'Bhajabhuji'...way to go...

Gone are the days of hoary and irritable shop-owners, tucked away in dimly corners of ramshackle eateries, yelling orders or scribbling count of the sales of delicious ‘telebhaja’ [fritters] to swarming patrons. Budding entrepreneurs are young, intrepid, lettered, pragmatic, alert and unhurried. Soumya Gangopadhyay’s ambitious undertaking ‘Bhajabhuji’ is one such venture that promises yesteryears’ savoury delights draped in today’s smartness. 

I enjoined agile Soumya to surprise me with his popular titbits. ‘Mutton Cutlet’ - the fabled streetfood of Kolkata, was what he offered first - a robust, juicy, crumb-coated mutton mince patty, fried deep and served with Kasundi [mustard sauce]. The inlying patty tasted both traditional and delicious unleashing the cherished flavour of minced meat laced with choicest spices. What marred the relish was an over-fried coat that as much challenged my teeth as my endurance, besides creating an illusion of staleness. That truly unimpressed!

The ‘Fish Roll’, served next, proved a winner by all measures - be it the class of fish [agreeably Bhetki] or the taste of the hidden layer – snugly dwelling between the sweet and spicy filling – ‘reportedly’ made of mashed Bhetki and prawns, and the crumbed coat, or the final crispiness. I just loved it!

'Chicken Breast Cutlet’, designedly chosen after mutton and fish to close the meaty loop, carried underneath the crispy breading a stiff, poorly marinated boneless chicken breast. Even the screaming aroma of cinnamon couldn’t salvage the savour of this enviably popular delicacy.

I am unsure if ‘Bhajabhuji’ is after 'leading' or 'following', but either way, its commercial aspiration must flourish on the bedrock of a definitive purpose and matching zeal - firmly backed by apt culinary skills and an utter distaste for mediocrity. I wish Bhajabhuji the best in all its endeavours.

Fatty Bao...again!

Truth be told, it was not food but an ache to behold my city in daylight from 8th floor that brought me to ‘Fatty Bao’ again. The plan was to enjoy the view, keep the Monday meal as spartan as possible and leave like a ghost. But love intervened – love for food! [And the privilege of playing the sole guest to a battery of genial waiters was too scarce to let go of.] 

Finding me annoyingly engrossed in the panoramic skyline of Kolkata for over 30 minutes, the waiter muttered – ‘Sir, are you here to lunch?’ I repeated my script – ‘Surprise me. But I need to wrap it up quick. So, keep it short and delicious.’ He nodded! 

I jumped the Bao. 

‘Egg Noodles with Chilli, Basil and Chicken’, served on a quaint aquamarine plate, tasted unusually hot, risking the collective hints of subtler ingredients. Overcooked and flaccid Basil failed in adding green-peace to the dish. Noodles were well-cooked though. ‘Three Cup Chicken’ it was – Taiwan wok tossed chicken chunks in soy sauce, rice wine and sesame oil with dried chillies and basil, that indeed, like a trusted side, redeemed my meal. Feisty, piquant and dominant Soy sauce, naively passing off as fine Teriyaki, staggered the blooming of unobtrusive Rice wine. Together they fared well as a rounded and satisfying course. I rested my nimble chopsticks to turn to the sky! 

Chocolaty, sweet & elegantly salty - these are a few of my favourite things! 

Fatty Bao’s Cocoa Caramel – a definitive pièce de résistance, surprisingly rich, poised and decadent, had it all - modestly dished up with a silky clump of milk chocolate cream delicately resting on a thin flourless chocolate cake, brittle Hazelnut praline crisp [couldn’t they crush and sprinkle it on top?], toasted meringue and salted caramel gel drops with a salted caramel ice-cream to match! The mouthfuls melted unhurriedly leaving a creamy sensation evenly smeared across my tongue. I took time to savour [cursing alongside the elitist molecular-gastronomy for rendering desserts so short-lived and discreet]. It was to die for! 

My puny agenda yielded to a bigger one blowing the planned 30 minutes to an hour. The smile that the delicious dessert had put on my face remained till sundown.

