Category: Places

Am I at Sea?

I often come across as a slightly lost and confused kind of a person. Be it my extreme hyperactivity levels, or slightly irritating ability to connect random things, they tend to add to an aura of confusion around me. I try to be a WYSWYG (What You See is What You Get), with hardly a difference between what I show to the world, and what I am. But do I succeed?

Deep down I remain an extremely confused person. I am unsure about my life, career, settling down, choosing between poha and eggs for breakfast, or even about what my interests are.

Although beneath the multiple layers of confusion, both externally and internally, I always stay true to one thing- people around me. I learn things through them, see the world through their eyes, and interpret their tastes to venture into untested culinary territories. I believe my intelligence stems from the people I know, and it will keep growing as I keep connecting and sharing with more number of people.

But as the number of people I know keeps consolidating into smaller and smaller groups, I am totally at sea with respect to which ones to manage my relationships with. Manage lesser number of people and shrink this unique intelligence network of mine? Or, Keep growing it for an indefinite period and attain Moksha?

Confusion follows me everywhere, or rather I take it along with me. It is topmost on the list of things I carry, higher than my phone too. So when I was in Goa last weekend it chased me, and I guess it infected my friends too.

On a hot Saturday noon, we left our resort looking for something interesting to do in Goa. Goa always has options, but my mind was muddled trying to balance my quest for finding a new Goa and my friend’s zeal to discover the Goa I already knew.

We decided to venture out to this French Beachside place called La Plage (The Sea in French), at the Ashwem Beach. The ride was long and the sun was strong, but my Kokam Juice-powered body was turning the hot winds into a fearless cold sweat. The ghost of confusion was off my back, and I was calmly enjoying the ride. And then we arrived at La Plage.

Sitting neatly in one corner of the beautiful Ashwem Beach, La Plage is a French Cuisine hotspot run by a French lady. Once we entered the place, I could feel a difference in atmosphere. The decor was crisp, spacious, and well-organized. The tables were marked, and the owner took reservations. No wonder Haute Cuisine and its related culture had its origins in France, they can make even a Beach Side Shack run in an elegant manner.

I had a brief conversation with the owner. She was a charming lady, probably in her mid-50s. She had beautiful silver hair, a wrinkled yet shiny skin, and a demeanour which was friendly yet authoritative. I sensed perfection, something which had translated into this place, and into its food. She allotted us the table we wanted, having comfortable resting chairs, the kind of which my GrandPa used to have.

We ordered a Sula Zinfandel Rosé, served perfectly chilled tucked in an ice-bucket. A Rosé evokes fascinating memories of me drooling over Roohafza as a kid, but as the present sinks in, I am channelled back into a more alcoholic mode of refreshing luminescence.

Nothing freshens things up as a Rosé

I picked up the menu, and there was finesse sprayed all over it. The dishes were deliciously described, helping me imagine the culinary outcomes of my order. We ended up ordering Fried Sardines with a Red Pepper Sorbet and a Tomato Crumble.

I sat back and started sipping the wine back, the conversations were flowing, but I was a bit lost in myself. Probably it was the wine, or it was the heat. Or just me.

The dishes arrived, breaking my imaginary (order->culinary outcomes) equation with ease. The plates were just like everything else at the place, nothing short of perfection. The plating was so gorgeous that it would have been a sin even touching the dish, leave aside eating it. But then I took the fork, captured the dish, and poked in.

Sardines were a bit too Fishy and bland for my liking. For someone who prefers dipping in Goan Masala rather than the Sea, it was like eating a tasteless porridge. Probably that’s the way the French make it. But then I discovered the Red Pepper Sorbet.

Crispy Sardines with Red Pepper Sorbet

Served as a dip for the Sardines, Red Pepper Sorbet took me through a dreamy journey of the La Plage kitchen. I saw someone roasting the Red Peppers on open fire inducing a lovely burnt taste. I saw someone blending it, adding Sugar, dash of alcohol and some lime juice to the mix.I looked around for some Ginger in the kitchen. Probably that could have taken it to another level. Probably not.

The fish dipped in sorbet was another being now. It had a new life, and its renewed life had a new meaning.

Tomato Crumble looked as a something ready to breakdown, but still so firmly bound. A layer of juicy tomatoes and a crust induced with three secrets of French cuisine (Butter, Butter, and Butter) was mixed with crunchy walnuts and separated by a sheet of melted mozzarella. The side was a simplified Caesar Salad with a thickish, and quite evident vinaigrette.

Tomato Crumble with Caeser Salad

I cut through a sizeable cross-section of the dish to taste. What followed were the slightly sugary notes of tomatoes along with the crunch of walnuts. A thought that Mozzarella and Tomato would have been married to each other in their previous lives crossed my mind. The dish was totally different from the Sardines Sorbet combination, as the results were much more on expected lines. But both the dishes had minimal spicing, and relied on the purity of the ingredients involved.

We took a break from eating and walked towards the beach. The sun was at its peak but there was a something more pleasant about the atmosphere here. I took a dip and came back to our table. I took a few sips and then closed my eyes.

I re-entered the kitchen looking for the refrigeration unit. I opened it up and tried to look for the Red Pepper Sorbet but couldn’t find any. I opened my eyes. My friends were back. And we ordered some Sorbets and Vanilla Ice Cream.

