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!