Famished Firdaus...

Porksploitation

2012-01-07T21:59:00.001+05:30

The kitchen in Panch So Ek Gurudrishti resounded with a psychotic cackle as I dumped the contents of my recent purchase on the chopping board. Two large kidneys, a fist sized heart, a pillow sized liver, a toilet mug full of coagulated blood and the belly of a medium sized pig lay strewn about before me, ready to be diced up in an almost Monica Susairajesque way. At first, I remained rather anxious and somewhat nervous of diving into the carcass, meat cleaver adorned, almost like first time Ted Bundy. You see, I was accustomed to treating food with the kind of gentle innocence that would make Judy Garland proud only because I was convinced that cooking turned out best when you treated each ingredient and every process with tenderness and love, frying over a low heat, massaging the meat, slowly, sensuously, all very soft porn. With sorpotel however, you got to mount it and violate it through its ass, with a monkey wrench and an orangutan. Or as Marcellus Wallace so rightly puts it, “Get a couple of hard, pipe-hitting niggas to get to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow-torch. You hear me billy boy! I’m gonna get medieval on your ass!”

And I did. First with the par-boiling of semi-marinated meat. Then the chopping up of it into tiny pieces. Then the pounding of freshly roasted masalas. Then the coconut vinegar (which, by the way is fantastic to get rid of the pesky floor-moss in Mumbai). The frying of the meat. The rendering of fat. The sautéing of the onions. The cooking! The inconsistent 90s of DSP Black sprinkled intermittently over the 2 hour cooking process slowly dimming questions of brahminical significance and morality in the blood drenched squalor of my apartment. It felt almost wrong, but I convinced myself that sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

There is a certain joy associated with cooking spares. I feel happy that I can go down to the large market near andheri station and pick up orphaned pieces of gizzard, vajri, fish head, liver, kidney, mutton head and heart that the pseudo-gourmands leave behind at throw away prices and find them a deserving pan and familial belly to reside in. Shanky makes a fantastic orange juice marinated heart / gizzard fry that makes me cry.
Normally, sorpotel is never eaten immediately after it’s cooked. You have to wait till the vinegar pickles the meat a little and the masalas seep into the tough liver bits, softening them up. On this particular occasion, we waited for a while before gang-raping the plate with some pav and a nice salad for roughage.

About 3 minutes…

A Manga Revelation

2011-11-14T12:42:00.000+05:30

As I stared at the large mural on the wall of Banashankari Biryani Center in KR Puram, my thoughts wandered indiscriminately over the little bit of fantasy fiction literature I had read, trying to trace the specific scenes the artist had tried to depict in the largest, most hideously delightful fresco to adorn any wall in any restaurant / bar / church anywhere on the globe. Mostly though, my eyes remained fixated on the pre-pubescent semi-nudity that I encountered at the extreme left of the sprawling piece of artwork.

A young girl, clad in the Empress’ new, spoke adoringly to a reptilian hissing head. For a moment, it felt like a small stall at ComicCon, so much so that I almost forgot I had stopped here to eat. My immediate response was to ask the proprietor what it meant. I did.

Me: “Yen saar, idhu?” (What saar, this is?)
Proprietor: “Idhu Maanga penting, saar! One-taraa shtile idhu. Tanjavoor penting nodidhiraa? Idhu ondu typoo.” (This is Manga painting, saar! One taraa style, it is. Tanjavoor painting you have seen ah? This is one type oo.)

I was blissfully sold already. I mean, you’d expect some cool funky paintings and artwork at a small german cafe on the banks of the river behind the Virupakha Temple in Hampi, best appreciated with a spliff and a plate of apple strudel. The last thing you’d expect to see is an enormous manga fresco at a small gowda joint half way to Kolar over a menu that has “thalay maamsaa” and ragi balls. No? There was another large painting too, of a horse whisperer, his back facing the crowd, lovingly stroking a brown horse. It didn’t quite make the cut.

I took a seat somewhere under the princess’ glare and looked closely at the menu. With just ten dishes on it, including the rice and ragi balls, it was evident they took their food very seriously. I ordered the chicken biryani and mutton chaaps and waited eagerly for their arrival. As I hoped, the biryani arrived on plate of dried leaves or “Donne” with a whole boiled egg, pacchhadi (raita) and some sherwa. It was a revelation! The biryani was spicy and perfectly seasoned, had nicely cooked and succulent pieces of chicken and the sherwa and pacchadi were absolutely fantastic accompaniments. The mutton was ridiculously tender and would have been great with ragi balls or plain rice.

Now, I have been a patron at many gowda miltry messes and hotels in and around Bangalore and also sampled the fare at Jai Bhuvaneshwari in Srirangapatna. I can safely say that this place is definitely as good, if not better, than the majority of places I have visited. A great find for someone who likes his fix of kannadiga non-veg food and cannot do without his spare parts. It has been quite a few months since I visited this place and stumbled across these photos recently.

DO NOT MISS THIS PLACE!

Yaarig Idli?

2011-11-08T18:06:00.000+05:30

This city has inconsistent idlis. It’s not just the idlis that bother me now. It’s the chutney too. The ghatti chutney even more so. Sometimes I feel cheated because I know someone replaced all the coconut in the wet grinder with chana dal. In most places, the chutney isn’t even greenish anymore. It’s just off-white. Like cerelac. Or boney mix. Now, they don’t even add enough sugar to the sambar. That’s right! I like that sweet red sambar. Brought to Bangalore by the peeps from Udipi and popularized by the Maiyas. And whatever happened to pepper corns and desiccated coconut in my vada. The vadas are not even golden brown anymore. Now, they’re just charred pieces of dosa batter re-fried in 60-day old papad / pakoda / gobi manchurian oil. Every time a vada is refried in a darshini, a small part of my soul evaporates with the vada’s remaining flavor.

This wasn’t always how I felt though. Quite the contrary, in fact. Having gone to college in Malleshwaram, and eaten steamed rice dumplings for five years under the mafia-like protection of Veena Stores and Sri Raghavendra Stores near Malleshwaram Station, I always thought that idlis all across Bangalore were soft, nimbus clouds that were never meant to be chewed, just swallowed. Later, as the years progressed, I was introduced to Janatha Hotel and CTR where the idlis weren’t as soft as baby butt cheeks, but they were still great and the sambar made up for anything the idlis lacked. The world didn’t seem like such a bad place. Then, I had idlis at Empire Hotel and at India Coffee House and I begged for the warmth of Veena’s busom once more. Over time, I began to appreciate the many nuances of neighbourhood idliwalas. Like Chaitanya in Indiranagar, and Eatout in Malleshwaram, and JP Nagar Adigas and benne idli in VV Puram. But now, this bastardized sanna-appam variety of idlis must go. Don’t get me wrong, I like sannas and appams too, but with my chutney-huli, I want my traditional idli. So over a couple of lazy Sunday mornings, I decided to revisit my favourite idli guys, just to let myself know that all was not lost.

Harsha and Manja, two dear friends of mine, once told me that “city” was the best place to grab street food in Bangalore. They introduced me to some of the best eateries in Bangalore littered around Balepet, Chickpet and Avenue Road and I must admit that I haven’t ever had food that tasted as good anywhere else. Right from the Gobi Manchurian stall near Chickpet Police Station to Gundu Pulao to Khali Dosa on BVK Iyengar Road. This Sunday however, I decided to revisit Udipi Krishna Bhavan (UKB) and sample their idlis, only because they had run out of the famous Open Dosa. The high ceiling, suspended granddaddy clock on a solitary beam across the hall, bad acoustics that amplify clatter to unbearable decibels and table sharing are just some of the things that have me totally hooked to UKB. That, and the antique furniture make me want to come back more often.

After brekka, you can take a walk around the real “Sunday Soul Santhey”, a flea market where you can buy second hand LPs and CPU fans FROM THE SAME DUDE.

On to Janatha Hotel in Malleshwaram.

I remember visiting Janatha a few times when I was in college. With CTR around the corner, it didn’t really warrant a looksie very often but we went there anyways because the coffee was fab and they had the best sambar this side of the universe. I was not disappointed. A perfect plate of idlis, chutney and sambar is still served up from that door under Raghavendra Swamy at Janatha. I was all smiles when I walked in, supremely glad that it was still around. This place has not changed one bit.

However, in the absence of competition of higher caliber, Veena Stores and Brahmin’s still serve up the best idlis in the world. I read somewhere that both these places credit a secret fermentation process for the fluffiness of their idlis and consequential fame. I just think they’re awesome because you get served free chutney in a tumbler outside even after your idli is over. Sippity-sip!

Shetty's Seashore Sensation!

2011-10-20T18:47:00.000+05:30

Personally, I have never been enamoured by dishes that require “preparation time”. More often than not, I have been rather disappointed by the final product and have found that the swanky restaurant that takes pride in its Duck A L’orange, slow roasted over 3 hours, reeks more of its high-priced finery than the extravagant smells wafting from its kitchen. I had hence concluded that the culinary delights associated with more than a two-hour waiting time existed only deep in the annals of Michelin star restaurant menus, far far away from the ghetto-gluttony I had relegated myself to. Here, in the real world, an order of chicken tandoori was followed in five minutes by a reminder, “Koli gay kooyeetha idhi-aa? Beygaa thagondu ba ra low!” (“Chicken you will be stabbing-wa? Bring Fasht, ra rey!”). We are accustomed to food being served to us within eleven minutes of ordering, thanks to Empire, Imperial and Facebook, who have been satiating our instant gratification needs over extended periods of time. So, when Guru told me that the Chicken Mirch at Ujjwal in Sanjaynagar would take a minimum of 45 minutes, I found myself reassessing my initial impressions, something that I hate to do. Maybe some places really did do justice with specific items that involved extended cooking time.