The Pure flavours of Vanilla and Fruits

It was simply the best Vanilla Ice Cream I had ever consumed, as it relied more on the purity of the vanilla beans involved rather than anything else. It is a pity that the brilliance of Vanilla has been reduced to a default flavour by commercial ice cream makers. The term Plain Vanilla is both misleading and disrespectful to the delight Vanilla can be.

The sorbets were an experience, involving a series of tangy strawberry, floral litchi, elegant guava and regal flavours of mango.

Post the meal I sat with my eyes closed. The wind was blowing smoothly and my feet were tucked in finely powdered cold sand. I had found the new experience I am always on the lookout for in Goa. A sense of eerie calm had replaced the ghost of confusion which always rides on my back. This is what a great culinary experience can do to you.

I was still at sea, but more sure about my being than ever.

April 6, 2013
Pak-e-Mysore

The story of Mysore Pak is close to my heart, one full of love and equal amounts of good cholesterol.

Mysore Pak is quite simply my favourite sweet. There is nothing which comes close to it. Well Jalebi sometimes does, but it still remains a distant second. Bengali sweets are further down the podium. And the western desserts? Well they don’t even clear the heats.

My story is one of discovery, friendship, taste, and limitless delight. I have limited knowledge about its origins and don’t wish to explore a lot. Also I don’t claim to know which form of it is the original, the melt-in-your-mouth Sri Krishna Sweets style or the porous, brittle, harder variety. All I can narrate is the story built of on true love for the sweet, or for the former version of it. The one which deliciously fades away in your mouth with the trueness of Ghee as a rich aftertaste.

My initial encounters with Mysore Pak were far from satisfactory. The sweet shop in my township served a dry, ribbed version, closer to the second variety I mentioned earlier. And then I remember this episode from Malgudi Days where the kid forces his miserly Grandpa to show him a movie, and buy him a Mysore Pak. Although there might have been instances of me tasting its greatness, but probably my taste buds were as immature as I was, still waiting to register its taste.

Things actually turned for the better once I reached Bangalore. Unlike many other things which I love, I can’t single out one instance when I was hit by this sweet lightening. It was a series of events, the boxes of Sri Krishna and Adayar Anand Bhavan (some of them brand it as MysorePa nowadays) arriving at my office with colleagues returning from their native places in Tamil Nadu; the 100 gms I will pick up for Rs. 23 post a idl-vada-dosa breakfast at AnnaKuteera, Banashankari (or any Darshini, or Sagar); the Rs. 50 pack picked up for the sugar-rush post a drinking session.

By the end of my first year in Bangalore, I had established this sweet as the best response for a sweet-craving amongst my friend circle(s). Any drinking session or get-together was meaningless without ending it with Mysore Pak. It made our evenings complete, in a way Curd Rice completes a South Indian meal. I remember an incident where I was walking the lanes of Kormangala with a friend in a drunk state, the drinking session halted by its absence. I also recall carrying a dabba through the city, to welcome a friend of mine who had arrived from Mumbai. I once had a box which was completely frozen in refrigerator so I melted it in a pan, extracted a bowl full of ghee from it, and used it to on khichdi. I enjoyed the moment when I had Milk Mysore Pak, or the brilliantly innovative Horlicks Mysore Pak. It was a fascination which kept growing on me, both the feeling, the stories and yes, the weight.

When I visited Bangalore after a long time, all my friends got together for a drinking session like the older times. There was Gobhi Manchurian, Biriyani, Boiled Eggs, and Medu Wadas. But the session was halted as one of my friends recalled, Pattu aaya hai, aur Mysore Pak nahi! Quite expectedly, my friends halted the session, rushed across the city to get the sweet, and raised a toast to our true love for it.

Even now friends coming from down South usually end up getting a box for me. I am lucky to have friends who appreciate and understand my crazy obsessions.

I love the feeling of Mysore Pak fading away in my mouth, a unique experience with hardly a comparable one to mention. The simplicity of the sweet is unquestionable. It is probably the easiest sweet to de-construct in mouth, equal proportions of Ghee, Sugar and Gram Flour breaking down to infuse such rich flavours I heard it was made for the Mysore Maharaja first, probably the creator took the simplest route to creating something so delightful, and pure.

Yes it is the purest form of love I have ever felt from food, and hence the term Pak-e-Mysore. It is interesting how Pak the Sugar Syrup in Hindi (or Kannada) changes to Pak the pure in Urdu.

We are always on the look out for love, pure and unconditional love, and I am lucky to have Mysore Pak in my life, for what will never change is my love for it.

Image courtesy: Bing Search

March 9, 2013
Recalling Indian Coffee House

I am a frequent visitor to the multiple coffee shops in Mumbai. During these visits I have developed a special affection for the filter coffee joints at Matunga, and a growing admiration for the multiple homegrown and international brands setting shop in the city. But for me, and many more like me, coffee had humble beginnings. Sometime it was the whisked, often cardamom-flavored home made Nescafe, or the shake-shake-shake blue plastic shaker mixed cold coffee, or the tongue-tingling espresso served at weddings. But none of the experiences have left a deeper impression on my memory than the turban-clad waiters of the Indian Coffee House. And more than the Coffee, this note is about the institution which will always remind me of the word Coffee.

