If there’s one thing Bengaluru does well, it’s the masala dosa. Most of my favourite foods feature meat, so it’s surprising that in my six-year-long absence 14,000km from home, I missed South Indian vegetarian breakfast the most. And coffee.

I tried American coffee in all its variations — the singles and doubles, the dry and wet cappuccinos, the half-pours, the full roasts, the drips, the dribbles, but I just could not learn to love it. When it comes to coffee, I’m all-tropical, so it was the Vietnamese version that became my substitute for South Indian “kaapi”. Made strong and then mixed with condensed milk, it was similar enough to bridge those thousands of long kilometres.

But a good dosa? Like any good Bengalurian, I’m hard to please when it comes to a masala dosa. Even the most indifferent of dosas in Bangalore are of a very high quality and if you’re in the right part of the town (that would be South Bengaluru), you’re in truly high-end dosa territory. A good dosa is beautifully browned and crispy on the outside, but has a little bit of chew on the inside. The batter is fermented just the right amount so there’s a slight almost sourdough quality to it. The masala, a potato and onion filling, has to be cooked down to perfect yielding consistency. Getting into what makes a good sambar and coconut chutney (the two dipping accompaniments) would take far too much space, so let’s just say that in the last two months I’ve been home, I’ve eaten a lot of dosas.

Not just dosas though — there are all the usual delights in the vegetarian breakfast pantheon. Some of Bengaluru’s most celebrated restaurants have just 10 items on the menu, five of which are just variations or different combinations of the other dishes. A chow chow bhath, for example, is simply a khara bhath and kesari bhath (both semolina dishes, one spicy, one sweet) in smaller portions on the same plate.

And the service at all these places is outstanding. Water is brought to the table even as you’re sitting down. There can be 15 of you, all giving orders, changing them, doubling them, going back again and the waiter won’t even blink. Nor will he write anything down, but he’ll still get it all right. He can be across the room and when you point at your sambar and chutney bowls, he’ll know which one you’ve run out of, and bring two of that, with one of the other just in case. You look up and raise an eyebrow and coffee will appear before you.

These sorts of places are a favourite with walkers, runners and cyclists, because first of all, they’re open early in the morning and second, they’re ideal for large groups of hungry people who need a rush of carbs followed by a shot of caffeine. There’s nothing better than a plate of idlis and a cup of coffee to alleviate a mid-ride slump and send you barrelling home. Pity the fool who decides not to eat with the rest, they’re usually left far behind. (This also has the effect of making you look at those carbs with grudging respect for the amount of energy they pack.)

It wasn’t just the food that I missed when away, but the ubiquity and no-nonsense air of these Darshinis, Ramesh Cafes, Tiffin Rooms and Sagars. If you’re in a rush, you don’t even have to sit down and yet there’s none of the factory feel of fast food restaurants. In fact, this is true fast food because it has the singular advantage of being both fast and food.

Gautam Raja is a journalist based in Bangalore, India.