Just another Pan-Asian...Fatty Bao

Can the Fatty 'bow' and scrape Calcutta?#uncookedwords

Over the last few years the city has sedately hosted a steady influx of bouncy restaurants 'safely' fiddling with fusion and Pan-Asian cuisine. That’s laudable! Fatty-Bao broke into this budding lot having opened an outlet at the heart of Kolkata with much fanfare. I had my first brush with it at Bangalore where they had been around for a while.

It was late and we were hungry. Luck favours when exactly I want it to. The usher promised us a table in 5 minutes and delivered in 3. After a practice oft-followed on maiden visits, I asked the attending waiter to surprise with what they were good at and he happily obliged. Servings came in small sizes encouraging multiple orders as typical of Izakaya way.

Dodging the Sushi came first the Chicken Katsu Bao - a deliciously soft white Bao cleaved open with an inside slathered with exotic sauce and filled with fat shreds of crackling chicken, slaw and a stalk of scallion as garnish. Impressed with the Bao, I took to stealing one from my son.

As main course, the tasty ‘Egg Noodles with Chilli, Basil and Chicken’ lent courage to march on with ordering more. It was a platter I couldn’t rush through as the subtle notes were too toothsome to be overlooked, with Basil and Chilli infusing Asian drama into its savour. Dark and deep ‘Slow cooked Lamb Massaman’ tasted smooth with the coconut milk [my favourite] and basil invoking Oriental serenity to complement an imposing yet succulent lamb-shank sticking out of the bowl. I still had space to fill and thus came the ‘Udon Noodles with Lamb and Chilli’ after a recommendation by the Manager. Traditionally cooked, the dish manifested in its simplest form with Udon topped with pan-fried lamb shreds and vegetables – lucid and perfect as Sunday late-dinner!

In short – a swanky eatery with decent spread, chic decor and bustling with tiresomely talkative people.

So, when and why should I visit Fatty-Bao? To happily ‘eat’ or to socially ‘meet’?

The city is yet to conclude on that!

They didn't come to cook...

Tong Atchew, reckoned to be the first Chinese immigrant to have arrived in India around the turn of the 18th Century to recoup the damages wrecked by civil wars, took to cooking only after his ambitious enterprise, blessed by none other than Warren Hastings - the then Governor-general of British India, to become the owner of a sugar mill near Kolkata, had gone kaput [Chini and Chini…prophetic]. Initially, his compatriots safely chose to leverage the traditional skills to survive on foreign soil. The Cantonese moved into carpentry. The teeth-setting Hubeis picked dentistry with the Hakkas turning shoe-smiths. So, none of them came here to cook! 

Eventually, the Chinese diaspora of Calcutta, sensing a need to impress the city-dwellers with grubs exotically yummy, ended up doing to Chinese cuisine exactly what Guy Ritchie did to Holmes years ago. How empathetic! I am safely counting on your incapacity to read my mischief...

Haunting Kachuris of Kolkata...

Voluptuous Kachoris are haunting me. Blame it on the FB post that, besides making me drool in sleep, set the untiring treasure-hunter on 'The Kachori’ yet again, landing him on the other side of the teeming city seeking immediate consummation. Now I am at ‘Maharani’ on Lansdowne Road mooting on the ways to begin my Kachori-binge. The ones I hold are consistent, freshly fried, tanned, round, indulgent, soft and coming with the quintessential 'Alu'r torkari’ to complement. What the priceless mole on upper lip did to Rekha’s face for years, the Green Chilli Pickle does exactly that to the Kachoris – enchant – turning the experience surreal.

For the uninitiated, Maharani is one of the Kachori Trinity - the rest two being The ‘Maharaja’ on Hungerford Street and ‘Potlada’r Kochuri’ on Bagbazar Street.

Royally Royal...

It is always ‘Curiosity’ that makes one chase the new – and it is sheer ‘Love’ that inspires clinging to the old - including a restaurant.

My annual pilgrimages to Kolkata would have three errands in common - visits to three of my dearest eateries, namely Sabir’s [for Rezala], Royal’s [for Pasinda] and Peter Cat [for Chelo Kebab]. They are like the cougars - attractive, beautifully old, experienced and raring to spoil.

Today I am to write about Royal’s.

Perhaps the quickest way to get to know Kolkata is to take a stroll along the fabled Chitpur road. Taking that wondrous walk is always an experience in itself offering sights and sounds that haven’t changed over the past few centuries. Toward the end of its stretch comes the Royal’s. Apparently, this particular joint never yielded to the charms of urban growth yet successfully remained in vogue on the culinary map of Kolkata. The secret of this glorious survival decidedly lay in the taste of the delicious dishes it had in store for its patrons.