Indian Coffee House or ICH are restaurants run by a set of co-operative societies across the country with strong presence across Kerala, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and some other cities including Bangalore, Kolkata and Shimla. They have their origins in the Coffee Board of India, and were the first proponents of the coffee-promotion movement some 60 odd years back. Apart from the Coffee they serve, their menu also includes breakfast snacks, primarily South Indian, eggs made in different styles, cutlets, their unique version of Chana-bhaturas, with some branches even serving the full meal. They also have a catering business spawning majorly Public Sector Enterprises.

Indian Coffee House at NTPC Township, Korba

As a child growing up in a small Chhattisgarh township in Korba, ICH was the epitome of having a good time. In those days when eating out was a rarity and swallowing fizzy drinks a luxury, ICH was a break from the routine, one of the only ways of us spending some money on pampering ourselves. It was a destination for family dinners and get-togethers, for some memorable birthday treats, and the best place for watching the annual ritual of township Dusshera celebration (it was mighty difficult to get a good spot, but a Gold Spot did come to rescue).

Drawing from the words of my childhood friend, there was and always will be a certain charm about ICH. I might expect some of the younger kids to go in and find the place a bit morose by coffee shop standards, but then perceptions of all things which I fancied as a kid has changed.

At ICH the dishes were served on thick china plates, something we were not used to at home. The waiters moved around in a quick orderly fashion, with the right hand carrying the serving tray, exactly raised to shoulder length. Their walking was accompanied with a clinging sound of shiny Salem steel cutlery hitting the china. We also learned our first lessons of slightly alien-table manners (using cutlery- knife and fork, wiping hands using tissues), although I personally never got a hang of it. I am still not comfortable eating that way. The glasses reminded me of a curved conical frustum, something which we did come to haunt us during our X^th board Mathematics examination.

The interiors were mostly dull with the only striking colors noticed on the ribbon stripes of turbans wore by waiters. I could never figure out the color coding though, it was green for some, and maroon for others, with a rare occurrence of navy blue. The smell of Sambhar dominated the air, pleasantly interrupted by the fragrant whiff of Khus from the Water Cooler and the scent of freshly brewed Filter Coffee from the kitchen. Add to that the wonderful sound of forks and spoons hitting the cutlery while eating and ICH ruled all our senses.

But the sense of taste was never undermined. All variants of Dosa were served fresh and crisp, and yes you could always ask the waiter uncle to make it extra crispy. The Chutney was more daal than coconut kinds, and the sambhar had a majority share of pumpkins and drumsticks. The Wadas were crisp, Idilis soft, Omelets as trustworthy as ever, French Toasts unique, and Cutlets delightful with those chunky pieces of beetroot and carrot. Rs. 14 could buy you a Masala Dosa, Rs. 16 a Special Masala Dosa (with two pieces of cashew nuts in the masala to make it special), Rs. 12 a plate of Idli, and Rs. 6 a filter coffee (this must be the rates in the mid 90s I guess). And yes the Coffee was a delight. I was introduced to the magic of Filter Coffee here, for which I would be forever indebted to ICH.

I have faint memories of dessert too, they kept Dinshaw’s Ice Cream (a Nagpur based brand prevalent in Central India), a kitchen-made Vanilla Ice-Cream (frozen custard, topped with Fruits). The Lassi Ice-Cream combo was good too.

And when the meal ended, the bill was always brought to you neatly tucked in a pile of saunf. Tips if any were all stuffed in a common piggy bank kept on the manager’s desk.

Indian Coffee House at The Mall, Shimla

Over the years I have got a chance to visit Indian Coffee House across various cities. Delhi’s ICH is at Connaught Place is now a poor cousin of the much popular United Coffee House (not related to the society) and is not in a good shape, and Shimla’s ICH is a place dominated by Lawyers and Government Officers at the Mall which does give it a very true to the ICH feel (there is a new one at Kasumpti now, very dull though). ICH’s across Kerala are the busiest, with people from all age groups coming in for a Coffee and a Cutlet (Beef Cutlets were visibly selling more), and the Bangalore one has been relocated to a neat and new location on Church Street from MG Road post the Metro construction. But it is MP and Chhattisgarh which have kept the institution running outside Kerala in a well spread out and popular manner. I do want to visit the ICHs across Kolkata though, have heard they still retain the old world ICH Charm.

I am scared that like all things good, ICH will cease to exist in a few years from now. So what is the place of an age-old institution with socialist roots in the new India with chic cafes and upmarket restaurants?

Their place is sealed in my memories, forever.

With inputs from Amey.

February 10, 2013
To Sri Lanka, with Love.

Hi Sri Lanka,

I am quite to used to writing letters, just that it has been some time since I felt like writing one for someone. But then I couldn’t resist dropping you note.

It has been a month since I left your shores, and I have thought about you quite often. Before I met you, I had known you only through Cricket, the legend of Ramayana, and sometimes through the history of long running conflict between your children. As a kid who enjoyed bits of the Ramayana (through the eyes of Ramanand Sagar and Uncle Pai) and lots of Cricket, I grew up visualizing you across these two dimensions. But then actual meetings do break notions and change perceptions.

My week long journey took me across your coastal waist line, a bit towards your mountainous heart, and slightly up towards your brain full of knowledge, culture, and tradition.

