On most afternoons in the 1970s, the courtyard of an old Bangalore bungalow — at the bottom of Brigade Road, where you can now find Mota Royal Arcade  — filled with music, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of something delicious on the grill. From the gaming parlour next door, pinball machines pinged, and psychedelic posters threw colour on black-and-white walls. For a city just beginning to enjoy its palate, The Only Place was less a restaurant and more a cultural moment and as most old Bangaloreans of that vintage tell me, passing through its portal was a rite of passage.

And at the heart of it all was Haroon Sait — a man who fed the city with food, warmth, and stories.

For his daughter, Sabiha Mohamed, the memory of that world is still vivid, “It was the coolest hangout in Bangalore,” she said. “Young, old — everyone came. As kids, we met such interesting people and had access to the best foods in the world.”

Her memories arrive in textures. The smell of two secret sauces “rich, luscious, garlicky, fatty and insanely good.” The sight of her father in the butchery, carving steaks with rhythmic precision. The sound of burgers hissing on the grill. 

These were not just childhood anecdotes; they shaped the way she understood food.
“My dad was passionate about his food,” she told Explocity. “A stickler for detail. A perfectionist. But he loved his customers like family.”

The Only Place was built on that combination — uncompromising culinary standards and open-hearted welcomes. He fed broke students for free. He exchanged stories with mystics, expatriates, travellers, and artists. “Everyone had a place on his table,” Sabiha said.

The smell of apple pie was the scent of home. “Our garage was the bakery. Two huge ovens. The air always smelled of cinnamon and apple.”

Haroon’s wife, Alice — an American — helped build the restaurant’s identity.
“The menu, the interiors, the trademark LIPS logo — it was their baby,” said Sabiha.

In a Bangalore that had never seen pasta, he learnt it from a group of Italian Peace Corps volunteers. He bought a meat grinder to make what would become iconic burgers. He catered Fourth of July celebrations, supplied grilled meats to commissaries across Indian metros, and became the unofficial ambassador to the American community in the city.

“Bangalore loved it,” she said. In the large compound of the bungalow were restaurant’s neighbours — a snake charmer, a funeral undertaker, a leather workshop, a dusty old bookstore — gave the place not only ambience but theatre-like. “We didn’t need him to tell us it was a hit. We heard it from everyone.”

Her favourite image of her father is a warm one — apron on, lock of hair falling over his forehead, a crowd of customers gathered around as he spun stories. “Handsome Haroon. The Clark Gable of Bangalore. My friends were more excited to meet him than to meet me!”

His philosophy was simple: feed people well. “He wanted customers full and satisfied. Cook from your heart. Feed like a king.”

It’s a lesson Sabiha inherited not by recipe, but by watching — “imbibing,” as she puts it. And though she admits she never took down written instructions, she carries his culinary intuition. People often said to her, “Your dad would be proud of you.” She believes it.

And today Sabiha tries to live up to his memory in every plate she serves in her restaurant on Brunton Road — Portland Grill and Cafe.

Years later, after living in the US and returning home, Sabiha and her husband, Maqsood decided to open a place of their own. “Food was in our DNA,” she said. “My childhood was spent helping Dad — cash counter, clearing tables, baking cakes.”

Haroon, of course, promised the couple his full support. But he passed away before the restaurant could take shape.

“A couple of years after his passing, Portland was born. Maqsood and I built the place from scratch. Our sweat and our hearts are in every corner.”

While The Only Place, which continued to exist, but without the Clark Gable-ness of Haroon took on the task of introducing Bangalore to the nuances of American food, Portland Grill is about the food, about building that deeper culinary identity that is part legacy, part reinvention.

Sabiha’s signature dishes tell that story: lamb chops from her own recipe, roasts, wood-fired pizzas, cheesecakes, and the crowd favourite sizzling brownie. Maqsood brings his expertise in aging meats. Their steaks, aged cuts, wood-fire pizzas, and desserts form the restaurant’s must-try list.

“We always want to give customers something new,” she told Explocity. Festivals — Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Halloween — become opportunities to be creative.

And the affection she receives from customers echoes her father’s own following.
“Old Bangalore comes alive here,” she said. “People come just to tell me stories about Dad. Some guide us, check on us, and support us. I feel blessed.”

And as Thanksgiving approaches in the next few days (at the time of this writing), the story feels complete — a daughter standing where her father once stood, feeding a city he loved.

The Only Place shaped her childhood. Portland Grill shapes her present.
Between them lies a shared philosophy: food as memory, food as comfort, food as gratitude.

This Thanksgiving, Sabiha carries forward a legacy other than what is carved in thick steaks, bubbling in the sauces, apple in the pies — it is the family’s belief that there is always room at the table for one more.

From this magazine’s decades of association with this family, we have no trouble saying that chair is for you.

Find Portland Grill and Cafe on the Explocity Guide, here: https://bangalore.explocity.com/bangalore-guide/listing/portland-grill-cafe/