Cutting Loose

As a first-time visitor to a new place, one is usually dictated by a pre-decided list of things to do and see. Whimsical desires are mostly addressed in subsequent visits, when balancing the budget between a must-do-now and a must-do-once is no longer an over-riding factor. That is why a visit to Fortnum and Mason’s came about after Harrods and Harvey Nichols had already been given the once-over. Fortnum’s, as it is popularly called, is not just one of the oldest, but also the most upmarket department store in London.

Read more

Then again, how can a monsoon visit to Delhi be considered rewarding without sampling some of its celebrated street fare? The by lanes of the capital city offer a plethora of such sensual delights. Of these, the channe-bhature of Baba Nagpal in Amar Colony, are second to none. Unless, I were to count that nameless hole-in-the-wall frequented during childhood at the end of the Tope Khaana Mor lane in Patiala. For the longest time, a Sikh gentleman dressed in his trademark Pothwari shalwar had doled out the most appetizing channa-kulchas ever. (Where did he go, anyway? The spot is today marked by shops retailing inexpensive cloth.)

Read more

A recent dash to Delhi was engineered purely out of a desire to appease my taste-buddies. No doubt, there were any number of legit reasons to be in the neighbourhood, but I’m going to have to go with food, my pet four-letter word for all seasons. Having got the day’s appointments out of the way, I couldn’t wait to slurp my way through a much anticipated amuse-bouche at the Big Chill Café in Kailash Colony. Of course it’s not really a tidbit, and of course it is not gratis, but anybody who has gulped down their divine chocolate malt shake will know exactly what I mean about its appetite-whetting properties.

Read more

A distinctly Indian custom, tea was introduced to the English palate through the good offices of the East India Company. The English had reportedly never heard of it up till the beginning of the seventeenth century. Ironically, by the middle of the following century tea had replaced the hard liquor drinks enjoyed by the masses. Today, it is the nation’s most popular beverage.

And while the country of origin has begun to endorse faddish tea habits, the English continue to attach great ceremony to the tradition of tea-drinking. Prior to the introduction of tea, they partook of two main meals, breakfast and an early dinner, served fashionably late amongst the upper classes. This left plenty of room for the inclusion of nibbles and tea in the afternoon, by one of Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting. This repast continues to be a part of English style in the 21st century, the finest experience of which can be had at the Palm Court in the Ritz in London, amongst elegant surroundings and live music.

Closer home, I have many an indelible memory of afternoon teas hosted by my grandmother. Fine china, lacy serviettes, the faintest tinkling of silverware and dainty manners was once a way of life for grey-haired ladies. The spread, served by soft-footed and uniformed help, had usually consisted of fine cucumber slices or egg and mayonnaise sandwiched between soft triangles of bread. Warm scones topped with freshly potted jam or clotted cream, cakes and tea brewed just right.

This was not to be confused with high tea then. While afternoon tea was an aristocratic consequence of a constantly peckish Duchess, high tea was really an early dinner for workers; the meal including meats, pickles, bread and cheese along with the tea. And since it was eaten at the loftier dining table, it was, quite simply, high tea. In recent times, this term has undergone a change in definition, however, especially outside of England. Allowing for a more traditional tea with lighter meal and dessert offerings.

Aeons ago, way before Valentine’s Day became the mammoth commercial venture as we know it today, nay, as Big Greeting Card Companies would have us know, it was a feast day to commemorate the martyrdom of a Roman priest called Valentine. He was done to death by the Emperor Claudius II for defying his orders. It appears the good Emperor had banned his soldiers from marrying as it proved a distraction from duties. Valentine took it upon himself to arrange these ceremonies clandestinely, for which effort, he was summarily beheaded. Nothing romantic about that, I can tell you.

Gradually, it became associated with Cupid and is now a day that is entirely heart-centric. Marketing experts ensure a high recall value by managing to shape every conceivable product, food included, into a stylised red heart. Chocolates, Candies, Cookies, Cakes, Sandwiches, Pizzas…you name it, and then simply colour it red.

During our age of innocence (also aeons ago), we played a game called Heart Hunt, where tiny heart-shaped candies were hidden around the house and we spent the entire day hunting for edible treasures. We were zealously driven to uncover them, not just by sheer greed, but also by urgency to beat nosey ants to the job. Then followed the exchange of hand-made valentines (read cards) with friends and family.

These childish valentines were created by inelegantly cutting paper into heart-shapes and colouring them in, or pasting them onto other shapes. Admittedly, these artworks would find no place, nor value, amongst the 18^th century valentines that have found their way into auction houses. But their frail and fading existence amongst personal memorabilia is a treasure by itself. A colourful one from a dear friend goes thus:

I wish for you a life of gladness

full of love and free from pain;

A life of goodness free from sadness,

bright as sunshine after rain.

Simple lines these, yet, they encompass all that we wish for those we love.

NOTE: A version of this post has earlier appeared in my HT column ‘Food Street’.

For long at the mercy of friends (some of whom have now moved overseas) for a dose of mutton razala or shorshe maach (fish prepared in mustard sauce), the coming of Oh! Calcutta to Delhi was a tongue-tingling piece of news. Housed in the International Trade Tower at Nehru Place, Oh! Calcutta is all about fine dining. Elegant interiors, dim lighting, soft music, knowledgeable staff and exemplary service, all come together to fête the cuisine of Calcutta. A delicious mélange of the produce of European pantries and Bengali kitchens, the informed suggestions were remarkable in variety and flavour.