I have always been attracted towards a curvy waistline like yours. But in your case the attraction was more a result of your immaculate shores and cheerful inhabitants. Sitting on your shores, where the clean waters of Indian Ocean playfully stroked the sands at Hikkaduwa and Unawatuna and skies promptly changed colors through all the shades of a Doordarshan-VIBGYOR, I felt completely at peace. It was a relaxing, a Po-like feeling, sound-years away from all the noise of the city I live in. It was here that I found your kin of happy, beach-cricket playing Buddhists flashing their toothy grins, and flaunting their attractive dark shiny skin, with long flowing Malinga-like hair (probably as a result of their protein-rich seafood diet). In between those smiles, I also came across a few broken grins, carrying wounds of the Tsunami which violated your shores some years back. But the smile of my toothless Scuba Diving instructor assured me that you and your children had moved on.

I left the comfort of your waist and followed your partially ruptured network of railway tracks, and neatly laid out roads towards the central highlands. It was at Kandy where I found the lost tooth of your child’s smile, quite amazingly being that of the Buddha himself. It was the Temple of Tooth which gave me an alternate mythological narrative to the India-Sri Lanka relationship, so deeply engrained in the Ramayana, where the story of the tooth depicted through a series of paintings “Amar Chitra Katha-ed” me. Beyond the temple, with the noise coming back Kandy had started feeling a bit more like home. If your waistline gave me peace and comfort, your heart palpitated between the noisy and the normal, between the brawn and the Buddha.

The City of Kandy

A trip southwards of Kandy would have led us to the beautiful highlands of Nuwara Elaya and Horton Plains, but we chose to navigate northwards. The trek to the royal seat of Sigriya, crossing its recovered 4^th Century A.D. compound, its neatly reconstructed gardens, its faded frescos, and artificially constructed staircases helped me overcome my curiosity. It might have been the ruling post of the mighty King Kashyapa, but for me it was my small seat of enlightenment. Sitting atop acres of dark forests, and a murky set of clouds passing at a knee-length, I felt like a learned man. I was happy that I got to know and experience you a bit more. And I finally had an answer to why those Lions are printed on your dress. I wish I could have traveled deeper into your brain towards Anuradhapura, but then the time was less, and I had to caress your hand on my way back home.

The Road to Sigriya

I chose your right hand, the industrious, populated city of Colombo. I saw your children working hard, be it the stock exchange white-collared executives or the street vendors at Galle Face. All of a sudden you were as noisy as my own country, and the lines between you and India blurred. But I noticed more happiness on the face of your children. They all seemed content. You it seems are content after the war has ended. You also have a strong leader running your country. You are lucky.

It was in Colombo where I truly discovered your passion for the gentlemen’s game. From the kids playing Cricket on the Galle Face promenade, to a nostalgic and gastronomically satisfying evening at Cricket Club Café, my last moments in Sri Lanka were spent in the company of a sport we both equally love.

Cricket Club Cafe, Colombo

And there was the food. Yes the food. Oh, those angelic prawns, devilled dishes, and liters of EGB.

I saw you talking to others to my friend. A lot of travelers come from western countries looking for what I found, but I could notice the special bond you shared with Britishers (probably the aftereffect of the Raj), Australians (influence on Cafés, Steaks, Burgers, and the City of Galle which shares a deep, but recent connect with the continent-nation), and Indians (with whom you share a love-hate relationship). And yes then there were our new friends, the Chinese. I know they are building you bridges, but do remember who built the first bridge to connect your country with the world.

I miss you a bit and so I will be back. For watching a Test Match at Galle, or probably to wander through the remains of Anuradhapura, or for a dive at Trincomalee.

Thanks for the hospitality and comfort you gave me.

Peace. Quite truly.

Desh

Photos were clicked by either Nishant or me.

February 4, 2013
What to eat in Sri Lanka?

Angelic Prawns, Devilled Chillies, and lots of EGB!!!

My journey across Sri Lanka flipped me through a variety of experiences, but the ones which stood out were the Prawns (in salads, curries, butter garlic, cocktail, and an endless list), the devilled recipes (chicken, prawns, vegetables and a brilliant Maggi flavor), usage of some vegetables and fruits which we don’t find that commonly in India (such as Leeks and Avocados), and an ability to merge western influences with local cuisine, both from the legacy of the British Raj, as well as island’s Australian linkages.

Sri Lankan food bears close resemblance to the food served in South India, especially that of Kerala, with bits of Tamil Nadu in it too. But there are some heavy influences of Indian-Chinese cuisine too. And given the growing presence of China in the region, it seems even the cuisine will be dominated by them soon.

The Complete Sri Lankan Meal

After a brilliant experience at Sigriya, Saman’s Guest House was the best thing which could have happened to us. Situated close to the Cave Temples at Dambulla, they serve (or claim to serve) an authentic Sri Lankan meal. The meal included a heap of steamed rice served with (starting from far right corner in clockwise order), Breadfruit, Cabbage, Beetroot, Mango Chutney, Dal Curry, Cucumber, Chicken Gravy, Fried Pappadam and Fried Chillies.

Complete Sri Lankan Meal at Samans, Dambulla

The meal had heavy influences of a Kerala meal, but was way less spicier than any type of Indian cuisine. The Breadfruit preparation was unique, and a new experience. Prepared with coconut, it was a bit like Jackfruit, but still quite different. Chicken Curry was very meek, and so were the other veggies. Although we were happy to have a simple meal after days of Devilled dishes.