I parked the car near the restaurant [did I break any traffic rule? Well, in love for food and war everything is fair] and taking the narrow flight of stairs reached 1st floor. Now an impulsive right turn would land one in the swanky Air-conditioned hall and that’s what I deliberately avoided. I turned left and naively entered the hall usually meant for the commoners.

Noticing me struggling with the menu a waiter, with an uncharacteristic smile, voluntarily drew closer and benignly asked - 'Sir, will you try the dish that I want you to? Trust me, you won't regret.' I liked the unusual candour in his voice and nodded in affirmation. To me, what followed was truly one of its kind- definitely one of the finest experiences a lover of good-food could long for. I found on my table two lachcha parathas fried in ghee – impeccably served with the feted and succulent Pasinda made with shredded mutton. The overwhelming aroma that preceded the food felt like the ‘dun dun dun dunnn’ of Fifth Symphony in c Minor - a fitting overture. I happily succumbed to the enchantment. The defining quality of that paratha was its softness which stayed till the last bit that I tore with just 3 fingers. Taste of this sort is routinely accompanied by a lingering aftertaste that manifests only through a noisy belch – and that too gushed forth in time. Hold on!

Again the apostolic waiter appeared from nowhere offering help in ordering for dessert – with a footnote hinting that there too he had something special to offer. I obliged. And no sooner had I ordered for the unknown than the celebrated Shahi-tukra appeared on my table. The distinction of Royal’s Shahi-tukra, always served warm, lay in the layer of 'kheer' liberally laden with scraped almond – with a royal hint of Zafran. It was a perfect rectangle. The sweetmeat almost condescendingly let my heartless spoon dig in and carry a part of it to my mouth – and I imploded. It was indeed to die for!

I shouldn’t talk about Royal’s Biriyani today as for savouring that particular dish I would always prefer Aminia [the original outlet located next to Elite] to everywhere else – that’s a choice I preserve and people are entitled to disagree to their own peril!

A sweetshop nonpareil...

Bagbazar Street, a stretch that is unequivocally regarded as one of the seats of Bengali aristocracy, hosts some of the most famous and sought-after street-food joints of Kolkata. There was a time when it used to be regarded highly urbanely by flourishing and delicate Britons to take their ladies to Bagbazar on evening strolls. With time the sheen wore off but the flavour remained. And Bagbazar continued to bask in the glory of a pampered past...

If one approaches Bagbazar Street from BT Road [The Bata junction] - keeping the eyes and nose open and alert, and takes a few steps down the road, a diminutive, seedy, crowded sweet-shop would appear on the left - named ‘Sri Gobindo Bhandar’. This is heaven!

It won’t be entirely wrong to state that Gobindo Bhandar’s proud owners would have loved had it been only Winter all along! This shop particularly flourishes in winter as their fare largely consists of varieties of sweets made with Jaggery [solemnly ‘Gurh’ - made with date palm popularly known as nolen gurh or patali gurh] – a wintry produce and, gastronomically speaking, something dangerously close and essential to a die-hard Bengali’s wellbeing.

The time of the year we are living through is afflictive as we hopelessly witness the elusive winter leaving us only to return after a year – and try to stash as much ‘Gurh’ as possible for the rest of the year until the winter resurfaces. Gobindo Bhandar’s Gurh is pricey but justly so. The aroma of ‘Gurh’ the shop offers gratis to the passersby is priceless. The range of sweets – prepared with Gurh – is not quite long but wide enough and includes Gujia, Norom-pak [the soft ones], Kora-pak [hard ones], Chandrapuli [lunar shaped], Naru [sweets made of coconut shreds and Gurh], Moa [a seasonal sweetmeat delicacy made with Date Palm Jaggery and Kanakchur Khoi] et al. besides the raw gurh sold in both solid and molten form.

So, I would request all my fellow gastronomes to start stockpiling Gurh and ensure happiness until the winter reappears! Clock is ticking!

Allen's allures...

I am apparently one of those dimwits who would even agree to waste time on something as insubstantial as counting Mango trees when his dear friend is buried in eating the delicious Mangoes. This ploy is not as unthinking as it seems on surface. While counting I intently watch his face and if it beams on first bite, I just leave my sham-counting to join him in eating. That’s the upside of having good and gullible friends. Do I really do that? NO. Because I have none so. I just fancy!