Kancha-mithe aam'er chutney [Chutney of sweet-n-sour mango]...

In it the Summer’s wrath and mother’s spleen end! 

It is ‘Kacha-mithe aam’er chatni’ [Chutney of Sweet-n-Sour Mango] – absolutely ambrosial – neighbours’ envy, Bengal’s pride! 

Tropicality plays prime in vivifying this Bengali delicacy making it a refreshing delight of summer – mischievous, thick, marginally hot, delectably spicy, sticky and prepared with unpeeled green mangoes cut into fleshy slices. Theoretically, a chutney is just fruit and sugar cooked down to a reduction. But in Bengal it far outgrows the theoretic confines blending finely into the timbre of humdrum life. Nothing pleases more than scraping the sweet flesh off the sliced pit with teeth over a sweaty summery lunch. Roasted ground spices and black cumin seeds drizzled from top add to its flavoury mystique. 

I ask for more! My spat with Ma dissolves in the sugary mix. 

Mamagoto...the new sprightly kid in the pan-asian block!

The visit to Mamagato was everything but fortuitous. My wife and I had planned it a week ago following our return to this beautiful city after almost a decade. [Meanwhile the net and intermittent visits kept me updated on Kolkata's rapid yet steady gastronomic evolution.]

Firstly, the location of Mamagoto brought the sweet memories of 'Waldorf' back - the Chinese restaurant that once had ruled the City's heart and gourmets' tongues alike. Inside I found the pleasant chiaroscuro as welcoming as the smiling blue bear. Kanai Das, meriting mention, upon learning our preference, suggested the dishes to be tried on maiden visit. The gesture delighted.

Coming to the food - I just loved them. Period!

Work has taken me across the globe allowing visits to 'surprising' eateries. At Mamagoto, in pursuit of surprise, I neither sought 'tradition' nor Deja Vu. Traditional cuisine often fails to delight when served in strict native fashion. Immoderate allegiance to rule stunts a cuisine's growth to its potential. Mamagoto did please me - particularly with novelty & earthiness in food-presentation, warmth, balance in taste, perfectly cooked and crispy chicken-strips [loved the crackle when they succumbed between my teeth] and a variety of sauces. The attending waiter volunteered in pairing sauces with the dishes ordered.

The following items are recommended to those raring to take the plunge - Tom yum soup [perfectly thick to start a great course], prawn dumplings to accompany the soup, chicken wanton, chicken satay [loved it], chilli pepper fish in black bean sauce, chicken ribbon prawn wafer, fried egg rice [Indonesian] and Thai pad shrimp noodle. [Their one bowl of soup can serve four - trust me!] The dumplings subtly carried the hints of delicate herbs offering a unique taste profile.

I would suggest my fellow food-lovers never to 'prepare' before trying a new joint out - and just to step in with a clean 'tongue' and be surprised! I have mostly found the results worth this unpreparedness [or the risk]. Seeking waiter's help [like sommelier's for wine] while placing order for the first time has mostly stood me in good stead as far as good food is concerned. They would sincerely guide you to the ones they are best at - and that's exactly what you need!

The conclusive surprise came with the Manager's offering of a beautiful cake with delicious caramel sauce and Vanilla Ice-cream on top - gratis! Thanks Milan...

Mamagoto will definitely delight! Just go and give in...

Brickwood's Pizza...

...was delighted to visit 'Brickwood' for an 'interesting' and impromptu lunch after a foodie-friend's able recommendation [with sleeves rolled up for a fight, had it gone south]. What took me by surprise was the 'honesty' of the foods served - an expression I often resort to for applauding the quality of delivering the promised.

Among the dishes ordered, Spanish Chicken and Stuffed Chicken Steak merited special mention. Moroccan Chicken, served with Pita-slices, was ordered on impulse risking my marital bliss and that didn't disappoint either. 

What hogged the limelight was definitely the 'Pollo Fungi Cilantro' pizza - with Cilantro sauce, blending uniquely with over-roasted Tomato sauce, spread on generous topping of Chicken and Mushroom. We didn't tip and left the joint smiling...thinking that I could live up to the promise of treating my son with choicest thin-crust in the wake of his final examination...