But for a SLR 800, I think we deserved a bit more than mildness.

Breakfast Items

Sri Lankan breakfast borders on similarities with South Indian cuisine, but just as you feel you are eating the same thing, there is always a difference which pops up in mouth. An interesting thing which we noticed was the breakfast serving style (common in Lankan bakeries too). A heap of available items is served on a plate and you can pick and choose what you want, and they would keep a track of what you eat and how much, even in a Buffet format.

Common items include Hoppers (our own Idiyappam), Roti (Rice Flour Bread) served with Fish / Potato curry, and Vadai (in various styles, ranging from regular Medu Vada, Vada made from slightly roughly grounded daal, and the weirdest of them all, Vadas with Prawns and Crabs stuck on them, a popular Sri Lankan Railway snack too).

Prawns Vadai, you can even see their moustache!!!

On our way To Dambulla, we stopped at a small place for breakfast. It was a breakfast buffet, where I picked up hoppers with Pol Sambol (a tangy mix of fresh coconut, chilies, and onions, with tones of tamarind), Vadai and Potato Curry (really mild). The spread also included a Fish Curry and Roti, something which I can never eat for breakfast.

Bits of a Sri Lankan Breakfast Buffet

Picked up this platter at a small hotel near Colombo bus stand, similar stuff just that we got some hot sambhar (Tamil style) with some fresh coconut and tomato chutney. Vadai was very rough, and cold. But breakfast for 3 came to 180 SLR!

Sri Lankan Breakfast, Tamil Style!

My Mamaji always tells me that the person who loves eggs, will never be in a situation of not having anything decent to eat in any part of the world. And this Cheese Omelet at Anura’s Café inside Galle Fort didn’t disappoint.

Plain Cheese Omlet

Prawns

Honestly by the end of my Sri Lankan trip I was slightly bored of eating Prawns. Poor prawns had been curried, grilled, fried, devilled, cocktail-ed so many times for me, that their entire species will be planning revenge on me soon.

The best ones I had were these Tiger Prawns at a sweet little Unawatuna Beachside Restaurant (which showcased some random Sri Lankan Folk Dance and Fireplay along with an open kitchen). I sucked on to these prawns as if there will be no tomorrow, and wiped them off with some steamed rice and Sri Lankan curry (which at these place was more like a mild Thai Curry with bits of Lemon Grass and Kaffir lime leaves). The meal was washed off with a glass of good quality Arrack and Coke.

Butter Garlic Tiger Prawns, with rice and curry

Devilled food

Devilled food forms a key style of Sri Lankan out-of-home eating experience. Devilled format is simple, it is a bit sweet, and but rates extremely high on the Scoville Scale. I have seen Devilled dishes (like Chicken and Egg) in some parts of Kolkata too. It is quite clearly an offshoot of the Indian-Chinese cuisine with extensive use of crunchy leeks and capsicums, eggs, and options of sea food, chicken or red meat. And yes it also has a Maggi flavor, with Sajid Khan’s muse and Sri Lanka’s most well-known face outside Cricket as its brand ambassador (Jacqueline, how did he get her!!!).

The Devilled Chicken at Mama’s Shack, Hikkaduwa was neatly done. It was our first meal in Lanka. The Chicken was crisp outside and perfectly cooked, with lots of leeks (giving it a nice crunchy, fresh feel), and a sauce which beat the hell out of Mr. Scoville. (if there was ever one)

Devilled chicken at Mama’s shack, Hikkaduwa

The Devilled Chicken Rice platter for SLR 350 at Lyons Restaurant, Hindu Kovil, Kandy was good value for money, but the taste didn’t match upto the Mama’s standard. The platter had rice, devilled chicken, gravy, and boiled eggs. Two of us couldn’t finish it fully. Tough place to find once you are in Kandy, but once you enter the Kovil area, it welcomes you with Vijay posters, some Tamil signboards, and Tamil Movie CD shops.

Devilled Rice Platter at Lyons, Kandy

Street Food

Vegetarians in Sri Lanka can rely on street food for two of its more popular items, Rotti and Kottu. Rotti is a stuffed Maida Paratha beaten to death with oil with stuffing ranging from the humble veggies to eggs, bacon strips, and the more outrageous Nutella. Although if you are a vegetarian, Rotti is one of your best options for a tasty snack.

Cheese Garlic Tomato Rotti

Kottu on the other hand is a popular dish down in Tamil Nadu. Broken pieces of the same Maida Paratha are scrambled with veggies, and/or meat. Surprisingly we had the best Kottu at the World Trade Centre Cafeteria, near Galle Face, Colombo. The vegetarian one had boiled chana added to it, along with cabbage and capsicum.

But the most satisfying one was consumed after a night long party at Hikkaduwa.

The Making of a Kottu

Other street food items included the Prawns Vadai (mentioned earlier), Tamil street food items like Sundal and Boiled Peanuts, and other breakfast items sold on street-side. I came across these Coconutty Jalebas too while walking near the Kandy Station. Their size reminded me of Indore, but the taste was something I couldn’t connect to.