But I did thus on my maiden visit to Allen’s kitchen and it reaped the expected. Until some years ago I was blissfully unfamiliar with the legend surrounding this splendid eatery and naively drove past it time and again during my visits to Kolkata. My first visit, admittedly a circumspect one, was with a fellow food-lover who unsuspectingly agreed to order for just one Prawn-cutlet first while I agreed to watch him eating.

Then came the Epiphany! With the first bite he abruptly turned silent and began waving hands like a seasoned Symphony Conductor…perhaps I heard the symphony too in successive crackles. That was THE momentous cue! I forthwith ordered the jumbo Prawn Cutlet and forgot the world…and was hurled to heaven! Allen’s secret lay in its simplicity [quite characteristic of North Kolkata] and perhaps an unbending attitude – they never swerved from what they were best at – something perhaps stemming from a deep understanding of Kolkata psyche. What I eventually discovered inside the ghee fried veneer were the soft and juicy prawns - filled generously, slowly and happily melting in the mouth. I chomped it to nothingness! The taste made us order for Chicken Kabiraji Cutlet (also fried in Ghee). Chicken Kabiraji Cutlet, an absolute masterpiece on its own merits, was found to have been prepared with as much love and culinary sincerity - again filled generously with chicken shreds. What came on the heels was Mutton steak, an accidental order and definitely a hidden gem – a healthy mutton patty covered in pepper sauce. How could such a simple dish taste so profound? Allen’s is one of that dwindling lot of eateries that never laboured on expanding their menu and instead clung to those delicacies they were widely admired for. I left the joint immediately after the patty disappeared from my plate - before the gobbling glutton could surface subduing the discriminating gourmet. One notable point – Allen’s serve the fries with Kasundi (Mustard sauce) and fresh salad.

For the uninitiated, Mr. Jibonkrishna Saha launched Allen’s Kitchen about 132 years ago. This joint is located near Sovabazaar metro station.

The caveat – when you leave home for Allen’s, then come to Allen’s please. Mitra Café, looming just across the road, may seem a deterrent that you need to hold over.

Bon appetit! 

Singara, Samosa and beyond...

- Knock knock…

- Who is that? Leave. I’m not home.

- So you are the famous Supari-killer? I have a job to offer…to bump ***** off. 

- That’s tough…

- That’s why it’s you. Fee? 

- Total One lakh ‘gorom’[warm] Singaras to be supplied every Saturday exactly at 9 in the morning without fail over next five years! You do the math. Agreed?

- Agreed.

That’s the talent of Singara…the finest of it can make one kill. 

Singara lets a child be an elder as generously as it affords elders occasions to whine. Glimpse of a golden one – a savoury mash of potatoes, spices, love, peas, ginger and often cauliflowers encased in dough and fried brown – with corners chicly broken and blunted and served on a sunny Saturday morning is indeed an ode to the eclectic spirit of Kolkata. Unlike many of its kind, Singaras ring nostalgia that we all adore so differently, deservedly earning a kinship having stood by Bengal through thick and thin – be it love, hate or rebellion! ‘Singara’ - daintier, mystical and, to me, superior in flavour, and ‘Samosa’ together rule the city’s discriminating palate. A keen bite of it calls up a host of conjectures around a fascinatingly simple taste. For the rookie, winding alleys of North Kolkata churn the yummiest of them known to mankind. So, would the ‘Samosas’ go unsung today? A lazy morning walk in Burrabazar neighbourhood may land a seeker, keen on the ‘Napoleon of Samosa’, before Tewari’s. Samosas characteristically carry a dark stuffing of potatoes evenly mashed and roasted in a big wok before being laced with garam masala adding the blackness. The mix then is stuffed into a dough, shaped carefully with nimble fingers and deep-fried in ghee. So, Samosas taste richer, crispier and spicier by construct - and heavenly with tamarind 'Chatni'. Possibly, it’s the bounce that would take Singaras notches up if pitted against sharper Samosas.

Enough about the Raga! How about the time to sing? Singaras fare unusually better over weekends to the refined accompaniment of tea, in earthen tea-pot, and elements as diverse as politics, music, art and what not, thus remaining forever a delicious rebel without a pause!

Phuchka-philia...

I see the World in a Phuchka – a round, hollow, crispy, brittle, deep-fried bread-ball made of flour - filled with 1 portion of land and 3 portions of water – with a mishmash of spiced potatoes, onions, coriander leaves and finely chopped chilies embodying the ‘Land’ delicately floating in flavoured ‘Water’ commonly known as ‘Tetul-jol' (Tamarind water). They form a perfect Earth where eco-system is never endangered!

