Fortunately, The Tower House, where we’d booked a room for four nights, is part of the Neemrana Group of Hotels’ ‘non-hotels’, and we stayed in enough of their lovely old heritage hotels—palaces, mansions, castles—to know that a Neemrana hotel can never be lousy or a sad disgrace. Some may be better than others, but they’re all good.

The Tower House, a 17th century building where once a lighthouse stood (hence the name) is a lovely, beautifully restored building, all white- and cream-painted walls, polished wood and large windows. Inside the walled courtyard is a garden, a swimming pool in the back, shady trees, and pretty verandahs. There’s a restaurant (called, unimaginatively, The Tower), modest banquet and conference facilities, and the Neemrana shop (where you can buy good quality souvenirs, plus Neemrana’s own products, such as jams and jellies. There is free wi-fi, an in-house library, and the hotel can make arrangements on your behalf with travel or tour agencies to hire cars and/or guides.

We checked in at about 2 in the afternoon, and were taken upstairs to the first floor, where our room—a sea-facing one, called the Mossel—was situated. (The rooms and suites all have fascinating names, drawn from Dutch and Portuguese colonial officials who once lived in Cochin: Mascarenhas, Menezes, Albuquerque, Moens, Wayermath, Breekopt, etc). On the way up the wooden staircase, we admired the amazing antiques that decorate the hotel: a painted fireplace screen, painted wooden angels, painted figures of old Malabari traders.

Our room was a large one, with a wooden floor, a large bed (with lovely carved, mirrored and painted-tiled headboard and footboard), and some delightful old paintings, including two of what looked like Queen Mary, her decorations added on in the form of silver foil flowers! Our room had a wardrobe (sadly, with not sufficient hanging space for anything longer than a rather short T-shirt), a safe, luggage rack, large and comfy cane chairs, plenty of flat surfaces—desk, tables, dressing table, bedside tables—and plug points in abundance, all of which always pleases me. Tea and coffee fixings, a basket of good-quality soap, shampoo, moisturiser, etc in the bathroom (Neemrana’s own, and always excellent), and an effective central air-conditioning made it a very comfortable room to stay in.

There were a couple of things we wished could’ve been changed. First, our bathroom didn’t have a proper shower stall, only a section partly screened by a glass panel—and the floor wasn’t even. As a result, soapy water took ages to drain away, and part of the floor had a large puddle of water even eight hours after the shower had been used.

Also, the washbasin, if you bent over it, would sometimes exude a rather nasty smell. We didn’t investigate further.

Another niggle was the fact that the hotel is beside a fairly busy road, and an even busier square. On the day we arrived (and the next), the latter was the scene of some sort of convention, with a large canopy stretching over dozens of red plastic chairs. Loud and rather vociferous speeches in Malayalam—amplified by a loudspeaker—went on throughout the day and the evening, ending (over the last two hours or so) with songs. Not the hotel’s fault—it’s a free country, after all, and the convention was over by 9 PM—but be warned: this is what you may get.

Other than that, this was a nice place, comfortable and clean, and with the unobtrusive friendliness that Neemrana is known for; it always gives me the feeling I’m staying in a generous and wealthy friends’ mansion, rather than in a hotel! Also, it’s in the heart of Fort Cochin, so a lot of the top sights of the area are within very easy walking distance—the two major cathedrals in town, Santa Cruz and St Francis, for example, are both less than ten minutes’ leisurely stroll from the hotel.

Though our room’s rack rate was Rs 7,000 per night, we paid Rs 3,000 per night (taxes extra) because we visited in the off-season. The rate was inclusive of daily breakfast.

The menu is a mix of pretty uninspiring Western fare, some fairly predictable Indian food, and—this was what caught our eye—local cuisine. My husband was intent on eating seafood (the coast, after all, is only about 200 mt away, and the catch doesn’t get fresher than this). We quickly chose two main dishes—a Malabar fish curry, and a prawn curry. With that, we ordered a portion of steamed plain rice, and a plate of green salad (the name given in India to a combination of sliced tomato, raw onion, cucumber, carrot, and/or other similar salad veggies.