One of the starters came in the form of banana-leaf wrapped prawn and crabmeat dumplings, called chingri kakra bhapa, steamed after marinating in mustard paste. Simply superlative! The other one was mochar chop, a deep-fried crunchy cutlet made of banana flowers, potatoes, green chillies and spices. The accompaniments were unique and many—aam angoori chutney, a paste of raisins with mango pulp; sweet curds and cucumber dip; small chunks of fried moong dal; a tamarind and mint chutney; and, a paste of mustard with tomatoes softened in the tandoor.

The main course consisted of Railway Mutton Curry, a nostalgic recipe, dating back to the railway canteens of pre-independent India. Stewed with onion, ginger, garlic, cumin and roasted coriander, it was, however, the coconut milk and tamarind pulp that gave it its unique taste. A customary fish preparation, in the same course, included a steamed, boneless bekti, marinated with (what else!) mustard paste, green chillies and coconut; also dressed in banana leaf, it went by the name of bekti maacher paturi.

For the vegetarians, we were recommended a ridge gourd and potato dish. Called jhinge aloo posto, it was cooked in thick poppy seed gravy and flavoured with green chilles and kalonji. A side dish in the form of a simple mustard curry to go with the rice was a popular choice, pungent though it turned out to be, beyond imagination. A typical bread form called luchi, akin to small bhaturas, helped in swiping clean the last morsel of the delectable repast. Mishti doi, rosogolla, sondesh and the usual hangovers from the Raj—caramel custard and bread pudding—made up the sweet end of the meal.

After having relished my food, I proceeded to (with scant regard for social etiquette) visually devour the food on other tables. It was also an attempt to take my mind off the effect of flaming mustard on my taste buds, even though the beer was trying its bit. I recognised the Mulligatawny, the Stroganoffs, the kebabs and prawns in myriad avatars, including a pulao, poetically named chingri morich pulao. Going by the presentation and the aromatic whiffs emanating from these tables, I’m certain they would have been as good to the taste.

I hope to find out firsthand soon enough.

For someone who partakes of Oriental flavours once, or perhaps, generous-spiritedly twice a year, my recent seduction by all flavours Thai is a result of the fine Pan-Asian aromas wafting high from a very-new-kid-on-the block. Whenever a new eatery is presented to the world with a wide flourish, a deeply embedded sceptic in me waits a good year before giving it a thumbs up. Historically, some of them don’t even last that long.

But the August Moon is definitely here to stay. Located in GreaterKailash Part II, it has a tiny indoor seating that spills over into a large atrium as well as a shared al fresco arrangement.

Over the past few months I have often-times dined in, sometimes taken away, and once had their food delivered home. On occasion, I have been at parties in Delhi where they have catered. What weighs heavily in their favour is a wholehearted attempt at delivering quality. Consistently. The ingredients have always been fresh, the aromas wholly refreshing and the flavours quite authentic.

The Vietnamese Caramelised Prawns are to die for, I kid you not, as are the Cantonese Style Wok-Tossed ones. I could never quite fathom the term ‘juicy shrimps’ (after all, I live in landlocked Chandigarh) till such time I bit into a piping hot version of the latter. The peanut-sauce smeared Satay Kai outdoes itself each time, and so does the Crispy Lotus Root Honey Chilly.

On a quickie visit recently, I noisily slurped through their Tom Kha Soup. Which I have long avoided due to its milky appearance, possibly a throw-back to forced milk-drinking sessions as a child. I must confess I am now a coconut loving convert. A quick stab at the internet revealed a partially constructed website with the most slobber-worthy food pictures (which reminds me, apologies for my own feeble attempts) and some contact information.  Do give it a shot. If possible, on Fridays, when you can unabashadly attempt public singing along with their in-house guitarist.

Bon appetit!

There are puddings and there are puddings. Then, there are Christmas puddings. And, finally, there are the Christmas puddings created by a particular lady with whom I claim familial proximity. It’s no mean coincidence that she is dear to me. She is a great cook, is Harjyot Phoolka.

Heavy with fruits and nuts, moist with brandy and dark with age—though it is quite impossible to devour huge portions of it (believe me, I’ve tried), every morsel you sink your teeth into, is intended to ferry you through the festive season in high ‘spirits’. Show me someone who disagrees and I’ll show you a deprived soul. At the very least, a soul deprived of the lip-smacking, stupor-inducing delights that this lady conjures up—within a short span of three months and three hours.

This rich, steamed dessert has its origins in England and is tradition bound to appear on the table on Christmas day. Sometimes, lit after being doused with more brandy, it arrives in a vapour of blue flames. This ritual has a curious tale attached to it. Right up to the last but one century, Christmas Eve was spent playing a parlour game called Snap-dragon. A basinful of brandy-soaked raisins was set aflame and placed in the centre of a table. You were then meant to salvage the raisins from the basin and pop them into your mouth, even at the risk of being scorched. I’m guessing the winner would have to be the one with the maximum blisters!

No marks for why that particular festivity was shelved.

I am mighty glad, though, that my favourite Christmas practice is well-maintained till date—brandy butter. It is prepared with unsalted butter, brown sugar, spices and, as the name suggests, brandy. Just one spoonful of this molten glee over your castor sugar-sprinkled portion takes you on a ride only Santa Claus could have promised.

I’m told these puddings have amazing lasting properties, allowing people to relish this treat through to the following Christmas as well. I have no practical experience of this because each time that I have cajoled, coaxed, blackmailed, threatened or sweet-talked a pudding out of my aunt, it has lasted only long enough for me to be able to describe the experience. Not an instant longer.

Still, you don’t have to take my word for it, simply order your own at +91 9876706064.

In the meantime, here’s wishing you all a very Mmmmmerry Christmmmmmas! Also hoping you will excuse me for writing with my mouth full…. 😉