Now, this post isn’t about the Chicken Mirch at Ujjwal. That dish deserves a post of its own. This post is about Chicken Ghee Roast. Not just any Chicken Ghee Roast. But THE Chicken Ghee Roast, served at Shetty’s Lunch Home in Kundapur. The dish that made me realize that essentially, when it comes to food, instant gratification is akin to gastronomic masturbation, devoid of the tingling naughtiness (or haughtiness!) that makes you sit back and exclaim, “Woof!”. I’d wait a year to eat it any friggin’ day.

Kundapur itself reminds me of a hungover Mapusa. The town is essentially just two large one-way roads which go into and out of the bus-stand in the center of town. The closest beach, Kodi Beach, is a good five kilometers away but is worth a visit. There is an incredibly shady hotel called Hotel Kinara on Kodi Beach which provides alcoholic refreshments, straw beach shacks, possible rape locations and dangerously illegal entertainment. Best avoided unless you REALLY need that pint. Near the Bus Stand however, stands the most famous restaurant this side of the Konkan Belt. Shetty’s Lunch Home. Since 1956. Bar Attached.

By the time you have sifted through Shetty’s “Menu of Delicious Dishes By Expert Cooks” to reach the last page which houses the legendary Ghee Roast, you would have ordered the Crab Sukka, Chicken 65, Sannas and Chicken Curry, Kaney and Silver Fish Rava Fry and also downed more than a few Kingfisher Premiums. The Kaney or Lady Fish in particular is fantabulous, larger than the piddly penis variety you’ve gotten used to in Bangalore. The restaurant retains an old world charm that’s difficult to find and is best enjoyed on a lazy Sunday afternoon after a few pints near Kodi Beach.

No pictures of the Ghee Roast here. Chumma you’ll be wanting instant gratification-wa? Go there and eat, I say!

Plates from Prakash's Place

2011-09-29T14:39:00.000+05:30

The floors on the first floor of the Taj Hotel in Shivajinagar are slippery. Presumably, years of fried and roasted animal fat residue have embossed themselves between the now glossy tiles of a once popular establishment. As I proceed towards a rather large and high granite-topped table, I notice that my part-vegetarian Iyer companion’s face has contorted to an expression of perennial disgust. It appears that my table has recently been host to a pack of wild dogs. Half eaten carcasses of several birds and a small beast lay strewn about across its blackened and corner-chipped length. There is a small piece of uncooked meat under the table on the floor. Its shape and form are inconsistent with the parts of most edible species of animals. I can’t bring myself to look any closer, afraid of what I might uncover about its origins. I remain silent with regard to its existence, both to myself and my fellow eater, and proceed to sit as a cleaning guy rounds up the remains and sanitizes the area with lime, acid and dettol. Prakash Shetty teleports himself to my table and takes my order while simultaneously coaxing another table to “Eat up, shut up and get the fuck out!”, vernacularly of course, but with a smile on his face. Amidst the clattering of a thousand plates, I beg, “Ek Chicken Biryani aur Ek plate kebab!” I allow myself the faintest of grins.

Prakash has been waiting on tables at Taj for more than fifteen years. Not just any tables, mind you, because he clarifies that he has been waiting on the SAME tables on the first floor for fifteen years. That’s a long time to be waiting on anybody but it appears that he really enjoys working here. His face is deceptively happy. It occurs to me that his disposition could go from Bambi to Behnchod as the situation demands. On this occasion, our interaction remains pleasant. Soon after bringing me my order, he leaves to bark orders at other tables, sometimes reminding them to eat quicker than they are. I look at the tables around me, surveying the area for what people are gourmandizing. Almost everyone has got a biryani and a plate of kebabs in front of them. Good choice! On a table next to mine, a young mother breaks off a chunk of flesh from a chicken leg and stuffs her spawn’s face with it, regaling him with a “boo boo bah bah” kind of singularly distracting conversation. This place reminds me of MTR with a serious karmic debt issue.

As my food arrives, I notice that the biryani suffers from a lack of attention in the heaping area. Unlike Hilal or Khazana, the rice doesn’t maintain an appropriate angle of repose and breaks off on the side like a cliff. It then occurs to me that the hulk-fist sized chicken piece on which the rice happens to rest accounts for this curious abnormality. The rice itself is the small grain variety, popularized across the town’s non-basmati eating population. The onion and curd pacchadi is surprisingly spicy owning to a few haughty chilies that have upped the oomph factor. The kebabs don’t impress me one bit. I leave contented, but realize that while Hilal probably has a better biryani it definitely does not provide a better experience. Prakash did recommend the mutton, which I didn’t try so I guess that will have to wait.

There is another Taj Hotel off infantry road owned by a “bayreh yajmaanoru”. One that has the potential to provide a fantabulous eating experience but has failed in empire-esque proportions. Here, in Shivajinagar, the Taj makes no qualms about being an in-your-face, belch-inducing, no-nonsense eatery. With Bazaar Street close-by, the hotel is thronged by material shoppers and wholesalers alike who finish a meal and a chota pepsi in thirty seconds flat.

If only there was a bar close-by.

Yum Yum Road

2011-09-07T16:24:00.000+05:30

After my third mutton samosa and second cup of paani-kum chai on MM Road, it occurred to me that there was something very wrong about meticulously planning an epicurean sojourn at a time when a third of the world fasted over ramzaan. Somehow, I almost felt like that guy on television, eating candy floss in the first row at Sonu Nigam’s show at Ramlila Maidan, while Anna Hazare barely made it on the twelfth day. Or that one non-vegetarian dude who ordered the solitary “I want it bloody rare!” steak at the Jain table at the office dinner. Or even that other guy, who came with an LED torch to Bangalore’s anti-corruption candle light vigil at Marathalli. But then I realized, as a supremely unconcerned, corruption denying and perennially hungry citizen, what better way to resort to anarchic protest than by being the blaspheming glutton, the candy-floss assassin and the torchlight wielding party pooper. I could relate to those guys. Heck, I wanted to be those guys.

Strangely enough, I wasn’t alone in my anti-philosophy, evident in the multitude of peeps who thronged MM Road in Frazer Town and Shivajinagar for Iftar well before the last namaaz for the evening has been read. Religious observances being restricted only to the Muslims, it’s the Bangalorean Hindus and Cox Town Dings who raid all the samosas and snacks even before the poor chappies can make it across the road from the mosque nearby. Apparently, the scene can get so bad for the fasters that some of the stall owners keep a separate stash for the truly deserving monotheists. “Aap log sab khaa jaaogey toh hamaarey liye sirf khajoor reh jayegaa!”

Now, I have been for Iftar in Hyderabad. Needless to say, the experience stayed with me for a while and pretty much defined what the Iftar experience should be like. Pista House Haleem, a couple of glasses of Rooh Afza milkshake near Chaarminar and maybe some fruit. That’s it. Simple. On MM Road, there are gastronomic oddities and anomalies straight out of a David Bowie song. Stick chicken, Stick Kebab, other meat items skewered on a stick, Caramel Custard, “Chicken” Haleem, regular Haleem, Pastry Cakes, Vanilla Mousse, Khaima Rolls, Other Rolls in assorted colours (pink, green, yellow), dates, kulfi, ice-cream, falooda, that and everything else on the menu of the restaurant to which the stall belongs. Before you have time to decide what it is you want to eat, you have already consumed three different items of a delectable nature and are proceeding towards your first cup of chai. Soon, you find yourself wading through the waves of stalls, window shopping at first, then devouring with the lascivious frenzy of Anna on Day 13.

That’s when the namaaz ends and you make way for the real people.

A Simple Guide to Bars in Bangalore

2011-08-22T14:31:00.001+05:30

Despite having spent several of my formative years within the confined and rather claustrophobic spaces of the plethora of watering holes Bangalore has to offer, I assure you I am NOT an expert on the matter of this post. I owe this post to the others, more experienced in the ways of Bar Sending, more deserving of quirky little nicknames (“Royal Stag”, “Kwawaleh”, “Jamoon”, “What-a-guy”), true connoisseurs of the afternoon binge, the real McKonians, the Peter Scots and the Officer’s Choicest. Indeed, if it wasn’t for you guys, I would’ve bought a house by now.

Unlike other cities, where the concept of a bar can be rather restrictive (it referring to either that posh place where people have a small shot of Johnny B and cashew nuts, or the dingy dimly lit nastiness of a curtained room near the bus stand), Bangalore has so much more to offer its spirited free folk. Here goes:

[Note: Pubs and Lounges are not included, except Madan Pub in Koramangala. Because I louwe itch!]

BAR CLASSIFICATIONS

1. The “Shall we go and put-off one quick ninety” Place (aka Stand and Deliver)

Normally frequented by gentry and gentlemen alike, the Stand and Deliver is the quintessential Bangalorean Send. It is Sending in its most raw, untamed form. It is here that two out of three Bangaloreans run to during that movie intermission, or that place they go to when you arrive 3 minutes late (or early), or where your friends insist on congregating before landing up for Satyanarayana Puja lunch at home, or where “loose” isn’t a character flaw, it’s something you mix in your drink. In general, one can never be more than an average of 100 meters from an S&D. This distance could drastically reduce to 10 meters in Koramangala / Indiranagar and increase to 2 kms in Malleshwaram / Banashankari. Amateur patrons are known to recount these places with a misplaced sense of ubercool, just to fit in (“I went to an awesome bar yesterday, Manju Wines”). The regular patron recounts it with a misplaced sense of recognition (“I know the owner, Baalaiyya”). The experienced patron doesn’t give a rat’s ass (“Where are we, da?” “Does it matter? Just send it!”). In the words of Montell Jordan, this, truly is, how WE do it!