It took about ten minutes for the food to arrive. The rice came in two bowls, each enough for one person. This was the plump, large-grained rice that is commonly eaten around here, not the long-grained and fragrant basmati. The prawn curry, with four very large prawns in it, was the winner. It had a fantastic gravy, thick with onion and tomato (but low on spices, and with the tomato very restrained—which I appreciated, since I don’t care for tomato gravies and sauces). The gravy had lots of fried curry leaves, which gave it a strikingly good flavour. The only drawback was that the prawns had been overcooked somewhat.

The fish curry, in contrast, was disappointing, even though the fish was very fresh and tender. The gravy was a brown one, based on onions and with curry leaves, but it lacked the vibrant flavours that the prawn curry had, and came off a poor second. We were so ravenous, though, that with the rice and the salad, we finished it all off, every last bit of it.

Since breakfast was included in our room tariff at The Tower House, this was one meal that we did have daily at the hotel. I guess (like other Neemrana Hotels) this one would have a breakfast buffet when the hotel was full, but since we seemed to be the only people in residence, we were told that we could ask for whatever we wanted—"typically, a continental breakfast, but we can make Indian breakfasts too." My husband, with visions of some fascinating Keralan breakfast, asked what. Puris with potato bhaji(curry), he was told.

We decided to play it safe and order toasts with masala omelette (an omelette with chopped onion and tomato, and sometimes with chopped green chilli and/or green coriander added). With that, we also got tea, a glass of fresh watermelon juice each, and a duo of Neemrana’s very own fruit jams, made from fruit grown on the Neemrana hotels’ orchards, especially in the Himalayas.

We didn’t eat any other meals at The Tower, simply because we wanted to try out other places. Also, because what we did have here wasn’t mind-blowingly good enough to tempt us to repeat the experience. The staff, however, are efficient, attentive (without peering over your shoulder all the time), and are accommodating enough to let you dine out in the poolside verandah or in the garden beside the pool. It struck us as a nice quiet place too, so that was a plus point.

Inside, we were directed to the rooftop restaurant, which sits on the second floor—up a beautifully polished wooden staircase. This opens out on to a spacious terrace, with a sloping roof held up by pillars that make the area a rooftop pavilion. Between the edge of the roof and the hip-high parapet that surrounds the terrace, is a great view of the neighbourhood around, all the way from St Francis’ to Santa Cruz. The restaurant itself is charming: there are lots of potted plants; the floor is in terracotta-coloured tiles typical of South Indian buildings, and the ceiling is covered with patterned terracotta tiles.

The restaurant is large, but was totally empty when we arrived. A lone waiter brought us the menu, however, and we had a look. While there’s lots more here (sandwiches, main courses, both Indian and Western dishes) what we were interested in was on the last two pages: the desserts and the tea and coffee. All three sections had a fairly limited and unexciting range. Eventually, my husband settled for a ginger tea (which he was assured—when he asked—was made from fresh ginger, not one of those ginger-powder infused tea bags). I ordered a cold coffee, and we asked for a dark chocolate cake, and an apple crumble. The waiter informed us that the apple crumble wasn’t available, so we had to change that particular order to lemon cheesecake, which was available.

It took about ten minutes for our order to be served up, by which time I was getting impatient (how much time does it take to cut a piece of cake, or make a cup of tea?). Thankfully, though, when the waiter brought our food and drinks, a sip and a bite reassured us: the time spent had been well-spent. The tea—served in a full teapot, which meant there were nearly three cups of tea there—was gingery, fresh, and so delicious that my husband actually finished it all. My cold coffee (which I’d been dreading would turn out the way most non-specialist coffee shops in India serve them: very milky and with barely a hint of coffee) was strong, chilled, and very good.

The dark chocolate cake—a modest-sized wedge—was very moist and very chocolatey in the dark, bitter way that I like, so this got a thumbs up from me. My husband’s lemon cheesecake, decorated with a pretty twirl of lemon, was nice and creamy, with a good crumby biscuit base and the right amount of lemon in the filling.

Our bill at the restaurant was Rs 410 (inclusive of taxes and a tip), the most expensive tea and cake we had during our sojourn in Kochi—but also the best.

