A lunch at Aliah!

During Ramzan, offering to write about anything but Haleem may sound unbloggerly. But, let me try.

Unduly trading on past glory left many eateries of yore in the lurch. Trailing off and broken, some gave up. And some, like Badshah, Aliah or Sabir, decided to stay put. Wearing the poise of a mellowed sentinel they kept overlooking teeming streets of Calcutta treating patrons of all shapes and sizes to vintage delicacies.

Too many signs affirmed the aptness of the day I chose for Aliah. Curious Subhankar agreed to join in. The prospect of anonymity, allowing access to unmanipulated fares, made us choose the hall over a swankier first-floor. Together we ordered Aliah’s feted Arabic Haleem with Tandoori roti. [Roti remains my favourite for being least meddlesome with the dominant savour of a meal.] Haleem, admittedly, rides on diversity with countless variants [setting curious food-lovers on its fleeting trail]. It is a story that is best read slow. Aliah’s version of Arabic Haleem carried a rich, detectable bouquet of unlike yet friendly notes – with bits of meat on bone hiding underneath the textured gravy of pulses punctuated with broken nuts and an unseemly yet pleasant dose of ginger. I was delighted. So, Haleem did play a notable cameo in my play. Bubbly and perfectly toasted Tandoori rotis fared well as trusted sides.

What came hard on heels resembled deep oxblood splashed on an expansive white canvas – Aliah’s fabled Mutton (ish)stew – a culinary antithesis of its colonial namesake. It caught me off-guard, vulnerable and dazzled with a zestful blend of piquant spices adoring flavoursome, succulent and seasoned mutton cubes dipped in an onion-rich gravy with a mystical aftertaste. I mopped it all up till the last drop - first with roti and then with fingers. Fine Rumalis were dearly missed though. So, what Rezala routinely does to me at Sabir, Mutton stew did at Aliah - surprise. Truth be told. Though I started eating for the Haleem, I kept eating for the stew.

Closing the course with Phirni was a foregone conclusion. The dessert, appearing unusually denser and darker, impressed with a ripe taste of measured sweetness, almost making me call it the graver sibling of Sabir’s charming Phirni. Aliah’s bigger and deeper earthen pot allowed more spoonfuls than Sabir’s bringing an instant childlike delight.

What a treat it was! To feast eyes on the fleeting glimpses of an unhurried yet delicious past that the likes of Aliah offer in plenty, I promise to come back.