Coconutty Jalebas

Bakeries

Bakeries in Sri Lanka were quite simply, disappointing, a bit like Jacqueline, beautiful looking, but with no substance. We visited Whitehouse and Bakehouse at Kandy, a Bakery near Galle Station. All of them were average, but very inexpensive.

Kandy Bakeries

Beverages

When it came to drinks, there were experiences both good and bad, but drinking EGB was something special. From the first sip I had at the Colombo Bus stand to the last sip I had at Mumbai, EGB was as special as Old Monk with Thums Up in days of pittance, or like a properly made Thandai for Holi, or probably a bit more than that. EGB is Sri Lankan brand of Ginger Beer (non-alcoholic), a fizzy Gingery drink which goes amazingly well with Sri Lankan food, especially the Devilled stuff. It’s tagline of No EGB, No Food was our food anthem during the entire trip. (SLR 95 for 600 ml bottle)

Giving some tough competition to EGB was Milo. Yes the same Milo which was launched unsuccessfully in India by Nestle few years back, is sold as a cold malted beverage (with Sri Lankan Cricket’s future Angelo Matthews as its Brand ambassador). Somehow I got extremely hooked on to its taste, consuming a significant number of boxes on the trip. (SLR 40 for 200 ml)

Other items included the Sri Lankan team (Sweetish, low on colour, less on fragrance, and mild), popular local beers (Lion’s was consumed in significant quantities, nothing special), Arrack with Lime and Coke (surprisingly delicious), and coconut water. Some local cold drinks were also tried out, including the popular Cream Sodas, but nothing came close to EGB.

My favorite bar on the trip was Sam’s Bar at Hikkaduwa. Run by Sam and his twin brother, this place boasts of a decent crowd, good discussions, a pool area, and a knowledgeable cricket and football loving audience. They serve really good burgers too, with the steaks deriving a lot of influence from Australian style of steak-making.

Another decent drinking place was The Pub at Kandy, a bit on the costlier side though.

Apart from the above we had a brilliant Avocado Milk Shake (along with a Mango shake, and they were selling Mangoes at a lot of places too) at Peddlers Inn, Galle Fort (one of the most beautiful café I have come across).

Mango Shake | Avocado Shake

Avocados are tropical fruits (popular for Guacamole dips) which are grown abundantly in Lanka. We also had a Pesto dripped Avocado salad at a beachside shack in Unawatuna, a very unique taste indeed, much different from the dips we are used to.

Avocado Salad with Pesto Olive Oil dressing and Greens

Cricket Club Café

Among all the places visited, I think Cricket Club Café (Colombo) deserves a special mention. The place is filled with nostalgia and so much cricket that anything else would hardly matter. From the memories of Ian Botham to Sachin to Akram, the décor of the place will surely evoke lot of memories and give you some Goosebumps.

But more than anything which would appeal a Cricket fan is its innovatively laid out food menu. The dishes are designed and named after Cricketing greats, and either includes some of their favourite dishes, or a brilliant superimposition of the player’s name or personality with the dish.

So the dishes were named from the slightly dim-witted Alan Lamb Chops, to the more intelligently named Holding’s Lips (Potato Wedges resembling Holding’s thick lips, and spice representing his fierceness). Some were named to maintain a rhyming theme like Compton Cashews (Spiced and fried cashews with curry leaves), and some were the player’s favourite recipes like the Bradman Special (Pancakes with syrup, fried bananas, ice cream and crushed peanuts). And there were cases where I couldn’t deduce any logic, like Jayawardena Special Pasta (very tasty though). Also lot of items on the menu also had a strong Australian lineage owing to its owners and Sri Lanka’s close ties with the island continent.

Cricket and Food at Cricket Club Cafe, Colombo

The trip to Sri Lanka was surely a memorable one (evident from what I had), but I hope I could have tried food at a Lankan home, that would have given me a really real sense of thier actual cuisine. Although to keep the tempo going, I got myself a kit of Lankan goodies I loved.

Devilled Maggi, EGB, and Milo back in Mumbai

Do read this brilliant post which I came across before visiting Sri Lanka, surely inspired me to go and eat more.

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

In case you have visited Sri Lanka, how did your culinary adventure span out?

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

February 1, 2013
Happy High on Coffee

Coffee? Vodka? Caramel?

The first whiff of the drink had me confused, and a bit curious. My sense of smell was elevated, probably as a result of my blindfolded vision. I could almost see what I was smelling. A cup of filter coffee, a shot of vodka, a bowl of caramel pudding, or an interesting new note of fragrance. Ok it was time to taste.

The tip of the tongue had a bit of caramel on, with some coffee at the back of it, but I knew it is Vodka as it rolled down my digestive system with a slight tingling feel. The after taste was more coffee than anything. A sweet, coffee taste. I loved it.

Just to make things clear I am not a coffee expert. But I have my set of memories and experiences associated with it, be it the tongue-tingling Indian Styled Espresso, or my favorite filter brew at Matunga. I love my filter coffee, milky and strong, but without sugar. Over the past year though, my coffee consumption has risen, as the Vodka consumption has fallen. Given the circumstances Smirnoff Espresso seems like quite a discovery.

I was introduced to this new flavor this weekend at an Espressology event hosted by Tim Judge at Out of the blue, Bandra. The audience was mix of interesting people, bloggers, popular faces from twitter and some f&b experts. The event was a well-organized one, a neatly laid out space (although a bit cramped leading to 6-7 glasses breaking during the session), but the arrangements and a energetic facilitation by Tim ensured that the audience was hooked on for the entire duration.