So, the next afternoon, an hour before we were to leave for a tour, we went to one of these shacks, which calls itself Café Cuba. We figured a place so small, and with no other diners at present, would be able to serve us well in time.

A waiter—the only one around—came and gave us two very battered copies of the menu, which was basically a long list of Chinese, Keralan and Western seafood dishes. Nothing approaching fancy, and even the most ‘exotic’ (as far as most Indians are concerned) seafood was calamari—the usual was crab, prawn, and fish (unspecified species, though we later learned that red snapper, mackerel and a flat fish known in India as pomfret are common along this shore). We quickly picked out two dishes—pepper crab, and Kerala prawn curry (the latter recommended by the waiter), ordered a steamed rice and a green salad to go with those, and my husband ordered a fresh lime soda. The waiter took our order and disappeared into the dim space behind the counter—and became the chef.

We could hear him pottering around, and began having second thoughts: what had we let ourselves in for?

After a few minutes, someone whom we’d seen working at a nearby shack arrived with the fresh lime soda. This consisted of the lime juice and soda and salt, all right, but there was no sign of sweetness—until my husband realised it was in the form of a teaspoonful of granulated sugar at the bottom of the glass. Unstirred.

My husband stirred his drink until the sugar had dissolved. Then we sat back and watched as our chef/waiter/order taker scampered about here and there, assuring us (every time he was reminded) that it would take "Just two minutes". Someone—a helper of some sort—came by holding a plastic bag full of fragrant curry leaves. A cat came walking along the tarpaulin forming the canopy of the next shack (it later found its way under our table, without us realising how and when). A pair of local gentlemen came by, bringing seafood that they’d bought, and asking for it to be cooked (we hadn’t realised this was a option). Eventually, 45 minutes and many complaints after we’d placed our order, the prawn curry was brought. On its heels came the rice (cold, not even warm), and the crab. The green salad arrived five minutes after the rest of the meal.

While I didn’t care much for the prawns (cooked in a gravy of tomato, onion and green chilly, which my husband liked), I did love the crabs—they’d been tossed in black pepper, lots of sliced onions, and green chillies: fiery, but also delicious, and the crabs were very fresh and tender.

We spent Rs 855 for our meal. For the shoddy (and very tardy) service, the not-good fresh lime soda and the cold rice, that wasn’t acceptable. On the other hand, the crab and prawn had both been good—the crab excellent—and in more than generous portions. Not the sort of place I’d recommend if you expect impeccable food and service, but worth a try if you want a taste of seafood by the shore.

Gelato is part of the Old Courtyard Hotel, but it has a doorway leading onto the street, so you needn’t go into the hotel to enter the gelateria. Inside, the room is high-ceilinged and has some modern art—bright splashes of colour on rectangular and square canvases—on the walls. The wall facing the entrance is covered with large posters advertising the restaurant’s specialties: strawberry sorbet ("made with ice, not cream"), smoothies, semifreddo ("it’s cool, not cold"), Lavazza coffee, and more. This is where there’s also the display case for the gelati (not a very impressive range, unfortunately) and the order-taker’s counter.

We sat down at one of the tables beside the wall. This looked stylish in a hip sort of way, with cushions to rest your back against, but the hard, uncushioned wooden bench began digging into our butts after a while.

The menu at gelato includes both this eatery’s own menu, as well as the menu of the Old Courtyard Hotel’s restaurant—the latter consisting of various sandwiches, salads, and seafood dishes, both Western and Keralan, such as fish in banana leaf, prawn curry, etc. Gelato’s own menu is heavy on the coffees (hot and cold), has a small selection of teas (the usual suspects: lemon, green, black, masala chai), smoothies (including a range of yoghurt smoothies), sorbets, gelati, and semifreddo.

The menu gives the impression (as, of course, does the name of the restaurant) that this is gelati heaven. For instance, there’s a huge list of gelati flavours at the back of the menu, with everything from kiwi to bubblegum, with some odd prediction about what the flavour you prefer says about your own personality. (Mine, considering my favourite flavours, seems to be a muddle of dependable, adventurous, and impulsive).