Like the deities of Hindu pantheon, Phuchka is called by different names in different parts of India - in Bihar and surrounding states it is gupchup whereas in Haryana it is paani ke patashe; in Madhya Pradesh it is fulki but in Uttar Pradesh and Delhi people call it golgappa; in West Bengal it is adored as phuchka and in parts of Odisha as Gupchup. In Punjab the delicacy is popular as Golgappay. Bengal’s Puchka differs from its regional variants in stuffing and taste. Perhaps the use of a mix of boiled gram and mashed potatoes as the filling, perfectly complemented by the sour-and-spicy water, brings the twist in by rendering the outcome tangier and infinitely interesting. The secret of the taste is often closely and dearly preserved by the masters of the craft.

Enough of this theory!

Phuchkas never cease to take its admirers by surprise! The initial trepidation lasts until this profound bread-ball, appropriately loaded, is first put inside the mouth - and this delicious surprise stuns the Phuchka-phile unerringly in every binge, come what may. Phuchkas are traditionally served in little bowls made of Shalpata/ dried leaf. On the art of savouring Phuchka – ‘biting into a Phuchka’ is a sacrilege never to be forgiven. It should be gobbled up in one go letting the rest happen inside mouth – something supremely inscrutable! The closest one could get to verbalizing the ‘Inside’ experience is by shedding tears of joy. The popularity of Phuchka largely thrives on this obscurity! 

Now comes the epilogue! Every Phuchka-binge is drawn to a close with a ‘Phau’ - the 'incremental' Phuchka, delectably decked up with a dash of lime and graciously given away ‘on demand’ by the vendor to his discerning patrons in appreciation of loyalty – an age-old ploy ever in vogue to retain customers. Often the Phaus are sought to be tastier than regular Phuchkas. 

Kolkata abounds with great Phuchkawallas though, I maintain, the Shyambazar Town School neighbourhood hosts the crème de la crème of the lot.

After surviving all this if one is loath to leave the stall and secretly longing for a more delicious parting, it is definitely Churmur, Phuchka deconstructed, to ask for from the wish-fulfilling Phuchkawalla. With Churmur starts another episode that can be discussed later…

Now the caveat - NEVER EAT PHUCHKA FROM VENDORS WHO USE MINERAL WATER AND WEAR GLOVES – they are abominable aliens sent from other planets to steal earthly secrets!

As for Phuchkas – the nastier it is the tastier it is, period!

A thought on food...

Besides being particularly fond of people who are elegantly clumsy in their bearing while eating, I preserve a perverse habit of associating fine-dining with charlatans. The music in the ‘Talking while eating’ is always more appealing and preferred to the moronic tinkling of cutlery. In many of the new run of fine-dining restaurants of the city, where attitude is preferred to love-for-food, I feel terribly displaced. Surprisingly most of the celebrated eateries of the world I’ve had the opportunity of visiting, particularly in Europe, conspicuously promoted silence. [And definitely as inborn gastronomes Bengalis have always trusted their tongues more than Michelin’s.]

This hidden penchant for disorder has made Bengalis irrevocably vulnerable to dishes as profane yet profound as Phuchka, Tarka or the Roll...

The Bona Fide Roll…or ‘A lady in off-shoulder top’!

A brief trip to Juarez acquainted me with the magic of Mexican cuisine and what ensued was a lifelong friendship [...end of Casablanca?]. Be it in terms of presentation, pattern or spread Mexican cuisine seemed very familiar – hot, interesting, clumsy, not fussy yet very definitive. Surprisingly the cooks wouldn’t stop from snubbing someone asking for extra chicken-shreds in a Burrito if that’s likely to spoil the taste – and they would tell you that too! Last evening something similar unfolded before me In Gariahat that only brought the Mexican memories back. At the feted ‘Bedouin Roll Centre’, a rookie – fiercely keen on designing his own Mutton-roll, faced a timely rebuff from the attendant.

A Roll is a meaty story served wrapped in a Paratha and told many times in many ways. Its making is a ‘spectacular’ process involving a host of culinary activities, perfected over the years, contributing in equal measure to the unfolding of a work of art - starting from the making of the pliable dough-balls to turning them into flaky golden Parathas to cradle the succulent kebabs - laced with LOVE, dash of lime, chopped onion and chilli TO THE EXCLUSION OF EVERYTHING ELSE, mind it. 

Despite having a rather fortuitous and humble beginning in an unkempt corner of Calcutta circa 1930, this ‘fast-food’ item obediently underwent some notable culinary modifications alongside making steady inroads into the world of serious gastronomy. Of them, to me, the most eloquent one was replacing the iron skewers with wooden ones - making the kebabs take in the defining flavour of burnt wood. 