Maharaja - king of Kachori...

For an owl that I am, the indecision to drop son at school in the wee hours allows a rare ride through my city and a seemingly accidental visit to The Maharaja on Hungerford Steet - one of the Kochuri Trinity...where tasty, traditional, round, unblemished, generous and fresh kochuris greet you at the counter. The spicy 'Alur Torkari' challenges the tongue's endurance. The Pickle made of finely chopped chillies comes as a surprise. The tea is unique here - discernibly carrying the strands of Kesar adding to the aura of the beverage. I come back time and again...

A failed feast - Nu Wan Li...

The Dornier 328 took off gently. Wobbled in the air. Leveled off briefly. Wobbled again. And then crash-landed. That's how a seasoned Pilot would have recounted the luckless supper of last night at Nu Wan Li. It hurt. 

The beginning was promising. Thai Chicken Soup tasted rounded – having creatively swapped the traditional seasoning for a spicier one achieving the nuanced originality with added flavoury tones. Ginger and chillies duly lent aroma, pinch and a seductive note [was it lemongrass?]. I smiled. 

Chilli Chicken enjoys an exemplary ubiquity in Kolkata, offering a trite yet interesting taste hard to misidentify. The one we suffered last night tasted far removed from the reality of Chilli Chicken. I frowned. 

The Chilli Pork felt lean but chewy – and stale. The base sauce with onions was well-made though. Hunan fish, prepared hurriedly with Basa, was forgotten fast. My frown deepened.

At this crossroads, providence intervened as Green Pepper Chicken – deliciously juicy Chicken shreds seasoned with spices and herbs and cooked with fresh green Bell peppers and onions - an unsurprising dish that verily surprised. In some novelty is sought and in others honesty. The rustic honesty in Green Pepper Chicken could ease my frown. Briefly though!

Chicken Lo Mein finally brought the plane down. The mystique of Lo Mein gave in to an indelicate and spoiling supply of cucumber in parboiled noodles. I left the table in disgust.

I repeat, good food pleases and bad food teaches! So, the failed feast taught the hardship of culinary consistency. An engaging company that I had kept the evening breathing, afloat and moving.

Nu Wan Li would linger ever as an eatery forgotten sooner than I could even step out of it!

Macazzo - Kolkata's own Steak house...

Until yesterday, I didn’t know that fatless Pork Steak with Roadhouse BBQ could taste so scrumptious in the company of Hendrix playing ‘American Woman’ on his blazing Fender.

Braving the oddity of choosing Steak over Paturi on ‘Poila Boisakh’, I headed ‘Macazzo’ with a plan to lay down arms and be surprised. Friendly Bitan, knowing my knack for ‘New American Cuisine’, volunteered to order for me. The atavistic décor staged a tasteful throwback to the days of Elvis and Chuck Berry.

‘Pork Roast/ belly with Gondhoraj lime and ginger’, as starter, celebrated atypical pairing. Beneath the apparent randomness of ingredients [juicy Pork paired with pepper, onion and sesame sprinkled on top] lay an intent to catch the taste-buds unawares – forcing a reflective pause between spoonfuls tarrying the relish of an exotic fare with an eminent Bengali touch. The House sauce as base was commensurately tasty. I lapped up a bowlful with garlic breads [served on request].

‘Chicken Pizza Manhattan with BBQ sauce’ appeared an honest New Yorker – a loaded treat with the top generously tossed with spicy and meaty Chicken-cubes, sweetcorn and onion – truly filling and delectably hardcore.

Piripiri Chicken Steak and Lean Pork steak with Roadhouse BBQ came together as mains. Asking for herbed ‘rice’ on side instead of fries was a deliberate choice to honour the day. Sides [succulent Sausages, fried with notable restraint, merit mention] were good but the steaks were the stars - flavoursome, juicy, delicious and grilled to perfection. The vigorous Roadhouse BBQ called up Texan memories – brazenly bold, spicy with distinct notes of chilli pepper and cumin – very unlike Kansas’. Just the quality of rice on side lacked character and aroma.