Personal Favourites: Happy Wines, Ulsoor; Aishwarya (Muthathi) Bar & Restaurant, Indiranagar

2. The “Girls can also come” Place

Normally owned by Shettys or Mals, these places offer delightful roof-top service by men in black vests and bow-ties, a 500 page multi-cuisine menu and peg-rate pricing. The food here can range from the simple to the delightfully strange (ala Tender Coconut Chicken, Chainese Veg Vada, Palak Rice), but is always piping hot and supremely tasty. Despite being female friendly, it is quite normal to find that your table will be the only one populated with “laydiss” and you might just be making frequent trips to the nearest CCD toilet with the few girls who decided to interrupt your boys’ night out. These places are your safest bet of having a nice drink without ‘botheration’. Most folks have their own little haunt depending on the proximity of their residence, and believe me these places aren’t difficult to find.

Personal Favourites: Ujjwal, Miller’s Road; Viceroy’s, Krishna Temple Road;

3. The “Old Bangalore” Place

Visited on special or daily occasions by nostalgic 30 to 75 year olds, the “old Bangalore” place is where peeps get together to discuss issues involving north-of-the-vindhyas invasion, sudden disappearance of flowering purple jacaranda trees in Jayanagar, freedom jam at Guruskool, absence of the promenade on South Parade and other memorable aspects of a dying city. A place where a Bangalorean can be at his cynical best and demand poetic justice from the bar man and other regular patrons who relate to his argument. Sadly, several of these places have been shutting down as their leases expire and they lose out on centuries old litigations. The cuisines these places have to offer depend on their location, examples being spare-part central at Dewar’s, to ding-khana at Dolphin’s and Karimeen Pulichattu at Oasis.

Personal Favourites: Dewar’s (gone); Oasis (gone); Dolphins, Wheeler Road;

4. The “Come-off to the usual” Place

These places are for the victims of frequent abuse, visited on a daily basis after office hours, only because of the familiarity they provide. This is where old uncle comes in with his drinking paraphernalia and maavadu pickle packed by his wife and proceeds to regale patrons with stories of his days in Union Carbide and BEML. This is where the barman knows you by face and then a name that he inadvertently gets wrong, but is always concerned if you haven’t come in for a few days. This is where you don’t order a drink ever, because everyone already knows what you drink and it’s served to you before you settle in to your bench. This is where friends, friends of friends and their friends and complete strangers rendezvous to crib about their jobs, managers and CTCs before ordering chicken kebab by the gram.

Personal Favourites: Darshan Wines, Wind Tunnel Road; Ruchi, Ulsoor

5. “TEMPTATIONS WINES, KALPAK ARCADE, CHURCH STREET”

When it was open, on both sides and the parking area, the rest of the bars didn’t really matter.

Seafood and Crockery

2011-08-12T08:06:00.000+05:30

I have always been deeply interested in the crockery you find at a roadside or local eating joint. More than often, it’s the standard stainless steel plates, steel tumblers, plastic jugs with worn out caps, non-absorbent tissue paper (you know, that glossy one, that doesn’t absorb a drop, so irritating that one is! Sometimes I feel like killing someone when I see that glossy tissue paper with the blue printed border…), plastic shakers with damp salty sludge, fork with bent teeth, dabbra coffee tumblers, that stainless steel ice-cream / dessert bowl which invariably has a rotating bottom, and that wonderfully aesthetic “cutting chai” glass cup (which has a cult status comparable to the “Goti soda” bottle) among other table-top paraphernalia. However, every once in a while one experiences a moment of crockery revelation. That precise moment that you realize that you aren’t just eating at A place, you are eating at THE place. That one single piece of gastronomic equipment that makes you question the motivations of the crockery selector or maybe even the profundity of life itself.

The important thing to note here is that that one item needn’t be quite as opulent as that silver coffee tumbler at MTR, or as demure as that leafy donne at Gundu’s, or as outlandish as the shiny copper water bowl at Rao’s Miltry mess, or even as simple as that Nat Geo glossy sheet of paper that cradles your geela bhel. It could be anything that induces An Oak Tree moment, makes you realize you experienced more than just a piece of cutlery and makes you remember it long after you’ve left. No?

Recently, a certain Mr. A paid us a visit over a rather short gourmandizable week. It being the monsoon, we had been advised by all and sundry to completely avoid seafood in Mumbai, the Konkani-Malwani-Saraswats reminding us that the surmai needs to breed, the pomfret needs to gallivant and the crab needs to do whatever it is that crabs do in the monsoon. Mr. A and I, despite being avid lovers of crustaceans, critters and crunchy fish fritters alike, decided to do the next best thing. We went for seafood anyway, cos seriously you can’t replace seafood with anything else. Pooh! Our destination, Goa Bhavan in Juhu. Very close to Amitaavacchan’s house.

The place itself is like a converted 1 BHK with 5 – 6 tables and no menu. A small 11-inch TV plays hindi songs and you get glimpses of the kitchen every time someone draws the curtain out carrying food in stainless steel plates. The name is rather misleading though. Don’t come here to be dazzled by sorpotel, xacuti or vindaloo. In fact, it’s a completely Malwani style mess where good coastal mulgas come to eat aaiee-che-jaywan (mom’s food). We got ourselves a chicken thali, a mandeli fish thali, a pomfret fry, prawns koliwada and a plate of shellfish sukkha. The thalis come with sol kadhi and some veggies, but really it’s the seafood that’s absolutely fabulous. I remember having a heap of shellfish sukkha at Trishna during a Koli seafood festival, and this one kicked its ass out of the water.

What I really remember though, were some quaint ceramic saucers on which we got served the chicken curry and the shellfish. Very similar to the ones that come with those almost spherical cups of tea and are always coloured a dirty brown with a streak of cream passing through. They used to be a Brahmin household specialty, only brought out when special guests came home.

Non-veg in them means abhistu!

If I were Hannibal Lecter...

2011-08-08T15:55:00.000+05:30

If I were Hannibal Lecter, I’d have me just one friend,
Not a throne or kingly scepter, a meal I’d comprehend.

Near the sea all quite aesthetic, on a rainy August Monday,
I’d concoct an anesthetic, and spike his chardonnay.

Then on Tuesday morning, I’d chop his leg in half,
The thigh in brine for curing, I’d marinate his calf.

It’d be a Wednesday evening, when we’d have us some more fun,
I’d put off homicidal scheming, and barbeque his bum.

I’d sit him down, the fellow, and let the fragrance linger,
Of a wine, quite red and mellow, and a frying little finger.

Thursday, Friday, I’d desist, from the dinner bell,
Pickling, you see, is on the list, as is a sorpotel.

Saturday’s to bake and roast, and generally partake,
In a bloody brandy toast, and many a shoulder steak.

Sunday it’d really culminate, with a party in the halls,
Imagine the fun! Just ruminate! I’d feed my guests his ****s!

HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY!

Social Gastronomy and Solapur

2011-08-02T21:43:00.000+05:30

The recent attacks by those terrorist fellows at Khao Galli came as rude shock to someone who has been permanenting street eateries for years. At the outset, it is important to understand that Khao Galli is not a place; it is a concept. One with an immensely profound significance. A concept that transcends just gastronomic bonding and is embedded deep in the culture of the city within which it exists. There are many Khao Gallis in Mumbai, the most famous of which, Zhaveri Bazaar, was bombed. The other more fortunate ones like the non-veg Khao Galli at Mahim, and particularly the one behind Roxy Cinema at Opera house, remain testaments to the city of Mumbai, and its people who refuse to function without that 8 rupee vada pao, 4 rupee cutting and 20 rupee toasted masala cheese sandwich. On several occasions I too have contemplated risking a limb or two for a delectable plate of Sev Khamani or Bhel Puri from the stalls behind Roxy Cinema.

I have always wanted to cover the Khao Galli at Opera House, but have been stopped by patrons from photographing the food there for reasons unknown to me. The general banter revolves around “Khaney ka mazzaa leejiye, bhaisahab, photo sey to swaad nahin ayega!” to “Behnchod, camera teri gaand mein ghusaa doonga! Yahan pey camera allow nahin hai!” I’d like to think it has something to do with the diamond market, but there was too little time to ask about it between the dosa stall and the tava pulao guy. There really is some serious food here. The bhakris, undhiyo, thayplas, sev khamani, muri bhel, lassi, masala doodh, fresh fruits, dosa, idli, assorted fritters, jelebis, chaas, pav bhaji, masala pav, sandwich, Chinese bhel, assorted blah is an assault on the senses, very different from the almost Shakespearean “Foul and pestilent vapours” one is normally used to in Mumbai. And people take their food very seriously too. There is no window shopping here. You already know what you want. You eat it. You pay for it. You eat a ball of betelnut and lime mixture. You spit it out. You get your ass back to work and sort diamonds.

Of course, it wouldn’t be fair to credit Mumbai with the concept of gastronomic congregation. Anyone who has been to VV Puram or MM Road in Bangalore or other roads in other cities which I assure you I have no idea about yet but intend to find out before I die, knows that Mumbai is not the center of the buffet table. Personally, my tryst with street food started in Solapur, my mum’s home town in Maharashtra.

The once glorious textile capital of Maharashtra (before the mills closed down), Solapur remains famous for “chaadars” and “turkey towels” and 48 degree summers. Invariably, we always went to Solapur in the summer and spent pretty much all afternoon in front of an air-cooler at home or in my uncle’s air-conditioned cabin in the “Dukaan”. The roads near Saraswati Chowk remained deserted until 6 PM after which a riot of shoppers would stream into the family appliance store and buy air coolers and fridges by the dozen. By 7 PM, all “yengsters” of the family would have rendezvoused at the ancestral home above the store to heckle Ajji for some money for snacks. Over the last two decades, she never fished out more than a total of fifty rupees for her twelve (or more) pani puri eating grand children, inflation being a concept she’d rather not comprehend. We still extract some money from her, for old time’s sake. Her generosity now extends to a hundred bucks.
Our destination more than always was Park Chowpatti, a small park filled with a plethora of food stalls of varied colors and sizes selling assorted street delicacies, some unique to the laid-back city. The Park itself was walled on one side by the ruins of an old Sivaji fort, a picturesque reminder of the town’s historical significance and the scene of some instances of eve teasing / molestation that I didn’t really believe. The entrance to Park was lined with Pani Puri walas equipped with bite size puris, usal (sprouted moong) and earthen pots that were filled with a cool spicy-sweet-tangy-onion filled pani that I have had only in Solapur. It was ridiculously refreshing and supremely beauteous. Inside, were stalls that had achieved legendary status in the small town: Krishna – for pani puri and pav chatni, Siddeshwar – for falooda and ice-cream, Mazda- for non-veg food, and Bhaiyya, Solapur’s answer to Don Vito Corleone. If you wanted the real Solapuri Pani Puri, he was the guy.