So, it’s apparently very simple, isn’t it? NO! NEVER! This impression of simplicity has often rendered the ‘Kathi Roll’ unjustly trivialized to many clouding the culinary ingenuity and hardship invested into making it what it is today! Thus to the lesser mortals it was never a delicacy but just 'cooked meat wrapped in Paratha'.[I conveniently look at it as a providential ploy to preserve its glory with a chosen few]. Today, in Kolkata, sadly a shrinking lot of joints serve the Bona fide Roll, namely – Nijam, Kusum Roll Centre, Hot Kati, Nizamia, Badshah, Nandini [PaikPara], KhanSahab [Bangalore] etc. [What the ‘Rogues’ sell as ‘Kathi Roll’ is just minced meat flippantly wrapped in a limp Paratha. To that they add varieties of tasteless sauces summarily killing the taste and all that a Roll is cherished for.] 

Typically feasting on a Roll starts with placing the order. The tantalizing sight of dangling bamboo skewers is meant to feed, whet and curb the interim voyeuristic fancy. Finally, the delivery call comes from across the counter putting an abrupt end to a pulsating wait – and the wrapped beauty changes hands. It’s time to hold the lady wearing a sheer off-shoulder top. An old hand would take a while before making the first move – it’s the time to behold it with love and start a brief discourse lasting till the last bite and twirl the roll decisively to see where to start from! The inviting aperture at the top offers a peep into a meaty bliss. The wrapping paper is gently torn off letting the brown skin breathe and be seen…and the journey begins! The thrill booms with every bite…

Ting tong – “Dada, apnar double-stick Mutton Roll ready! 

Tissue laagbe? Eei je…”

Niranjan Agar...an undying gem

There are Goliaths and there are Davids. It's safe to write about Goliaths and smart to talk about Davids. But what about the rest? What the Book of Samuel chose not to speak about we the gourmets can. Over the years the city has almost inertly endured the launches of hundreds of restaurants with each claiming foothold for some reason or the other in this city's protean foodscape. So, if Grand Hotel is Goliath and Mocambo is David, the likes of Aminia and Bedouin or Aliah would figure in the left-out lot.

‘Niranjan Agar’, a distinguished member of the unsung lot, is located in a snugly corner of that part of Kolkata where the ‘North’ confronts the ‘Central’ – precisely next to Girish Park Metro Station. The ambient discomfort couldn’t daunt the seeker in me as I knew well of fried beauties drawing closer to more than make up for all the peeving foibles. The oozing old-world charm of the interior is carefully preserved in marble-top tables, rickety wooden chairs and unending wooden rafters running across the ceiling holding the noisy fans that never failed to add to the surrounding richness. They all lent credence to an antiquated yet inviting charm of this fabled bistro. I wisely picked a corner table offering a nice view of the floor and prepared to order - for Fish Fry to start with…

To any diehard Bengali - unabashedly in love with ‘Fish Fry’, the sight of a raw Bhetki fillet - dipped in batter and poised to be deep fried, makes memories swarm like restless bees. That’s pure love! Niranjan Agar’s ‘Special Fish Fry’ - made of honest and fat fillets - marinated, crumb-coated and fried brown - religiously served with Kasundi (pungent mustard sauce) and fresh salad on side - celebrates that rare love every day. A bite into it flings one far from the annoying world – perfectly sets the palate for the bites to follow - prepares the teste-buds for the unknown. So never let the maiden morsel leave the mouth unannounced – appreciate its company till it agrees to go down happily giving way to the next. In short, that’s the way to feast on a ‘fishy’ masterpiece!

I had on agenda another trail to pursue that day – the one of the ‘Egg-Devil’, or the ‘Devilled Egg’ deconstructed. This particular fried delicacy, references of which are found in ancient Roman recipes, found patronizing sanctuaries and zealous admirers in the bistros of Kolkata and rather condescendingly agreed to settle for life. Niranjan Agar is one such place that pledged its unrelenting care to ‘Devilled Egg’ eventually turning the delicacy into one of its bestsellers. The imposing size of it, at first glance, appears unusually seductive - more intimidating than inviting. The use of oversized duck eggs, cut into four from top, forming a flower, to be filled with subtly sweetened minced meat and fried crumbs – a layout only revealed by a delicate crosssection [resembling a bright Impressionist masterpiece], adds both glamour and guilt in equal measure to this delicacy’s lingering aftertaste – urging me call it the Delicious Devil. So be it!

Bravely choosing to leave the safe and beaten path of trying out the natty joints and visit those that helped the city form its own gastronomic pattern, would deservedly open an unusual world to the intrepid foodlover – where gaudery yields to sheer love for food. I had my flings with the Goliaths and Davids of the food-world [including some Michelin-starred] and now I turn to the rest…to be taken on a nostalgia-joyride!