- I’m full. Can I have the Steak packed?

- Not game for dessert?

- Surprise me!

- Brownie with Bailey’s Irish cream? 

- Yes.

With the rest of the world I too adored the phenomena of Bailey’s, the Brownie and the Brownie in Bailey’s!

Incidentally, the Brownie - fudgy, moist with a generous dose of serious liqueur and floating in a pool of watered down Bailey’s, appeared deficiently airy to soak in the juice. Perhaps a thicker, flavoured alternative like Crème Anglaise could offer a gluey, firmer base to the dessert. I leave it to you, Bitan.

As I always say - once you get past the dwarfs and the wannabes, you're in for a great meal! Indeed, I had a round one!

Bill Withers’ ‘Ain’t No Sunshine…’ was the number I crooned on my way back...

Burra Kababs at Aminia - deliciously grotesque

The ‘Esmeralda’s of food-lovers never fell in love with the ‘Quasimodo’s of Kebabs. 

An utter disregard for appearance, vital to relish of the gothic ‘Burra Kababs’, could only be urged by recalling Hugo’s vivid portrayal of Quasimodo - the grotesque hunchback of Notre-Dame. 

The Burra [meaning big] Kababs, savoured over a recent supper at Aminia, refuelled my fancy for the elegantly bizarre. The grilled fare, appearing exemplarily unappealing, tasted par excellence [almost with Karim’s and Bukhara] – tastefully prickly without, just on the edge of being harsh and deliciously tender and flavoury within. Prolonged marination preserved in it the subdued yet discernible spice-notes while restrained charring ensured a smoky yet tasty earthiness. Sluggish eaters may lose out on the succulence underneath as the Kabab is notoriously nimble in drying up. 

Burra Kebabs, ordered thrice on the trot, carried an unsullied, humble maturity leaving an aftertaste hard to fail. 

…and I relished a grotesque masterpiece!

Truly Badshah

I have always had a strong hunch of being stalked by good food!

Last evening, until ‘Badshah’ was sighted, I had happily been preserving my gaping hunger for a dearer occasion. Yet I yielded, entered and smiled while chomping on almost the same, lean, aromatic and iconic roll that I had here last – tasting as much delicious, unpretentious, honest and reminiscent.

I repeat for all my roll-admiring allies – the taste of rolls rests ‘largely’ on the flavour of the inlying Kebabs. I, being obsessed with the savoury interplay of discrete notes the perfect Paratha, onions and importantly the Kebab leave in each bite, insist on adding raw onions [temperately laced with lime] to my fare as opposed to pan-fried which I know is favourite of many. The ‘Kebab’ part can safely be left to the masters.

I conclude, having paid for my roll, that ‘Badshah’s roll is 'THE ROLL' - heavily recommended.

#uncookedwords

Sabir's Hotel...a darling of Kolkata!

The toughest is to write about food without spelling Food - making victual references blend indistinguishably into the texture of a passionate account. 

The name I’m to take shortly has deservedly reclaimed its rank every time I ticked it off my bucket list – winning almost an irreplaceable place on the roster of personal favourites. 

Two kinds of people inhabit the city of Kolkata – those who have been to Sabir’s and those who haven’t. And most of those who have been to Sabir’s did so to feast on ‘The Rezala’ to the fabled accompaniment of Tandoori Roti – a pair simple and locked in a delicious embrace. Bengalis’ innate fondness for Uttam - Hemanta almost found an edible analogue in Sabir’s Roti - Rezala. 

A visit to Sabir’s is an event as unsurprisingly beautiful as sunrise. Enduring the steep flight of stairs, the seeker reaches first floor in search of a snugly 'cabin'– a curtained enclosure with a designated three-bladed Brown fan rotating noisily lending credible antiquity to the ambiance. Empathetic waiters would allow a seasoned guest seconds to settle before lunging in the turbaned head from behind striped curtains – gladly left unwashed for ages, modestly asking for order – often even before handing the menu-card. 