Neatly laid out table setup

A bit of spice

Tim started by providing an overview of the coffee and vodka market, and gave just the right context before we started experiencing the drinks. First up was the blind tasting, followed with a few cocktails: an Espresso Martini, an Irish Coffee, and a really innovative Vodka-Cola-Sorbet. Also I got a chance to create a new cocktail, the Vodka Hazelnut Rabdi along with Karishma.

What’s more, in possession of a bottle right now and planning to use for a house party soon. You are invited for an Espresso Martini, Shaken not stirred .

In case you can’t make it, here is the recipe.

Espresso Martini using Smirnoff Espresso

The Smirnoff® Espresso Martini

Ingredients:

60ml of Smirnoff™ Espresso, 10ml of Sugar Syrup, Double fresh Espresso Coffee shot

Method:

Fill shaker ¾ with ice. Pour in all ingredients & shake. Strain into cold martini glass or pour on the rocks in old fashioned glass

Serves 1

Alcohol content: 17.77gms

December 19, 2012
Catching Up with Chef Sergi Arola

I got an opportunity to interact with Chef Sergi Arola this weekend at Arola, JW Marriot, Mumbai. Chef Arola is visiting the country and HT Café organized this interactive session with a group of food bloggers.

In many ways the work of Chef is similar to that of a management consultant. Both have a strong set of methodologies and belief systems, something which they seldom move away from. Most of the chefs believe in simplicity and simplifying the problem, or in their case the cuisine in question, a trait common with the most successful consultants who can break a complex problem into simple, solvable sets. And above all they are beautiful presenters of both their thought process and the final end product, with the presentation always being a critical component of delivering the solution.

One of the most intriguing things about Chef Arola is his association with one of the Chefs I adore, Ferran Adria (the King of Molecular Gastronomy). When I got an opportunity I was quick to grab and ask Chef Arola about his experiences with Adria and El Bulli. Although he was appreciative of his association, I think he doesn’t identify much with the concepts of Adria and what he does with his food. Perfectly fine.

The table layout was a simple one, with minimal ingredients, which was in line with the Chef’s philosophy around simplicity in Catalonian food. He believes in bringing the best of Spanish Culture for Mumbaikars, through minor customizations to suit the Indian palette.

We made three dishes, a popular tapas (Patatas Alioli), a tandoori lobster with a simple dressing, and a brilliant dessert. In between the recipes Chef also shared a Tandoori Roti customizations of the Spanish Bread and Tomato staple.

Patatas Alioli

Tandoori Lobsters

And the Dessert

Tandoori Roti with Tomato, Garlic, and Olive Oil

For me the dessert was the dish of the evening, with the foamy custard, cream-cookie mix and the cookies mixing perfectly. It was the lightness of the dish which struck me, as it gave the dessert a slightly guilt free feel.

I look forward to visiting the Arola sometime soon, and I am surely ordering the plate of Patatas and the dessert.

Check out the pictures from the event here.

Disclosure: Restaurant’s Public Relations agency covered all the expenses associated with the food tastings mentioned above. For more details refer my disclosure page.

December 18, 2012
Foodie Tweetup: Ghatkopar Style! #KhauGalliChaRaja

When: 5:30 PM-7:30 PM, 15th Dec, 2012

Where: Khau Galli, Ghatkopar (E), Starting Point: Achija Restaurant

Inviting you for a street food tweetup at Ghatkopar (E), Khau Galli, one of the most exciting street food zones in Mumbai.

Ghatkopar offers a wide range of a street food delicacies, from traditional Gujarati items like Masala Khicha, Fafda-Jalebi, Undhiyu, Patti Samosa, Dhoklas, Khandvi, to the more adventurous Gujju-Pasta, and remixed Dosas. And then there would be the standard fare of frankies, kachoris, panipuris and Pav Bhaji.This is an attempt is to introduce you to this wonderful part of Mumbai, tweet a bit, eat a lot, talk about Gujarati food, share experiences related to street food, click a few pictures, and top it all with a Badshah Malai Gola and a Nimbu Soda to digest it all.So are you coming? And who will be #KhauGalliChaRaja? To confirm please visit the event page.

Damages: 300-400 Rs. per head (approx)

Drop a mail to beingdesh@gmail.com, or tweet to @desh for any additional information.

p.s.: All items are 100% vegetarian. I am not liable for any health-related impacts. I will eat, what you will eat . Expect a bit of chaos in the market, it is very crowded.

Thanks tomy dear friend Dhairya Parikh for introducing me to this amazing place :).

December 11, 2012
The Shimla Affair – Chapter II

Continued from Part I…

Slowly and steadily the flavors of Shimla were building on me, or probably building a better me. The daily dose of the forgettable Kadhi, the ever so delightful daal, and ghee-moistened rotis served by those beautiful long slender fingers were adding a new dimension to my life. One beyond infatuation, adding a slight crispiness to romantic fascinations of teenage years, and semi-serious indulgences of recent times. It was a 70s movie refashioned for present day consumption, Engineer guy arrives from big city, falls for a Pahadi girl while working on a dam project, impregnates her on “that” lightening-struck, stormy evening, overcomes all difficulties and lives happily ever after. The story was slightly different though, I wasn’t working on any dam project, there were no song and dance routines, I had hardly touched her, and yes the biggest thing, I had never talked to her.