It wasn’t just the food that made me love the place. It was because Park made me realize that street food can be a very social experience. Here was a small town, populated with middle class people with a rather closed and conservative family belief system, much of which involved eating home cooked food but who embraced the idea of a corner of town to chill the fuck out, much to grandmother’s chagrin. Almost every single stall here has tables and benches along the street-side, and servers who make sure you get your food while it was still piping hot. This isn’t like eating in the city. In Mumbai, the food is good, but there isn’t an experience to go with it. In Bangalore, the stand-and-send and ready-mix culture has trickled into how we like our idlis and our masala puri. My cousins and I have probably had better food in the many places we have dispersed to since then, but never quite had the same experience.

On my recently concluded trip to Gujarat, I had a taste of small town love again. Rapar. Where the tava pulao sang, the casata was bliss and there were tables with chairs in the center of town.

Small town street eating da, machas! I louwe itch!

Just carry a quart.

Hakkinese

2011-07-21T16:13:00.001+05:30

This is a plate of Chinese food in a Chinese restaurant. On the left hand corner is a bowl of Chicken Hakka Noodles. Alongside is a half plate of Chicken Manchurian gravy. The sauces on the right hand side include a small bowl of green chills in vinegar and a green chilli chutney that is a time bomb waiting to destroy the last remaining taste bud in your mouth. As such, it remains dormant at room temperature.

So, what’s so special about a plate of Hakka noodles and Manchurian? Is it the best tasting Hakka Noodles I’ve had? Definitely not. Is it served with a honey glazed roast suckling pig on the side? Negative. Did someone die to honor its denouement? Possibly. Then what is it about this meal that makes it so special. Simple. It was served to me in Tangra.

Tangra, the Mecca of Manchurian (aka Manjoori aka Manjari aka Manchoori), the London of Lollipop, the Home of Hakka, the Source of Schezwan, and for all practical purposes, the cradle of fucking civilization (at least as far as Indian Chinese food goes). I always knew that Indo-Chinese cuisine was born in Tangra, a small locality of former Chinese tannery workers who decided it was time to lay the smack down on shorshe, macher jhol and sondesh. As expected from the indomitable Chinese, they converted their small little houses into makeshift inns and started dishing out hakka cuisine using local ingredients (which included turmeric, chilli powder, garam masala and the like).

The result, as they is, is menu history. I mean seriously, every single Chinese item that’s served in any multi-cuisine restaurant all over India has its origin in Tangra. That includes garlic chicken, ginger chicken, hunan chicken, and of course, chilli chicken. That’s not all. Some of the best Chinese chefs in the country have at some point in time worked in or served the patrons of Tangra (China garden, Mainland China, Kim Lee).

The road to Tangra is pot-hole ridden, narrow and there is a wafting scent of curing leather that can be rather funky. For a connoisseur of Indian Chinese food, this is the first step to belly chaos. As you finally enter china town, you are truly spoilt for choice with almost a hundred Chinese restaurants on both sides of a kilometer stretch of road. Some are still small houses, owned and run by a jolly old Chinese family, who’d only be too happy to baby sit your cranky baby if he interrupts your noodle fiesta.

So if its Indian Chinese food you crave, and you are shorshe about it, not matter how macher your budget, go down to Tangra and sondesh.

Letters from Viramgam

2011-07-07T16:10:00.002+05:30

My dearest Margaret,

It’s been four days since we left Mumbai. After the bacchanalian debauchery that was Daman, I think we have found sobriety in the vermiculate lines our motorcycles have been tracing around the Rann. It has been many days since we last found comfort in the flesh of woman, beast or bird. Gujarat, it seems, is rehab for any and every addiction that exists, no matter how quirky. You know what they say about rehab, you go in there with an addiction and leave with another; buttermilk is my new poison. I have been experiencing palpitations in the absence of buttermilk after my meals now.

On Wednesday, we found ourselves floating around the murky saline waters of Nalsarovar, apparently India’s largest and most famous bird sanctuary. With the promise of a hundred rupees each, Babloo and Bunty, our boatmen gave us a “briefs” yet memorable experience with over a hundred flamingos. It was here that my meat cravings got the better of me and I offered another Rs. 500 for some tasty flamingo, stuffed with brine water shrimp and slow roasted on an open flame. He thought about it for a while before muttering an inaudible “Dabeli?” under his breath. It had occurred to me that much like alcohol availability, flamingo and exotic bird dishes too might just be on the down low menu in Gujarat, sold in makeshift tents by men in white turbans and dhotis in the company of Guajarati businessmen speaking of diamonds and eating pan parag. Oh Maggie, how you would have loved this place!

As the noon progressed, we learnt of a small village Viramgam that apparently housed a rather popular “naan-bhej” restaurant aptly named Hotel Paradise. It was here that carnage was inevitable. As we feasted on rotis, chaaps, kheema, liver, chicken, mutton and other oleaginous matter, our thoughts were transported to the cardiac emergency room in Apollo Hospital. Around 55 “thumzups” later, we had pretty much ordered everything on the menu and built an interesting story around the now healthy, locally produced rape seed oil, buckets of which had been used to cook every dish.

There is a certain je ne sais quoi about stepping out in the sun after a ridiculous meal. A south Indian recognizes that hint of a tingle, experienced mostly after a marriage lunch after slurping that last bit of curd rice and getting up off that mat to get a better view of that banana leaf vini-vidi-vici moment. I think that it can only be explained as gastronomic post-coital bliss.

Either ways, Maggie, it always ends with buttermilk.

Yours always,
Firdaus
XX

The Chicken Bullet

2011-07-04T15:31:00.001+05:30

It had previously occurred to me that the human psyche is as prone to deception as the male praying mantis is to his cannibalistic femme fatale nemesis. It all lies in the packaging. Gastronomic deception, you see, is that aspect of neuron-triggering that makes you walk into a Mickey Dee’s and suddenly realize that the kiddies meal is the tastiest item on that display over the counter only because you know you already have the Kung-fu Panda doll and Master Shifu / Tigress would be a fantastic add-on on that cool new book shelf that already houses Spongebob. I have learnt the hard way that not everything that’s flambéd and served on a sizzle plate brings the shizzle to nizzle.

It all started with a planned ride to the interiors of Gujarat.

Accordingly as planned, we arrived in Daman from Mumbai around 11:30 on a Monday morning. The tourist part of town, particularly the Devka Beach side, looked as though a horde of marauding barbarians had recently packed up their stuff and left, leaving behind the remnants of rape, pillage and ethanol murder. You see, Daman is the last refuge for alcohol starved Southern Gujju’s, Maharashtrians and even Madhya Pradeshis, who risk bone crunching automobile death for a Rs. 40 large bottle of Tuborg. Yes, it’s dead cheap. Literally. On the weekends, the town transforms from a quiet sea-side village to a scene from a Mad Max movie, replete with instances of car chases and general borderline criminal behavior. Apparently, the party was so wild on the weekend before we arrived that some dude decided to get away from it all by escaping into the sea on Sunday night and washing up on shore Monday morning, briefly interrupting our breakfast pint session. He looked so wasted, I thought he was dead. Turns out, he was.

Anyways, back to the food. As we ambled into Hotel Shilton and Sohil Bar & Restaurant on Devka Beach, our thoughts turned to the picture of that dish I had found on the internet. One look at the menu and we knew that the Chicken Bullet was definitely Daman’s gourmet USP. We order two plates, a chicken bullet and a mix bullet and excitedly waited for its entry, beer grins galore.

The dish itself turned out to be a Manchurian, and not some fancy one at that. It was like that Manchurian you get at Manju Sagar in Kalasipalyam, served on that 2+1 divided plate that’s filled with pink and green sauces when you’re having chinese and chutney-sambhar when you get a vada. That’s not all. The whole thing is served on a sizzling plate, then doused with a 60 ml of brandy and set on fire. The blaze singes a part of the waiter’s mustache which then doubles up as a not-so-tasty garnish. What a disappointment!

We still ended up cleaning them plates up, and ordered another round a few days later when we returned from our ride. They didn’t even offer Kung-fu panda merchandise.

Sigh.

Biryani Eater’s Creed

2011-06-02T16:19:00.001+05:30

To all those assholes who ate the leg piece from my biryani when I wasn’t looking. I hate you!

Biryani Eater’s Creed

This is my biryani. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My biryani is my best friend. It is my life. I must gourmandize it as I must gourmandize my life.

My biryani, without me, is useless. Without my biryani, I am useless. I must devour my biryani true. I must eat faster than my enemy who is trying to eat my leg piece. I must eat my piece before he attempts to. I will...

My biryani and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds of sherwa we need, the peppery burst of flavours, nor the smoke that emanates from a freshly heaped plate. We know that it is the leg piece that counts. We will save it till the end...

My leg piece is delectable, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will treat it as a close confidante, and savour its taste for the end. I will learn its plumpness, its symmetry, its parts, its knuckles, its bone and its indents. I will ever guard it against the ravages of hungry frenemies as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my leg piece rice-free and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...

Before God, I swear this creed. My biryani and myself are the defenders of the lunch time binge. We are the masters of our bellies. We are the saviors of my life.

So be it, until victory is ours and there is no enemy, except that other asshole who eats the last piece of chilli chicken!

I hate you too!