- Kya lauun saab? (what should I bring, sir)

- Ooi eek’e. (bring the same…meaning ‘what I usually eat here’)

- Do naan aur ek Mutton Rezala? (two Naans and one Mutton Rezala)

- Gravy thora zyada please aur Mutton ka piece aachcha hona chahiye. (with extra gravy and ensure the mutton piece is good)

- Zaroor. (sure)

In a while a headless hand moving the curtain aside slips two fluffy Rotis and a bowl of Mutton Rezala on the table - a whitish, thick, translucent, subtly spiced curd-based gravy - marginally thicker than stew with Dalda floating on surface, served with red chillies and a sizable piece of tender mutton ['Chaap' piece] peeping out coyly. The waiter keeps his word letting the magic roll. [I have it with a restrained dash of lime – an improvisation not patented yet.] Now it’s time to dunk the Roti into the gravy. Measured succulence of the meat - not falling off the bone, promises a timely melt routinely releasing juicy doses with a tarrying aftertaste. What happens beyond this point of surrender remains magical forever. [I have seen some leaving the joint with arms fluttering as swiftly as a Hummingbird.] 

History affirms the futility of every mortal attempt to recreate the Sabirian taste. Besides Dahi, Ghee, Zafran and Jaitri as usual ingredients, perhaps the radical use of Coconut milk replacing dry Coconut [peculiar to many Lucknawi recipes] and Posto [poppy seeds] let the Rezala of Kolkata - having breezily weathered the city’s intolerance to mediocrity, shine and weave a savoury spell elevating an unsung dish into a culinary marvel and a darling of Bengalis! 

Destiny brought the Rezala of Rampur and Sabir Ali of Lukhnow to Kolkata’s caring fold to please the city’s discriminating palate. But what made Sabir’s survive so long? Was it the city’s unfounded keenness to reinvent in every visit her curious association with the singularity of Sabir's Rezala? Or, was it the taste of Rezala to be lauded for delectably combining the leanness of stew with the majesty of Mughlai? Or, was it just a culinary fad destined to wear off in time? I choose to leave it just there. 

Someone from the shop wound up saying - “Customers come here for Rezala and Tandoori Roti. They would walk away if these are not there. But they won't try anything else. Period.” 

Sabir Ali smiled from wherever he is!

A failed feast...Bachan's Dhaba!

Bachan's fare disappoints...

It's appalling to find eateries of substantial repute turning Machiavellian placing profit above taste, consistency and loyalty - and risking a hard-earned glory.

Mutton Masala had in it stubborn, bony pieces that callously grounded an epicurean enthusiasm before it could take wing. I trashed it in disgust!

The Tarka carried the usual 'signature' aroma and texture - ending up just pleasing and not surprising the seeker in me. Dal Makhni was muddy, runny and smacked of culinary insincerity.

So be it! I wish them honesty, sense and luck.

The magic of Chili-pepper @TGIF...

TGIF tastes better on Fridays!

I am particularly in love with what they call the ‘New American Cuisine’ – linear but adaptable – of which a representative dish typically consists of a large piece of meat – grilled or roasted and basted with some exotic sauce, served with fries, sweet potatoes or grilled vegetables forming an unfussy platter - proudly indelicate, unpretentious, inclusive, filling and brazenly tasty.

TGIF delivers the promised and so is my favourite for long. A visit to this eatery is akin to celebrating the American way of adoring good food. 

‘Chicken in Chili Pepper Sauce’ was my choice for lunch. The imposing one-half chicken looked perfectly roasted, juicy and generously basted with the ‘golden’ Chili Pepper Sauce though the marinated flesh didn’t feel as tender and succulent as desired. Roasted onions, red and Green peppers lent the serving base to the fare. Fries were regular, tastefully salty and not limp – that mattered. 

