It's always deemed blogger-like to blunder collectively! That guarantees safety from lynching. #uncookedwords
A popular practice obliges desperate foodies of my city pledge eloquent pieces to the hype of Iftaari spread on Zakaria Street. Some even con [Influence?] others into it just to look less stupid. [Widespread acceptance is known to mask dumbness well.] One mindful visit and one would gauge how utter a fad it is that has mortals flock in droves routinely an otherwise spurned strip of Central Calcutta. I too chose to yield regardless, and walked Zakaria Street to rediscover the clichéd.
As describing distaste is not my forte, let’s dwell on those that just got by. A makeshift stall at the opening of the strip near a shady 'Moon Guest House' impressed with delicious Tikka and Malai kebabs. Dribbling excesses of Amul Cream notwithstanding, I loved the remarkable juiciness each kebab bore aplenty. Cold Shirmals glazed in butter at Delhi 6 was far removed from the passable, let alone perfection. Chicken Afgani served in boat-like bowls flaunted chewy chunks liberally cloaked in a delicious gravy. A hideous draped in dazzling Armani – in short, a pointless waste. The contrary was anytime preferred. Chicken Sheekh kebabs at Al Baik proved notable. Tender tubes of meaty succulence leaving a moist and lasting afterglow. Tucked away at the crossing of Maulana Saukat Ali Street and Phears Lane, this hole in the wall had nearly all the vices I admire, including a talent to marry taste and texture that even the frontrunners bungle to deliver. And they sold the kebabs for a song, at Rs 30 a stick. In frame is how they looked when left to sizzle on slow fire. Spectacular, to say the least.
That said, an experience not worth awaiting a year or any less.
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