Eggs...or verse

2011-05-24T12:07:00.003+05:30

An Irani Cafe before a train,
Is quite the place to be,
To listen in to that Mumbai rain,
To the heat, a repartee.

It’s easy if you don’t know how,
It’s easy if you do,
Request the dude for a bhurji-pav,
Stare down at the hardwood hue.

Grab the handles of your chair,
Yes indeed, they’re teak,
Wonder why the bawas’re fair,
To them you’re just a freak.

Stare-up at dem fans above,
In a precarious position,
Just before you do indulge,
In gastronomic fornication.

Eggs and chai and butter and Brun,
And thoughts of kheema too,
Was this the song that the Persians hummed?
While traversing the long silk route.

Ingratiate the octogenarian,
To spoon you some more butter,
Sip tea like an epicurean,
Alas! It’s gone it’s over.

When you feel you’re satiated,
Don’t ever cross the line,
At a bar, you ever sent and waited?
So, “Please don’t sit long time”
-Famished Firdaus

Beep Biryani

2011-05-09T15:16:00.005+05:30

Eating beef in India (leaving out the long stretch of land between Gokarna and Kanyakumari, demarcated by one bad-ass axe throw from the nemesis of all kshatriya’s, of course) is a lot like scoring Herb for the first time. And by beef, I don’t mean any of that posh steak / medallion / undercut / shoulder stuff. I’m talking about the vernacular variant. The one that can’t be spelt correctly in English without altering its meaning. Where veal kebab is as much the dish itself as it is the vehicle on which it’s prepared.

It involves preparation. Meticulous preparation. Over five weekdays. There are occasional anxiety attacks. The constant fear that someone from the Brahmin side of the family will see you enter a seedy lane more famous for non-veg items of the promiscuous courtesan variety, than for the availability of something that actually should not be illegal. Prepping the trusty friend, also doing this for the first time, to be on the look-out for that plain-clothed “mama” who loiters around and has often regaled your folks with stories of your previous smoking escapades. Preparing the escape route. Reaching home while the paranoia sets in. Avoiding breath proximity at home. Staying 30 feet away from the pooja room. High fives all around at a job well done. Tripping. Stonesh (or sleepesh as the case may be). Listening in, to that whacky bird cooing in the middle of the afternoon as your eyes glaze over in bliss. Loop. Redo.

I too, like many other beef eating Brahmin converts in Bangalore, lost my red-meat virginity at Johnson’s market. Before that, it was just mutton-laced foreplay. What, with Fanoo’s around the corner and Mecca Tea shop so close by, you couldn’t help but stop there after that long ride to Anekal. By then, and I mean 1999 – 2000, Khazana was already an institution, filled with Josephites and Baldwinians willing to let go of their scruples over a plate of beef biryani and some button kebabs only to renew their hatred for each other after stepping out the door. It had occurred to me that there was an eerie, almost church-like silence around Khazana in the afternoons. The junta ate religiously, in an enveloping silence briefly disturbed by the clanging of steel plates on which they got served. Aga Abdullah Street was the road most “abhistooed” by the hindu population and a crusade-like war raged between the mohmeddans and the ecumenicals over the ownership of Richmond Town. I’d like to think Khazana ended that. Here, everyone was equally loved and everyone equally loved the beef biryani.

I revisted Khazana sometime back, just to see what has happened over the last decade. Like that hippie, looking to recreate the magic of Woodstock at the farm. The biryani is still fantastic, though the taste has changed considerably. The button kebab, dal and raita still rocks. Inflation has taken prices to Rs. 100 a head for a biryani, kebab and coke from Rs. 50 around eight years ago.

I hope this place stays.

Dark Room, White Fish

2011-04-20T12:16:00.004+05:30

Act 1 – Scene 1

[Three Bangalorean men stagger into a dimly lit bar, somewhere in the depths of Versova fishing village. An 11 inch TV plays old hindi songs while regular patrons sit scattered around 5 tables indulging in alcohol served in tetra-packs and food served on steel plates. A mustachioed customer facing the audience sneers menacingly. It would seem he is upset. The three men make their way to a table, avoiding the gesticulating arms of an excited customer. The table has the remnants of a satiating binge. Momentarily, a server walks up to them. He looks like Mer-Man.]

Man 1: Special mein kya hai?

Server: Is-spayshal mein? Signature. Blender’s Pride.

Man 2: Nahin Nahin bhaiyya, peeney mein nahin, khaaney mein.

Server: Frawns, Feesh, Rawas, Surmai, Bombil, Bangda. Kya maangta hai?

Man 1: Keykda. Keykda roast dena, ek plate.

Server: Yeh season mein Keykda koi nahin khata. Baarish key baad hi khaaney ka. Tub maas bharela rehta hai!

Man 3: Toh pomfret hai?

Server: Chota, bada ya medium?

Man 1: Size dikhaana.

[The server leaves and returns with a tray of fish. One of the pomfrets is the size of Lenovo’s R51 laptop. Man 2 points at it.]

Man 2: Bada wala kitney ka hai?

Server: Yeh medium hai. Two phiph-tee.

Man 1: Aur kya preparation hoga iska? Fry?

Server: Ish-shtuff and ish-shteem!

Man 2: Send it, macha!

Man 3: Aur do quarter is-spayshal la dena. Soda key saath.

[Lights dim, Spotlight on fish]

Hanky Frankie

2011-04-04T21:00:00.003+05:30

Being able to distinguish a good roll from your regular seamless tube tire is a process littered with experiences and anecdotes of the face-melting and face-smelting variety. For example, sampling the now ubiquitous Doner Kebab, which has found its way to every corner of London, depending on where you eat, could be a decision that falls into the category of “life or death”. Of course, it goes without saying that if you do happen to pub hop your way down to Edgware Road and bite into the Arabic shawarma that has made that part of town so famous, it does occur to you that 1001 nights of sex on a pita bread doesn’t really sound so bad. Insidious thoughts tend to cloud judgment as you watch burly Akhmed slice out portions of greasy meat from a congregation of roasting chunks, making sure he maintains the reverse angle of repose, the absence of which might just end human existence as we know it.

Or even those Doner shops in Manor House, outside the Turkish social clubs, where old and young rendezvous to discuss such of those things that old and young Turks do in the middle of the day, seemingly oblivious to the treasure chest that exists right across the road. It is indeed the stuff of legend. Meat, more meat, a little more meat, Greek/Cypriot curd dip, salad, chilli sauce in a pita bread with pickled veggies on the side. It is protein heaven.

The story goes that one Mr. Amarjit Tibb, deeply influenced by the crunchy bliss of the Doner Kebab, experimented on creating his own handy wrap with the missus. What they stumbled upon in the process was the Frankie, the masalafied, chat-pata, oily version of the very famous Doner. In the 90’s, they were all the rage in Mumbai, with folks lining up the streets for a taste of something so much better in price and quality than the nonsense Badey Miyan was doling out in the name of rolls. After a few years, when the Frankie had become a commercial phenomenon, sold in tiny kiosks by men in red hats who didn’t know squat about what “tangy” meant, the euphoria died and is now restricted to pockets around town. Bread Craft in Lokhandwala is one such.

Between bites, one may indulge the many beautiful people who walk down the streets of Lokhandwala Market, aspire to become a big bollywood star, sit down at Rhythm’s for a quick 90, focus your gaze on an anthropomorphic bicep that talks, wonder at the whether the lighting is dim or if you forgot to take your shades of at 8 PM, meander through the many lanes filled with non-edible and edible lingerie, heck, just be. The rolls themselves are nice, but very oily. Apparently, this is one of the best Frankie’s in the Suburbs. Nah!

Death and Pav Bhaji

2011-03-27T13:08:00.005+05:30

In the movie Final Destination, death manifests itself in elaborate and fantastic ways to deliver munchy-crunchy pain to those unlucky enough to have survived toastesh in a plane that self-combusts mid-air. These seemingly implausible, supremely creative and deliciously evil means of popping off the sole black dude, the sporty jock, the blonde bimbette, the petrified mom and other Hollywood horror plot devices were rather entertaining, but devoid of the depth we have come to expect from the Reaper. In time, I realized that death awaits in the most unsuspecting of places and in the most innocuous of forms. Heck, if the reaper does eat vegetarian food, he’s using his scythe to spead some extra butter on his pav at Sardar’s.

Its rather simple, one menu, one item on it, 12 tables, 1 long queue to eat, 1 ear-shattering “Holy Fuck!” at the sight of butter on the bhaji, 1 satisfied “Mmmm!” when you realize this isn’t just a Pav Bhaji; it’s the 9/11 of terrorist attacks, the Damien Hirst of contemporary art, the Scofield of guitarists, the Chetan Bhagat of bad writing, the marmite of funky spreads, the Namitha of voluptuous southern sirens, the bratwurst of sausages. In other words, it is so good, it just feels plain wrong.

Staring down at your plate, you can’t help but feel like a rusty bullet yearning for its oil bath and grease rub. As you mutter an audible “No way, da!” and spoon the roof of your mouth with 80% of Amul’s butter production for the year, and break off the yeasty buttery something that was dry as a rock in the desert before it found its way to Sardar’s gargantuan tava, the reaper doesn’t seem so bad-ass anymore. You embrace him, and are comforted by the warmth of his black cloak, his boney finger tracing the nape of your esophagus as the spoonful decends to its final resting place, somewhere in the love sack (the way to a mans heart….and all that jazz). Somewhere in the background, in the midst of this epiphanic moment, a string quartet plays a long somber note. You die!

Only to be reborn when the Masala Pav makes its appearance. Then, you die!

