest.

 
That it should be a laughing matter was ironic because, at that moment, the wealth in the room was incalculable — these were billionaires behaving like a bunch of schoolkids in a way they would probably never do in India, or, indeed, in a more sophisticated eatery. I’d been privileged on previous occasions to be invited to Michelin-starred restaurants where the maître d’ spoke flawless French and the waiters were more trendily dressed than the guests. The food was invariably excellent, sourced from its place of origin, the finest cuts of meat, rare truffles, fine wines and finer condiments. Yet, here was bonhomie that dared not trespass the threshold of these stylish establishments, a pizza easier to chew over than delicately arranged foie gras.

 

If there seemed a catch in the genial evening, it was in the apparent parsimony when it came to paying gratuity. Our host had insisted on plying us with “more, a little more”, our appetites unable to keep up with the generosity of his hospitality. But the waiter’s query of whether he wanted the change returned, and our host’s surprising “Yes”, was an unexpected response considering the amount did not exceed a minor percentage of the bill. Yes, there was a service charge included in the bill, but seeing his considerable clout in the pizzeria, it seemed frugal to deny the staff a couple of pounds and some loose coins.

 
But it was of a pattern. He’d urged us to pocket the fresh wipes and complimentary lozenges. Earlier, at an event we’d attended together, he’d insisted we take the complimentary bags. Were we staying at a hotel? “Be sure to carry away the toiletries,” he counselled. But not for our use, as it turned out. “Give it to the staff,” he directed, “share it with the driver, make the dhobi’s children happy.” And then he explained why he hadn’t left behind more than the mandatory tip. “The restaurant staff has already been rewarded,” he informed us, “I’ll use the change for attendants in wash rooms, or to give to those who least expect it.” Appearances can, indeed, be deceptive.