Thus I wish Niranjan Agar another thousand years of resounding success!

A delicious escape to Kolaghat...

I am still undecided on what exactly took me today to Kolaghat – a town some 80 odd KMs away from Kolkata...was it in pursuit of the untasted or just a ruse to flee the urban cacophony? To most, until ten years ago the name Kolaghat used to stir up images of sparkling Ilish Maach (Hilsa). Now decidedly it's 'Sher-e-Punjab' dhaba that brings more guests to the town than the elusive Queen of fish. Initially the 90-minute drive seemed fruitless as the teeming Dhaba couldn’t promise a table for three in foreseeable hours. So that took us to the next door restaurant called ‘Express Plaza’ – apparently modelled after the American diners…and again that turned out to be a pleasant accident of landing me at the right place at the right time.

A visit of ours to a Dhaba unfailingly starts with ordering for Tandoori Chicken [we just love it that way...period] and today too we clung to that pattern. It was good but not perfect – fresh from the tandoor, not desirably succulent but served perfectly warm with the usual thick green chutney and onions on side – just the love that cookery thrives on was lacking. Although the tandoori was definitely nowhere in the neighbourhood of the finest I had had until now, it was not insipid either. Admittedly clinical cooking never awards a delicacy the immortality that love, ingenuity and sincerity together can. Wait! Not being good somehow leaves one with the room to improve and eventually excel. I can at best wish them that awareness! 

The prerogative, or ordeal, of ordering at an eatery usually rests with my ‘best’ half as then only she lets me focus on the ‘deliverance’ part – in short 'eating'. I saw both my wife and son siding with Kulchas for main-course leaving me happily alone with the pristine ghee-phulkas. Dark and heavy Dal-Makhni then had to be the matching side. Those dishes surprisingly turned out to be delicious leaving us little to say about the taste and authenticity. Perhaps the staidness of the attendant was the singular thing we could find fault with! A meal at any Dhaba has to close with a round of cooling Lassi and today, the sullen summer turned the drink exceedingly sweeter, tastier and doubly coveted – so we ordered twice and felt happy! 

The drive back home was strikingly breezier than usual – I dozed off!

Kaale Pehlwan's Biriyani...

Exactly when I reached the small purple door opening onto a dingy passage leading to an earth-laden pit, a Good Samaritan, perhaps noticing my dazed look, walked up to ask – “Sir, are you lost?”. I rejoined – “No Sir. I’m Abhik. Thanks.”

By then I was standing right before the door that had stood long between me and my elusive love – Biriyani. I was at Ustad Pehlwan Kaale Bhai Gardi near Elgin Talkies in Shibajinagar, Bangalore – a traditional akhara [gymnasium] that magically doubles up as a bestselling Biriyani joint every afternoon [except Sunday]. When with time in the world without the Persian style of wrestling yielded to the nimbler Greco-Roman, at Kaale Bhai's akhara the pristine and the old-fashioned found a caring sanctuary. No woman has ever been let inside during the morning training hours.

To dodge the resolute crowd a ‘seeker’ of Biriyani is advised to reach the modest eatery well before noon and wait for the door to open. The Mutton Biryani here, teeming with tender chunks of meat, is cooked slow with short yellow rice. Soon after the first round of flavoured rice with Rasam/ Biriyani was served, a shrill call came from inside asking for which meat one would prefer on side. That was crudely classic! Savouring traditional Moghal-styled Biriyani, strictly cooked in wood-fire, sitting next to a live wrestling pit was the most surreal feast that then I could have asked for. Came close on the heels the succulent Shami Kebab – juicy patty made of minced meat tenderly cooked with exotic spices, garlic, mint and green chillies – and truly vanishing in mouth. No wonder it was an invention to sate a gluttonous toothless Nawab!

A humble visit to this small slip of a joint is sure to turn your next humdrum trip to Bangalore to an unusual one – are you game to muscle in?

Royal treat...Pattar-ke-Gosht

My decade-long stint outside Kolkata as an outcast by choice did acquaint me with some exquisite delicacies I wouldn’t have relished otherwise. The one that I am going to blabber on is one such definitive culinary classic. Sadly, this delicacy has thus far been enjoying popularity and patronage, of gourmets and gobblers alike, largely in the southern part of India, particularly Hyderabad.