Loki Dal

2010-11-14T22:01:00.003+05:30

Ingredients

1 Small Onion finely chopped
2 Tomatoes Roughly Chopped
1 Small Bottle Gourd cut in large chunks
2 Tsps Jeera
2 Tsps Mustard Seeds
5 Siliguri Dried Red Chillies
2 Tsps GGP (Ginger Garlic Paste)
1 Tsp Chilli Powder
1 Tsp Turmeric Powder
1 Cup of Masoor Dal soaked for 25 mins
1 Cup of Tuur Dal soaked for 25 mins

1 Large whisky of the bourbon variety
Small packet murrukku
1 lazy Sunday evening

In a pressure cooker, add the jeera, mustard seeds and dried red chillies to a tablespoon of oil and get them to splutter. Add the onions and fry till soft. Add the tomatoes. Have a few sips of whisky while the tomatoes get soft. Add the GGP and fry for a bit. Add the large chopped pieces of Loki and stir. Add the soaked (uncooked) dal to the cooker and stir. Add loads of water. Cover it with the lid and give it about 2 whistles on a slow flame and one on a high flame. Send some murruku while the deal cooks.

Garnish with coriander, the juice of one lime and undying love for humanity. Send it with rice, tomato thokku and recheido fish fry. PTFO.

Cooking time: 25 mins

(Thanks to a certain someone for the bliss of tomato thokku from Grand Snacks)

Market Madness

2010-11-14T20:41:00.003+05:30

I have always believed, in almost Jamie Oliveresque fashion, that a true meat eater doesn’t hesitate from the occasional butchery involved in the art of the Non-Vegetarian send. It comes as no surprise then that a visit to the local butcher, Farooq bhai, is an almost frequent and sometimes exhaustingly mechanical affair. But there are those times, rare yet astonishing, when a large white bird, unaware of its present conundrum, stares at you with those forlorn eyes, begging, no groveling, to be eaten. Or the sight of a large raan, the size of a small tree, conjures images of a greek roast with potatoes and a nice feta and lettuce salad (Aris & Eleni, I owe you for that one). None of that packaged supermarket shite for me, oh no. I like to have blood on my hands.

The fish market in 4 bungalows isn’t as large or popular as some of the others in Mumbai. But the buxomed “macchiwalis” who populate this stretch with their wares definitely deserve a post of their own. And what wares they are.

I always like to buy fish in the evening, despite the gasps and ughs I get following this almost blasphemous proclamation. I mean, really, the fish is always cheaper and still quite fresh. I have always got great deals of some large bitch-ass tunas, surmais and tiger prawns that have fondly found their way to the bottom of my stomach. Wading through the longish stretch of aqua-marine festivities is an indulgence not to be missed. Of course, you have to fight off the regular banter of “Ay Raja, promfret le na! Ekdum fress!” or “Beta, main teri Aiee (mom) ke mafiq! Aiee key saath paisa ka baat nahin karne ka!”. The best part of it all is, the fishes aren’t sold by the kilogram. They’re sold the old fashioned way. By the heap. Almost medieval. So all you have to do, is find the largest heap of pomfret / bangra / jhinga you want and start the bargaining. I use the fashion street rule. 25% of what ever is quoted.

The crabs can get a bit big though. Carrying the large fugger tied to the handlebars of the bullet with his pinchers frighteningly close to the jewels normally gets me home in a jiffy. I am reminded of Mr. Akkihal who once told me that he would “gladly barter his nether regions for a big tasty crab.” I keep thinking I might actually have to…

Sorry for the interruption

2010-11-14T20:39:00.002+05:30

Hi All,

Apologies for the long absence (at least the few who still read). I have moved cities but will continue the rants with more street food. I will also be doing some bachelor type recipes, cos really the cooking scene is going mental.

Watch this space.

K

Coles Park Carnivore

2010-03-27T12:18:00.003+05:30

I like to the think of HBS Coles Park Kebab as the Vince McMahon of all things beef in Bangalore. I mean, he started it all. It was not long after he popped up on Coles Park (the Miller’s Road side) that Siddique, New Siddique and Al-Siddique found their way to that side of town. Of course, many might debate that there were older places in Sivajinagar, ‘Tainey Road’ and the like, but like Ol’Vince, HBS brought phal, bhuna and nalli soup to the mainstream. His sudden disappearance from Miller’s Road though short lived, was felt deeply by fans of his hardcore fare. Seriously, his place was not for the faint of heart unless eating marrow directly from a bone the size of a baseball bat was your kind of thing.

The new place retains the same delectable “itams” from his previous haunt in a rather more hygienic environ. I still do miss the hustle and bustle of the old roadside place though. The sheek kebabs and phal are excellent as is the Chinese kebab, which incidentally is another name for the bhuna. With enough semiyaan to go along, you can really go crazy with this stuff. He hasn’t really started the other stuff on the menu, and I’m actually saddened that he is selling out like the other kebab guys in the neighborhood. Fried Rice and Noodles??!?…sheesh!!

Bars in the vicinity: Dewar’s

Bureaucratic Buffet

2010-03-27T12:13:00.002+05:30

My recent visit to Goa notwithstanding, an overwhelming urge to devour some seafood led me to the newly opened Karnataka Fisheries Development Corporation’s fishmonger cum “tasty canteen items” stall in Indiranagar RTO complex. This is where the old Sher-e-Punjab dhaba used to be, another top class place which unfortunately shut down. Now, I know the name itself seems apt considering its location in the midst of the bureaucratic orgy of the RTO, but it’s probably the last place you would go to looking for food in the likelihood of meeting a bespectacled clerk who just might grudgingly redirect you to “Room No.9”.

The “Canteen Items” are surprisingly limited but the prices are remarkably subsidized. I mean, a bangda (mackerel) fish curry rice plate costs just 35 bucks while the anjal (Seer) fish curry rice plate is like Rs. 45 – 50. The gravy itself is a simple mangalore style coconut and chilli powder concoction, not too spicy with the perfect consistency for rice. They also have some great fish fry, made the original Bangalore style, coated with deep red ‘kefaf’ masala. The best part though has to be the prawns, once again deep fried in the same ubiquitous masala but with sizes varying from the minute ‘jhinga’ to the massive ‘tiger’ served on a steel plate garnished with onions and lime for just Rs. 50, the perfect accompaniment for the rice meal.

With BJP (that’s Beer Joint Pub for the indiranagar ignorant) just around the corner, you cannot go wrong. I mean it!

Goan Gourmet

2010-01-27T20:20:00.002+05:30

A non-bangalore post is not something that I would generally tolerate on this page, considering that I haven’t really done justice to the magnitude of fantastic eating joints around town yet. However, there have been some places that I recently visited that demand an interspersing between my regular rants, mainly on the grounds of “f@#king awesomeness”. And this one truly is special…

One look at Longuinho’s and you cant escape it’s almost Koshyesque appeal. The old wooden furniture, the regular clinking of plates, glasses and egos and the incessant banter that, through some marvel of acoustic technology, seems to funnel straight into the center of your brain. Situated smack bang in the center of Madgaon, the one thing that does differentiate this place from Bangalore’s favourite however, is the food (cos seriously, Koshy’s food is just about so-so). And what food it is!!!

This place serves up the most amazing balchaoed, xacutied, vindalooed, recheadoed, ambotiked and goan masala fried versions of any pork, prawns, oysters, squid, shark, beef or other happy goan animal you can think off. The booze is ridiculously cheap, but that pretty much goes without saying since this is Goa. I walked in there seriously hunting for some good goan food in the city and frequented the place twice in as many days ordering as much as I could from their menu (leaving out the North Indian itams). My favourite being the Pork Vindaloo, which I might add is the best Vinadaloo I have ever had in my life. The rest of the stuff is not far behind, conjuring images of grandeur with every bite of the perfectly cooked fresh prawns, squid and oysters served in the tangy, sweet vinegary masala.

Trust me, no trip to Goa will ever be complete for me without a visit to this place.

Yeaveribodyhappy!!

2010-01-27T20:17:00.001+05:30

The absence of decent vegetarian Chinese street food in Bangalore has been something that has bothered my vegan cousins on the many occasions that I stopped off at a stall to belt a plate of kebabs and “haaf ekk noodals”. My obvious retort included the fabulous Raman’s in Malleshwaram and the many darshini’s littered around town, which serve up some reasonably delectable fare. With most of my suggestions being met by a resounding “ho..hum” I proceeded to the previously nameless, now newly-christened “Spicy Corner” on Jeevanbhima Nagar Main road. This is diagonally opposite TFC (that’s “Thunder Fried Chicken” for the newbies”) and right next to the Ganesh Fruit Juice Stall.

Nothing much to write about this place. The Gobi is so-so and so are the rest of his ‘itams’. I think that’s probably because his serving sizes are so huge that any interesting taste you liked in the first bite is probably gone by the time you stuff your face with the last. This is the place you go to if some cranky veggie complains while you are getting your kebab fix. Yeaveribodyhappy!!

Gobi Guy

2009-08-25T15:10:00.002+05:30

The art of making a good plate of Gobi Manchurian (or “gopi manjoori” if you will) is a skill practiced by many but perfected only by a handful. Personally, my experiences with the famed “starter item” are replete with horror stories of blackened trash and ketchup-coated nonsense that barely passed off as something edible. Kumar’s (not sure if I’m getting his name right) stall outside MES College in Malleshwaram however, sells one of the best plates of Gobi in town. This place brings back way too many memories.

The stall opens up close to 6:30 PM everyday and dishes out some rather appetizing fare at breakneck speed considering the teeming millions that have made this their pit-stop for years now. I believe that the consistency and speed with which he delivers the good stuff can somehow be attributed to his significant knowledge of how a kitchen in a Michelin star restaurant normally works. There’s the Legumier whose job it is to hand out cut veggies to the Friturier who would proceed to dip them in a batter (secret recipe of course) and fry them in a vat of boiling oil. The crispy and deliciously crunchy fritters would then find their way into a wok of simmering sauce being aggressively stirred by the Saucier. The Chef de Cuisine would add a final garnish just seconds before you attack it with a fork and shove the whole thing in your mouth.