Then came the most interesting and lip-smacking part – the Chili Pepper Sauce – the make or break ingredient of a dish of this kind - trust me! Yellow as a colour maintains conflicting associations – with freshness on one hand and deceit on the other, inspiring an unstable emotion. But I met the energetic yellow in my meal – brimming with delight, freshness, distinguishable taste notes and a thick yet runny smoothness - and the divine garlic! I love fermented peppers when blended with garlic as together they create a unique flavour resulting in more nuanced yet emphatic sauces as popular sides.

The meal [with the sauce overdose] left me finger-licking…

The Cafe...home to food-lover!

I owe an insincere apology To Bhaijan for not being able to lend my cold, slippery shoulder in his hour of infallible crisis. Blame it on the vintage Chicken Roast at Hazra cafe that turned me conveniently amnesiac to Karmic causalities. 

The roasted chicken floating in sheer gravy resembled a lady lying curled up in bed repenting the end of a beautiful night. 

The iconic delicacy carried all the culinary peculiarities I admire – an unyielding allegiance to a ‘basic’ taste developed over the years, unpretentiousness, hint of sweetness and a very subtle spicy punch capable of opening the dormant taste-buds. The usual cluster of unsung spices namely Cinnamon, Clove and a generous sprinkle of pepper played their bits to perfection in dishing up a delectable masterpiece. Perhaps a wise Toast could have saved the treat from coming to a sudden end! I will definitely return to Cafe ‘hungry for more’ of this…

The shrivelled Chicken Afgani looked like a diva of yore tasting sloppy, thin, forgettable, unappealing and seriously ‘unvoluptuous’. Even the pale slice of Tomato perched atop couldn’t turn me horny.

Finding the frigid ‘Chicken Cutlet’ utterly unlovable I deserted ‘her’ midway. 

Then came the cynosure - a serene fairy straight from the pages of Grimms’ – a pudding topped with a spectacular meringue – rich in both aroma and texture with the dried fruits and nuts distinguishably and perfectly underscoring the strong aromatic agents namely cinnamon, mace and the divine vanilla. It had a taste to die for!

‘The Café’ is a diminutive eating house where a table is hard to score. I finally found the logos behind the mythos! 

Chinese Singara...a culinary love-child...

“…finally the time came when the marginalised Chinese diaspora of Kolkata began importing delicious Chowmein hidden in Singaras. Those Singaras were rendered noticeable with distinctive markings on the outer conveying secretive messages...”.

Sounding funny? Needless to say this slice of history is apocryphal, a truant figment of my desperate imagination! Yet this seemed the sole conceivable reason to have inspired the birth of this deviant edible.

‘Chinese Singara’? A love-child? Are you joking? That too in Dalhousie?

Club Kachuris...lovable Liliputians!

Surprising delights accrue from infrequent visits to neighbouring localities...this Liliputian kachuris stole my hearts long ago. I just fell in love once again...the same grace, colour, precision and taste...a diminutive delicacy not made by but definitely for Bengalis! 

Welcome Gulliver!

SodabottleopenerWala...a delicious camaraderie!

The beginning of my camaraderie with ‘Sodabottleopenerwala’ was humdrum. 

Hardly had I taken my seat inside the differently decorated SBOW on upstart Lovelle Road on my maiden visit than a heart-warming voice asked ‘Khaben Ki?’! A Bengali in Irani Cafe? Lovely! The conversation snowballed: 

- ‘Ekhane bhalo ja aache niye aashun…kintu aaste’ [Bring all that is good here…but, don’t rush]. 

- ‘Lunch Khaben to? Tahole soja main course jaan.’ [Hope you’re here to have lunch. Then hit the main-course straight] 

- ‘Tai hok’ [So be it]. 

I love to get surprised and eateries love surprising the curious. 

‘Chicken Baida Roti’ caught me off-guard calling up memories of Calcutta’s ‘Mughlai Parota’ – being a ‘Streetsmart’ paratha stuffed with delicious chicken keema carefully spiked with ginger, garlic, chilli, finely chopped onion and spicy scrambled eggs – simple, fat, unusually filling, fantastically tasty and surprisingly nongreasy. The shapely food spoke volumes about the honesty and fun that had gone into it leaving each mouthful craving for more. I marched on! 