Dear gastronome, today I fondly present to you ‘Patthar ka Gosht’ – an unusually delicious Hyderabadi dish which was originally conceived for the Royals of Nizami courts. Traditionally, this is prepared by marinating lamb-chops in a blend of curd, garam masala, papaya paste, cardamom powder and grilled on an aged and hot granite slab – with the traditional ingredients, often kept classified within families of repute or coteries of cooks, and the flavour of the stone lending a unique and earthy taste to this culinary treat – and served tastefully garnished with lime juice, mint leaves and coriander.

I found the cook, in the picture, in Bangalore during the Ramzan month, humming and preparing ‘Patthar Ka Gosht’ on a 200-year old slab - almost wearing the élan of a dervish.

Aaheli Express...bistro from Peerless

A perchance visit to Aaheli Express, strategically located at the corner of Peerless Bhavan in Esplanade East and already making a serious dent in Chitto da's monopoly, left me smiling and contemplating on the next visit. Their 'Kosha Mangsho aar Luchi' platter, carrying a humble price tag of 84/-, had 'duto Mangsho'r piece '(2 pieces of Mutton) - succulent, honestly cooked and moderately spicy, with two freshly fried but flaky Luchis [deep-fried flatbread made of flour] offering a fitting accompaniment. Just a condescending smile while placing the order could fetch the choicest mutton pieces.

Kolkata is in need of like unpretentious outlets that value warmth and tradition besides feeding a generation always on the move...

Tung Nam...the choice of the hardcore!

I owe a hug to another thinking foodie Subhankar for hatching the off-the-cuff visit to Tung Nam today where unheard-of pork delicacies happened to appear almost magically. 

With distinct, definitive taste the Chou Si stood out. Use of rice wine as base was as much surprising as delightful to my enthusiastic tastebuds. The gastronomic fraternity of Calcutta would forever be indebted to Abhimanyu for discovering Chou Si. Steamed Wantons were light, austere, authentic. The Chilli pepper garlic pork tasted full of gusto carrying distinctive Spice-notes. Penchant for like delicacies takes time to take off. 

I truly had an evening to remember.

Bombay Halwa...from Haji Liyaqat

In a city teeming with 'unforgettble' sweetshops it’s easier to forget than to remember the chosen ones. A dear friend's prized company took me inside the fabled Phears Lane of Central Calcutta in pursuit of a sweetmeat more mooted than tasted – Bombay/ Karachi/ Turkish Halwa. 

I was overwhelmed. This one carried all the vices that I admire in a sweet – poise, colour, texture, aroma, surprise and a lingering aftertatste. The measured sweetness, quite atypical of this particular sweetmeat, didn’t kill the desire to have more of it and I had to oblige mine. 

I will visit Haji Liyaqat Sweets again 'hungry for more'…

TGIF...a wicked meal!

What launches an eatery is its ambiance but what sustains it is its food. Though I had my share of usual misgivings, having dined at TGIF across US on countless occasions, around the Indian experience that it would offer, I finally stepped in - having graciously yielded to my wife's coaxing on a cloudy Friday. She didn't fail me. I loved it again!

I endured within a ‘wicked’ duel between a dogged carnivore and a discriminating epicure while feasting on the 'Wicked Chicken' - two Cajun-spiced succulent yet firm chicken breasts sautéed and topped with exotic Cajun-cream sauce served with Jambalaya rice subtly carrying the French and Spanish influence. Butter roasted corn cobs and extra Cajun cream sauce came on side just to spike the flavour of the mood. The platter impressively flaunted the defining directness of an archetypal American delicacy – loud, honest, identifiable, proudly indelicate yet unfailingly delivering the promised taste. For the uninitiated - safely start with the 'ribs' and seafood platters.

I often visit TGIF just to know what I am REALLY fond of!

Litti - an unsung streetfood

Provenance: Bihar

Popularity: Largely regional

Category: Streetfood

Taste: Varies with the degree of hunger

It’s called Litti.

Knack for the unusual has taken me far and wide – and lately made me try this oft-heard Bihari bestseller from a blink-and-you-miss-it vendor on RN Mukherjee Road opposite Birla building. I was happy! 

In short and in spirit, it’s a Zen food – very honest, tastes fulfilling when partaken of with sincerity and in empty stomach – being dough balls [often rolled flat] made of whole wheat flour and stuffed with roasted chickpea flour [Sattu], herbs like onion, garlic, ginger, coriander leaves and lime juice and then, having roasted over coal or wood, tossed with ghee [of questionable purity]. 

Two flat Littis served with yogurt, baigan [Brinjal] bharta, an unusual chilli pickle [on demand] and finely chopped onion left me licking fingers for a while. The kind vendor taught me the art of savouring Litti hinting at the peculiarity of its taste that tarries to develop. It appeared that the earthy beauty of this delicacy - commanding restricted popularity of course, unfolds only when prepared with authentic regional spices and savoured with a curious mind to the accompaniment of the right sides – be it Bengan bharta or Alu Chokha.