But seriously, the gobi is fantastic. Always served fresh and crispy, coated to perfection in the spicy sauce made smack bang in front of your eyes. What’s more, everything he sells is pure-veg. His other stuff is pretty good too. Definitely a must try.

Bars in the vicinity: White Horse Bar & Restaurant

Veal Vandal

2009-08-21T15:15:00.001+05:30

The very mention of Tannery Road (or “tainey road”) summons images of crowded streets, narrow by-lanes, dodgy strangers and the occasional scrape-boot-on-the-curb. I remember passing through here a few years ago, thoroughly lost and trying to find my way to the hebbal outer ring road on a 10 year old rx100. My long and uneventful ride was solemnized by a plethora of scenes, one of which involved an entire 200 mt stretch of road littered on all sides by barbeque vendors of all shapes and sizes. As I rode by, a blast of sweet smelling, slow roasting flesh hit me straight in the face. I knew I would return.

My recent visit reinforced my belief that you really have to hit the streets to get some good food around town. As I strolled around trying to decide what item shall be devoured first, I noticed a pile of deep fried veal kebabs fresh from the stove. Their absolute bright red colour and the fact that each piece, no matter how small, was fried evenly all over made for a bizarre sight. I definitely had to try it. I was not disappointed.

The kebabs were soft and well cooked and tasted perfect with the little chaat masala that he sprinkled prior to handing them to you on a dried leaf plate. Besides, he was not even stingy with the onions. He also makes a tremendous veal roll, to satiate the hunger pangs as you walk around looking for prey. I recommend this place to anyone who is really freakin hardcore about his food.

Grandmother Grains

2009-08-07T11:13:00.002+05:30

I happened to be at Thippasandra a couple of days back and popped into Granny’s. Its one of those places I have only heard of but never been too. It’s a standard mallu mess, where you normally go to have one of those all you can eat mountains of rice topped with sambar. The absence of any geriatric female form turns out to be quite a damp squib though, especially since the place is called Granny’s and that’s the least I would have expected just to add that homely touch ala “Granny’s Pizza”. The fish curry isn’t bad though and beef fry lived up to reasonable expectations. Sambar was average and didn’t complement the boiled rice well enough. It wasn’t too hot either and that just didn’t do it for me. Don’t even bother looking at the menu as it’s filled with the regular “butter chicken / tandoori chicken” garbage which probably sucks. Stick to the mallu style items by just asking for the day’s special.

All in all, I expected more from a place I had heard so much about.

2 out of 5

Famous Bar in the vicinity: “Night Booze”

Spare Parts and High Spirits...

2009-07-11T14:03:00.004+05:30

Enough has been written and said about the pappuness of Dewar’s that I’m going to restrict this post to the bare minimum. For me, it’s a place that blends to perfection, almost admirably I might add, many things that normally if put together would be just plain wrong. A portrait of Queen Elizabeth finds its way somewhere between Lord Ganesha and Dattatreya amongst many other polytheistic hindu images hung impressively over 65 million bottles of assorted booze. An aged anglo-indian motorcycle mechanic lazily tires over a kitchen stove preparing a delicate and mildly spiced batter fried fish while the raw awesomeness of a kidney and brain fry slowly simmers on pan close by. Meanwhile, an auto driver catches up with the IT benchwarmer over a cutting of original choice. I freakin’ love this place!

Sadly, they have stopped all “egg itams”, so the world famous cheese omelet will no longer feed the hungry old monkers. The pepper chicken and kidney fry remains a must try; so well roasted and coated in freshly ground black pepper that it’s almost crispy. I remember eating some prawn fry too, almost 5 – 6 years ago, but that seems to be off the menu as well. I guess they realize that it’s the spare parts people come here to eat. The brain fry apparently is fantastic, though I have never tried it. Wash it all down with a spirit of your choice, or beer. But seriously, don’t do beer…get a quart.

Apparently, the land Dewar’s is on has been the subject of a long drawn litigation. They were even shut for almost 3 months earlier this year. Hit this place now! I mean it!

Chai and Sandwich Prongs…

2009-06-30T16:38:00.003+05:30

There were many places in Bangalore which I frequented more often than I should have growing up only to find them either non-existent or presently fading into obscurity upon my attempt to relive the good old days. Of all the places that just don’t exist anymore, Tanveer’s tea stall, which used to be on Cole’s Road, ranks right up there with the places I miss the most.

He was quite an inconspicuous personality, the sort of individual you wouldn’t generally notice seated on his aluminum magazine storage box, smoking a cigarette and talking softly into his hands free, but with a friendliness that only the gods possess and mortals lament. His corner shop was pretty standard; 3 random tables, 7 – 10 dilapidated chairs and a fridge with edible paraphernalia. His stuff though, was anything but; an excellent “paani kum” chai, a delicious chicken burger and some great toasted sandwiches made the old fashioned way, using sandwich prongs on an open gas flame. Frequented mainly by his regular clientele of Arab / Iranian boys in the area and others who came there just to have a cup of tea, his place was the spot for 14 years.

Sadly, his shop is now gone, replaced by some absurd commercial monstrosity that just shouldn’t be there. Tanveer, wherever you are, man “Ek cup chai, aur ek chicken sandwich.”

Other places in Bangalore that are sadly no longer hang-out-able:

Eatout, Malleshwaram (Can you believe it?!)
Little Chef, Museum Road (Godrej fridge doors for tables and ambassador car seats for chairs)
Carnival, Brigade Road (Biryani and booze, dammit!)
Kwality Bar & Restaurant, Brigade Road
Taj Hotel, Richmond Road (Oppo. Career Forum classes. This guy was awesome. Chicken curry, biryani, rotis, the works man)
S-ence, Wind Tunnel Road (Kerala style tomato fry gave me sustenance)
Taj Hotel, Old Madras Road (For 5 a.m. ghee rice and kebabs)

Fisherwoman Fish Curry

2009-06-22T11:46:00.003+05:30

Ingredients

5 Borderline Alcoholics
2 Fishing Rods with tackle & bait
1 Scenic Fishing Location
10 Beer Cans
1 Bottle Old Monk
3 Fisherwomen with fresh catch
1 Mekedatu Munch Biryani
1 cup Tamarind Juice
1 Tbs Chilli Powder
1 Tsp Turmeric Powder

Preparation

Enter waist deep water with rods and tackle. Keep still for 30 mins. Exit water to join peeps with booze. Drink booze. Chat up local fisherman (who looks like a shirtless Karl Marx). Re-enter water under his guidance. Keep still for 30 mins. Exit water to join peeps with booze. Drink booze. Watch fresh catch be cleaned and gutted by fisherwomen. Preparation of dish involves one vessel on open fire. Add last three ingredients with fresh fish. Cook for 20 mins. Offer 1 mekedatu munch biryani for 1 bowl of fish curry. Eat delightful curry at scenic fishing location.

Tasty Triangles

2009-05-28T15:11:00.003+05:30

Just like the “Oil Kebab”, or “Ail Keffaf”, is native to Bangalore, (seriously, and I’m sure most would agree, I think kebab means something else for the rest of the world), so too is the bright orange, onion filled monstrosity which passes of as a samosa in most bakeries around town. Don’t get me wrong, I have always been a fan of the greasy, triangular shaped wrap and have never missed an opportunity to grab one while sipping on some hot tea. Albert Bakery on Mosque Road, however, has perfected the art of converting the “samosa” to a very appetizing, thumb-sized snack.

The bakery, apparently owned by one Mr. Albert, was sold to a Muslim family many years ago. The family retained the name and continued the bakery business introducing new delights like the mutton naan (basically a dilpasand pie filled with mince meat), mini burgers (seriously small chicken burgers) and an assortment of puffs, non-veg of course. The influences are obvious though, with their dishes capturing all the flavours and spices so reminiscent of the eateries around Coles road, Cockburn road and Fraser Town.

The samosas themselves are a calorific indulgence. Crunchy as hell on the outside with a spicy meat filled center, they are a perfect accompaniment to tea, coke or booze. A word of advice, one is never enough, neither are ten…

Mekedatu Munch

2009-04-20T15:21:00.001+05:30

After a reasonably long night of overindulgence, a couple of peeps and I headed for a bike ride towards Sangam (off kanakpura). Now, having been there a couple of times earlier, I remembered this quaint village about 20kms before mekedatu where I had sampled some pretty decent chicken “itams”. The time warp that some of these villages subsist in ensured that nothing about the place had changed. In fact I was able to find the mess I had eaten in very easily even though I had been there only once before 4 years ago. The location of a local bar aptly titled “Sangam Wines” within 20 feet was met with affirmative grunts so we ended up spending our lunch time indoors even though chunchi falls wasn’t too far away.

The biryani itself is nothing really to write home about, though he is very generous with the pieces of chicken. The rice used is one of those large grain varieties, which I think is native to the region and makes the whole dish feel more like a pulao than a biryani. He also serves it with some pretty decent pacchadi and sherwa. His chutney though really is his saviour. Made from coconut and loads of ginger, it’s got that extra bit of twang and goes really well with the rice. We also got some mutton fry, but it just passed of as something you can eat if you’re really hungry. The other stuff we didn’t really try, but nobody seemed to be trying any of it anyways.

I definitely recommend this place if you are close by, mainly since it’s the only place to get some food for 40 kms.

P.S: We met a farmer who gave us 20 ripe ‘badami’ mangoes fresh off the orchard at Krishnayanadoddi in exchange for Rs.35 and a cigarette. They were absolutely fantastic…

The Original Military Madness

2009-03-29T14:17:00.004+05:30

Of all the places I have grown to love (and hate!) in Bangalore, S Rao's military mess is probably the closest to my budget taste buds than any other. The one thing that really strikes me about "the mess" is that you are never just eating into a plate of chicken pulao or rice and curry; you are actually biting into a big chunk of bangalorean history. Apparently, this place is the oldest surviving restaurant in Bangalore and has been serving the patrons of “city” for more than a hundred years. Everything about the place has a profound sense of nostalgia about it. Starting with the coal / wood fire stoves, the dried leaf plates, the brass water tumblers, the uncomfortable quirkiness of the semi-clad waiters and of course, the lack of any other form of cutlery.