The truth of the matter is, there are only about a dozen and a half flavours, and they include some fairly predictable ones: French vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, rum and raisin. Even the ‘sugar-free gelati’ advertised turned out to be restricted to only a handful of unexciting flavours. Eventually, my husband and I decided we’d both have fruit gelati: I opted for a passion fruit one, he for a raspberry one. Before that, though, we ordered tea. I asked for a lemon tea, my husband ordered a green tea.

The tea was brought, ready-poured and with sugar added in my lemon tea. My cup of tea was nicely lemony and refreshing. My husband, however, took one sip of his green tea and made a face. "It tastes like coffee," he said. I had a go, too, and sure enough, it did have an odd but distinct flavour of coffee about it—and a rather vile aftertaste. The waiter/ordertaker/barista/gelato server, when summoned, offered a weak excuse: "It’s because we use the Lavazza capsule." Why you’d do that when it’s simple enough to make green tea by putting a tea bag into hot water was beyond us. My husband settled for a lemon tea too.

Once we’d finished a leisurely tea, we ordered the gelati, a small cup each (though you can order larger servings, from 250 gms upwards, as well). You can also opt to have your gelato in a cone. These proved to be far better than the tea—especially that disastrous green tea. My husband found the raspberry gelato a little underwhelming: fruity, but not distinctly raspberry; more like a generic ‘red berry’ flavour. My passion fruit gelato, on the other hand, was delicious: tart, sweet, and so marvellously refreshing that I came close to succumbing to temptation and ordering another portion of it. The texture of both gelati was good: smooth and well-whipped, neither melty nor hard.

We spent Rs 300 for our tea and gelati. I wouldn’t go back for the tea—it wasn’t that great—but I did like the gelato here.

Our first glimpse of the place endeared us to it. Tea Pot sits in the narrow, very tranquil lane known as Peter Celli street, an extension of Princess Street. Tea Pot has all the trappings of quaintness: pretty lettering, lots of tea pots and tea kettles, ceramic as well as metal (many looking faux antique) lined up on racks. The walls are a mustard yellow, there are old paintings on the wall, and the chairs have deep red upholstery. On our table was a small, very vividly coloured sugar pot shaped like a toucan, made of porcelain.

The menu, a time-worn concertina-folded piece of paper, was brought by one of the shy young women who work at the Tea Pot. The menu has a selection of coffees and teas, both hot and cold. The varieties of tea—green, black, with different flavours, and herbal teas as well, such as chamomile—outnumber the coffees, so this is one place I’d recommend if you, like my husband and I, are fond of teas.

The Tea Pot also has eatables to offer, mostly in the form of stuff like samosas and something they called ‘Indian rarebit’ (we didn’t bother to find out what this was), and some cakes. The cakes we wanted—an apple cake, and an orange one—were, we were informed, unavailable. The third cake on the menu, death by chocolate, was the only one available. So we ordered a portion each of death by chocolate for ourselves, and a cup each of white silver tips tea. (For those not in the know: white silver tips is considered one of the finest and most exclusive of teas).

The two quarter plates with the cake arrived, brought by a shy and plump teenaged waiter, from the old-fashioned glass-fronted cupboard, after about ten minutes. Another five minutes or so went by, and he brought us our tea too. The tea was good, both my husband and I agreed. I’d never had white silver tips before; my husband’s memory of it from the one time he had drunk it was of something so mild it was almost like drinking plain old hot water. The white silver tip at Tea Pot was very mild, but had a distinctive, very subtly scented flavour which we both liked.

The death by chocolate, on the other hand, should’ve been more appropriately named ‘death to chocolate’—whoever makes the cakes at Tea Pot certainly murdered this cake. It was dry and crumbly beyond belief, and seemed to have even got burnt in places. The chocolatey icing seemed to have begun to split when it had been spread; I could see tiny greasy droplets across the top. Also, my idea of death by chocolate was of lots of chocolate icing, and a very chocolatey, moist cake. Besides the cake being dry as sawdust, the icing was sparse, and the dessert, as a whole, was an utter let-down.

We paid Rs 260 for our cake and tea at Tea Pot. While the tea was good, the cake had been so frightful, we decided this place was avoidable. Recommended only if you like your tea, like to be somewhat adventurous with tea, and don’t want a good cake to go with it.