It carries a taste worth cultivation and culinary pursuit...

Corner House

Rare is the tome that unfolds what exactly makes us all go weak at the knees at the sight of a voluptuous Ice-cream - decked with whipped cream, nuts and molten chocolate. Decidedly It is one of those few desserts, if I may call it thus, that has always flourished on a dearly preserved inexplicability. Until 80’s, the likes of Kwality’s [Park Hotel] Tooti-frooti or Hobby Centre’s spread ruled my ice-cream fancy. Häagen-Dazs, Cold Stone, Baskin Robbins, Magnum or Ben & Jerry’s are the brands I chummed up with later largely over my travels far and wide. But none could intrigue me as deeply as Bangalore’s ‘Corner House’ did – trust me! The brand boasts of a very humble beginning and would soon be completing 36 years. CH’s offerings range from scoops to sundaes – always versatile, flavoured, freshly made, and served in the most modest yet delectable ways - with the secrets of taste hidden in the recipes of delicious sauces prepared in-house. 

Amongst the bestsellers, ‘The Hot Chocolate Fudge’ is an old love that comes as ‘two scoops of Vanilla ice cream topped with scoops of the hot chocolate sauce and sprinkled with crushed peanuts’ - understated, classically modest, delicious and sinful. The one I’m to wax eloquent on is Café Caramel – a treat designed strictly for the connoisseurs with a kinky penchant for elegant bitterness – scoops of caramel crunch Ice-cream topped with thick cream, coffee sauce and cashew nuts. The dripping coffee sauce [I end up asking for more of it] sets the elusive stage hiding the thick creamy mystery awaiting within. The golden nuts guard up adequately tricking one trust the very first flavour to touch the tongue, steadily ‘unpreparing’ the enthusiast for the unknown. The magic begins the moment the long spoon digs into the whole cleaving through all layers eventually scooping out a dollop with bits of all that went into it creating an indelible taste profile! A brief spell of ecstatic numbness is likely after the spoonful makes its way into the mouth. The ingredients, carrying distinctive flavours, when combined create an indeterminate gastronomic masterpiece – a true tertium quid. I love it with my eyes open! 

The spartan interior admittedly belies the richness of Corner House’s repertoire. The camaraderie begins with the maiden dollop landing inside the mouth letting the tongue be mischievous. Even the single scoop-varieties, usually served in cups, carry the defining fullness, taste, texture and honesty of the brand.

I like some bit of clumsiness in food – that imperfection stokes creativity and makes a seeker come back in search of surprises…

Tunday Kebabi...

When it comes to cooking, it’s eminently safer to be inventive than classic. Classics throw the cook into the pit of comparison! 

Do we really know what to notice in an eatery and what is barely worth an insincere clap? Do we really have the wealth of culinary wisdom [and experience] that animates an unprejudiced critique? Don’t we often appreciate with a diffident heart unprepared 'to be surprised'? 

Years ago I had a revelation at 'Tunday Kebab' in Koramangla, Bangalore. That was a sullen Sunday. Though the air was not conditioned to my comfort, the food was definitely poised to impress. The joint unabashedly bore all the signs of one to be rated low on the usual scale, yet didn't fail to surprise me with dishes served and cooked with rare Lukhnowi culinary sincerity [Lucknow's meaty marvels namely Galouti, Tunday, Boti and Chapli] and simplicity...specially the Tundays served with Rumali - soft, juicy, sincere and lingering.

Should I have sought in them the succulent excellence of Haji Murad Ali’s melting Tundays that had once fascinated Nawab Wajid Ali Shah of Awadh - eventually paving its way to immortality? Theoretically and going strictly by Murad Ali’s celebrated recipe, to prepare Tundays, the meat is beaten with hand [which he did with just one] into a fine paste called Sucha that, when cooked, would melt instantly in mouth making the bouquet of flavours of all the exotic ingredients [to name a few - yogurt, garam-masala, ginger, garlic, cardamom, cloves, ghee, dried mint, onions rings, vinegar, sugar and lime] implode. Prepared in batches, the kebabs are cooked in ghee under intense Dum - ensuring a definitive aftertaste cherished far and wide. 

I didn’t compare as what I ate made me happy. I kept from pitting it against the superlatives and instead chose to rate it on its own merits – just asking myself honestly how it had fared as an authentic Tunday. The answer was affirmative - I enjoyed. Period!