There are heaps of ginger and garlic near the kitchen and a faint smell of fresh and slightly damp coriander leaves tantalizingly close to being dumped into the “Kurma” for a final garnish. All chicken dishes here are made from freshly cut “Nati” (country) chicken cooked to perfection in a pulao or watery gravy. For lunch on weekdays, he serves up his famous rice and mutton (Kheema balls or chops) curry, unlimited of course. For sides, he makes a great bitter gourd (karela) fry which is so good it makes me want to cry. Rasam and butter milk normally find their way to the end, just when you want to wash down all the rice and leave some bittersweet aftertastes in your mouth post departure.

On Sunday’s, he makes Nati Chicken Pulao, which has very striking similarities to Gundu Pulao, but is a hell of a lot spicier. The influences however, are very evident considering that both places are within a hundred yards of each other. The pacchdi is cool and well flavoured giving the meal itself a good balance. The Nati Chicken Gravy is fantastic and gets my vote over gundu’s, just because it takes the dryness out of a wholesome Sunday breakfast.

7 out of 5

Military Madness

2009-03-23T17:17:00.002+05:30

My very recent diet being short-lived, owing to the abundance of new eateries in the vicinity of a short toddle in my neighbourhood, I sampled some authentic (and I mean “AUTHENTIC”) kannadiga gowda non-veg food this weekend. The location is best described as the lane opposite Muthathi Bar / Aishwarya Bar on Indiranagar Double Road, which I might add is a nice bar for a quick stop over before lunch. Though his food isn’t as good as some of the more famous Gowda places around, ala Jai Bhuvaneshwari in Srirangapatna (more on that later), he does a decent job and the place seems a lot more hygienic.

His “Khaima” (meat ball curry) is excellent. I would definitely recommend it with the rice. For ‘dry items’, I would definitely do the “Chops” or the chicken fry, which are equally spicy and acceptable. Of course, for the adrenaline junkies there’s “Boti” (intestines), Brain and Head masala/fry which I have never tried but I hear are fantastic. He also serves “Ragi Mudde” and “Saaru” for the benefit of those with a palette for that sort of thing. All in all, very very good.

3 out of 5

P.S: He makes trotter soup in the mornings for breakfast, which apparently is very good.

Dilkush Kebabs

2009-03-04T17:57:00.001+05:30

Dilkush Kebab has been serving the patrons of Cox town/Fraser town for over 25 years, apparently, i.e. if the proprietor’s name really is Pereira. He evidently had a Kebab cart near St. Francis Xavier’s church almost 20 years ago serving up some of the most delicious kebabs with his famous “Marwaan Chutney”. His chutney, which I believe really is the one thing that sets him apart, is a tangy blend of green chillies, mint, lemon and a dash of sugar. I must admit though that it has lost a lot of punch over the last couple of years.
He serves up three main dishes – Kebabs, deep fried chicken (leg or breast) and fish, and also offers a spare part curry affectionately called “Ghotala” with neer dosas. His kebabs though, really are his main forte, fried to a crisp on the outside and perfectly tender on the inside. Just add chutney, onions and a wedge of lime and you will be a fan for life.

3.9 out of 5

The Gundu Pulao

2009-03-02T18:21:00.004+05:30

Hidden deep in the small alleys of chickpet, inaccessible by car or auto, is one of Bangalore’s best kept secrets. To the sauji’s in the area, his legendary dish goes by the name of “Gundu Pulao”, to some “Donne Biryani” and to many, other vernacular variants of satisfied expressionism. I was lucky enough to have sampled this early in college, but have refrained from overdoing it simply because I believe that this stuff is not to be squandered on an everyday meal. It truly is special. The aroma of “gundu” hits you 100 meters from the actual location; an intoxicating blend of spices, coriander leaves and pure ghee. The rice is soft and chicken is tender, the combination, spiced to perfection and served piping hot. The dish itself is cradled in a plate fashioned out of dried papaya leaves, which open up into a square mat when you truly start to feel the love.

I wouldn’t recommend a take-away, but it really is difficult maneuvering hand to mouth in the sea of people, mostly regulars, who frequent the place on a Sunday morning. For condiments, there’s salad, and a strange gray coloured powered usually used as a topping. Unfortunately, I have never tried it but it looks very much like mix of salt and pepper.

Insanely addictive and ridiculously tasty!

Probably 6 out of 5!

Lunch Munch

2009-02-27T15:45:00.003+05:30

Today, a couple of colleagues and me were on our way to our usual haunt for a quick bite during lunch time. It being Friday, we decided to let go a bit and strayed just a tad further on Indiranagar Double Road to this biryani and kebab guy. Generally, I am quite fussy about biryani and stick to the known places (Crown Café, Hyderabadi etc.). I also hate Andhra biryani (Nandini, Nagarjuna) and was quite surprised when I found the biryani here quite appetizing. It had the right amount of spices and salt, wasn’t too oily and had a chunky succulent piece of chicken well hidden by a soft mound of flavoured rice. The “sherwa” was interesting to say the least and the “pacchdi” was fresh and cool with small bits of green chilly to give the right amount of punch. He also sells fried kebabs, which didn’t look great, but who am I to judge? Someone should check this place out in the afternoons.

Would you believe it? Very, very nice.

3 out of 5

Shankar can eat this…

2009-02-24T12:06:00.002+05:30

Those of you who are fans of Shankar Bhel House on Wheeler Road, you could do with some lessons in chat appreciation, for why would you eat there when just 400 mts away is the best place for chat in Cox town. I don’t really know what he’s called, but he stands under the flyover on the Cox town circle – wheeler road junction. The crowd that gathers there in the evening is a testament to his sweet and sour brilliance.I discovered this guy during a quite stroll at Citibank close by and always stop by if I’m in the vicinity. His masala puri is outstanding and puts most other stalls nearby to shame. Pani puri is good too, well seasoned to suit most tastes. Now, I have lived by a simple rule never to have anything other than Masala, Samosa or Pani puri at stalls of this size and stick to the larger chat guys (Karthik’s, Anand etc.) for the other good stuff. I did try his Sev puri once and was pleasantly surprised to find it quite to my liking. His method of preparation is very reminiscent of the best chat (stall) guy in Bangalore (Opposite Shady’s college – NOT GULLU’s – will definitely cover this guy sometime). I was almost intrigued enough to ask him.

All in all, a wholesome experience. Very good, but not “Pappu Tareen!”

3 out of 5

Breakfast Biryani

2009-02-24T11:18:00.003+05:30

A couple of days ago, I took a few peeps to the glazed idli guy but found him presently inadequate. Sold out he said. It was 11 A.M. I wasn’t surprised. So we decided to hop on next door to for a Rs. 20 plate of beef biryani. I wasn’t too hungry and decided to pass this time. I remember eating here a couple of years ago, and wasn’t very impressed either. His rice was too dry and the lack of condiments really left me wanting. However, after a couple of satisfactory burps and affirmative bowel movements from my unsuspecting peeps, I decided to give this place another try.

So, this weekend I sampled his biryani at 9 A.M. It was steaming hot and looked quite appetizing. His biryani tasted a lot better than the last time and his Bhuna Kebab was quite nice too. Not too spicy and with fleshy tender pieces. But, unfortunately, the lack of condiments really is his downfall. It’s just too dry for my taste and a little bit of Pacchdi could have won him some brownie points. Besides, one look inside his kitchen would put most peeps off. I’ll give him one extra point just for the novelty of selling biryani at that time in the morning.

2 out of 5

Glazed Idlis and Train Mayhem

2009-02-19T17:39:00.009+05:30

Now, I know that most south indians would vehemently oppose the thought of eating an idli with cold sambar. Unless, you have tried idlis here. This place is on the corner of the road leading to the entrance of Bangalore East Station (From MM road). I must admit, the first time I had idlis here, it was pretty early in the morning and my expectations were reasonably subdued. After taking the first bite of a steaming hot, glossy feeling and super spongy idli, I was a fan. I regular this place even now.

His idlis, though small are softer than any I have tried. Even Brahmins. And they are unique... and always steaming hot. His chutney is fantastic. One of the few places left where its seasoned with curry leaves, mustard and dried red chilli. And its the perfect texture to get absorbed completely. Sambar is dead cold, always, and both chutney and sambar are poured on top of six idlis for one plate. A blissful mix, especially when ur scooping up the goop into ur mouth at the end. No spoons here, for that would be a travesty.

Priced at one buck an idli, you can go through 20 idlis easy.

3 out of 5

P.S: Incidently, this place is next to my favorite Kebab (oil kefaf) guy in Bangalore and a Breakfast Beef Biryani guy. More on them later.

12th Main Chat Guy (Opp ESI Hospital)

2009-02-18T18:13:00.010+05:30

Golden Rule #1 - "When eating chat in bangalore, always eat at a crowded stall, cos he's probably good. More importantly, he doesnt have time to scratch."
This guys stands right outside my office and is reasonably popular with the passing vehicular crowd, much to the dismay of moving traffic. Menu, though minimalistic, has reasonable dashes of creativity ala Samosa Bhel Poori, which I might add doesn't taste as good as it sounds. His Masala Poori is a must though, even though the color might put you off a bit. But it's seasoned to perfection, and tastes excellent. He evens adds some curd and a slice of cucumber. I wouldn't recommend the Bhel Poori, which unfortunately he gets all wrong and tastes like tomato flavoured mud. The Pani Poori is nice, but might not be to everybody's liking. I recommend trying the pani in your masala puri plate (with just a little of the good stuff left of course!) just to make sure you're gonna be up to it.

End it with a dry poori. He'll give it free...

2 out of 5