‘Salli Boti’ with ‘Jaloo’s Famous Malai Ka Parata’, when spelt in one breath, sounded more like a magical muttering right from the pages of Harry Potter doubling my wonder. Like the feted Dhansak or Akuri, Salli Boti is a versatile Parsi side-dish – though tastes equally delicious, teeming with succulent mutton chunks, when served solo with Salli (crispy matchstick potato). The first morsel made me pause pointing at an intriguing duel between Jaggery and Garam-masala with Vinegar playing the balancing arbiter – I smilingly reached out for more. Having found the Malai Paratha too heavy as an accompaniment, I wisely ordered some modest Pavs [i.e Bun/ Bread or Dinner roll]. It was, as they say, finger lickin’ good! 

- ‘Kemon laaglo?’ [How was it?]. 

- ‘Darun’[Fantastic]. 

- ‘Caramel Castard khaben na?’ [Won’t you try our Caramel Custard?] 

- What? 

I hopelessly yielded! 

The jiggling dessert was silky, deliciously sensual – placed somewhere between a Flan and a Brûlée with the caramel top a tad harder than usual, and lovingly served in a delicate ramekin. 

It took me a while to lift the last spoonful to my mouth and almost a lifetime to get over the lingering taste!

Rain and Khichuri...an undying Jugalbandi!

The meteorological prognosis of an imminent storm lifted my spirit and my home phone rang to hear – ‘Aaj khichuri hobe. Purnima’ke bole dao’ [We’ll have Khichuri tonight. Let the cook know] - a decree very direct, unequivocal.

Climate dictates my cravings. Storm reminds me of Mian ki Malhar, Anais Nin and Khichuri - a spartan dish, inexorably popular in Bengal, made with rice and lentils (dal). Khichuri wielded a charm from time immemorial that didn’t even spare Seleucus and Ibn Battuta from singing its praises. Choosing the side is the most critical part in savouring Khichuri – today I chose Beguni [fried Brinjal] to the exclusion of everything else.

Isn't the golden hue fit to die for?

An unusual breakfast at India Restaurant...

The wait was mutual.

And a proposal carrying the prospect of feasting on the likes of Bhuna Gosht or Mutton Tamatar Stew for breakfast no doubt seemed an aberration too charming to be turned down. Allies fanned the dying fire and I, sleep-starved, reached India Restaurant on a promising Sunday morning in pursuit of ‘The Mughlai Breakfast’. A dear friend, being an unapologetic repeat-offender, graciously took upon himself the duty to order.

Dishes like Keema Muttor, Daal Gosht, Mutton Tamatar Stew or Bhuna Gosht would barely raise eyebrows when ordered for lunch or Dinner. But at breakfast, the first bite into a Naan dripping with the gravy of ‘Gosht Tamatar Stew’ made me trash all that I had learnt about meals. And, much to my delight, this Mughlai stew of temperate taste [and a stark antithesis of the familiar Irish stew] carried a lovable texture and character yet left some deliberate space for individual creativity. I loved it with a dash of lime bringing that unusual tingling on tongue. I crave to savour the stew with Rumali some time as, I hold, Rumali’s thinness meddles the least with the taste of any gravy ‘of substance’.

‘Muttar Keema’ is my old love – thick, meaty, lovable and strictly averse to be swallowed without being teased with a curious tongue. Came close on heels the aromatic Bhuna (‘Fried’ in Urdu) – perfectly balanced in taste, covertly sweet with thick sauce and minced vegetables. A spoonful of its gravy would surprise with the hint of Ghee subtly drizzled from top. I loved it in entirety! I found the ‘Daal Gosht’ eminently forgettable with the unimpressive pulses coming in the way of its savouring.

The collective joy was too telling to be hushed with sobriety and the friendly waiter sensed it with a smile. What we got in return were warm and freshly prepared Shahi Tukras – served much ahead of its regular serving time - an unusual act in appreciation of love for food!

What did this entire experience leave us with? Lingering taste, fun, glimpses of madness, some knowledge, many surprises and a craving for more.