Sitting one night at my haunted accommodation, and listening to my still talking-on-phone friend, I had an idea. Well it wasn’t a stroke of genius , but writing letters was my thing. And I knew this would work. So I added a note, written in a dyslexia-smitten Hindi writing. I had asked her to meet me at Krishna Bakery, at The Mall the day after at evening, 4 PM.

Next night things were running as per the script. Her mom was sitting at the counter and abusing everyone from Chief Minister of Himachal to the Gandhi Family for low Apple production in Himachal this year while reading vividly colorful Punjab Kesari, my friend was still on phone, she was making those lovely rotis, and I was busy eating. She shut the stove, picked the basket and came walking towards our table. As I beamishly watched her face, she served me and my still talking-on-phone friend. And I held her hand. She was shocked. I felt as I was being hit with the thunderbolt, just as Michael Corleone was hit by his Sicilian first wife, or Feroze Khan by an Afghani Hema Malini in Godfather’s pathetic Indian adaptation- Dharmatma.

Her hands were powedered with bits of dry flour, but beneath the flour lay those soft beautiful slender fingers, which I could just hold on to forever. She had a timid, yet a welcoming look on her face. I guess she felt like snatching away her hand, but just couldn’t do it. I quickly took the letter folded as a small chit and pushed it in between her fingers. She snatched away her hands and with a shooting smile rushed inside her house. Behind those dirty-torn curtains, lay something special, something which was building on me, or building a better me.

That night I could hardly sleep.

Next day I had some work at the YMCA office next to Ritz at the mall in afternoon, so I left my office immediately after lunch. I kept thinking about the moment I could talk to her, on the bus, on the Rs. 7 lift ride to the the Mall, during my meeting with the YMCA Shimla Chairman, and all the time after that. The meeting ended around 3:30 PM and I rushed out of the Chairman’s office towards the main road of the Mall.

I reached Krishna Bakery and ordered my favorite plate of Kurkej. Kurkejs are veggie sticks made from a mix of potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and capsicum. The sticks are rolled, coated with a bit of cheese and then baked and fried. They are served with Garlic-Chilly momo sauce, green chutney and white sauce (which tastes like packaged Garlic mayo). Strangely I haven’t found this dish anywhere else in India. Although they are horrible while they are cold, tasty yet hardly edible. I took my plate, spotted an empty bench and sat there, munching on Kurkejs. It was almost 4 PM. There was a chill in air, heightened by the anticipation of meeting, a bit of nervousness and a lot of expectation.

And it was 4:15 PM.

There was beauty all over, the old Victorian structures and wooden buildings, the cutest of school kids in their bright uniforms and toned blazers, beautiful people with an amazing Himachali sheen on their skin, and above all the mist filled scenery. Her presence would have completed this already complete picture.

And it was 4:45 PM.

I waited for some more time, slowly flicking through the Dominique Lapierre book I had been reading. Freedom at Midnight had its chapters on Shimla, especially the scenic descriptions of Viceregal Lodge (now Institute of Advanced Studies) witnessing the drafting of India’s partition plans. Me waiting for her here was a bit like the partition plan, the foolish quickness of decision making, and the absence of a sound logic were similar to the drawing of the Radcliffe Line.

But not all decisions in life tend to be logical.

And it was 5:30 PM already.

There was no point waiting further. I packed some Momos for my friend and started walking down the Mall towards the bus stand. Strangely at this bakery, the Momos were plated in the exact same way as Kurkejs were, with lots of Momo sauce, Green Chutney and Mayo. I gave my friend a call and asked him to meet me at Kasumpti. I then took one of those bread-box like Shimla Transport buses towards Kasumpti.

I met him at the bus stand and he wanted to have an early meal. Obviously given I wasn’t there, he would have missed our evening Pakods, Jalebi and couple of shots of milky tea. We started walking towards the eatery.

We reached our daily kadhi-daal-roti adobe around 7 PM. My still-talking-on-phone entered while I stood outside. She was standing on the counter, looking at me, with an amicable smile, a really pleasing one. All of a sudden there was a mini-eruption of anger within, maybe she was smiling at my foolishness. I quickly walked past the eatery and ran towards my hostel.

My friend didn’t even realize that I was absent till he came back to hostel that night.

That night I could hardly sleep. There was another week to go before I moved back to Mumbai.

So for the next seven days I kept passing her place, looking at her and walking past it. I saw an array of emotions, smiles turning to sorrow, happiness turning to fury, and amazement turing to disugust. The growing coldness in her eyes was completely in contrast with the rising temperature.

I didn’t meet her again. Infact I never met her. I left Shimla the next week. The flavors which had dominated my life for the past few weeks had mellowed down. Life was a bit like those cold Kurkejs, tasty, yet hardly edible.

November 12, 2012
Brain Freeze and Defrost, Gangtok Style

Standing there, I was witnessing one of the most stunning visuals of my life. A semi-frozen lake, solid on the edges, and covered on the sides with ice-shavings. The breeze was light, and the Sun was just making a friendly appearance once in a while. Tsangu Lake can be amazingly beautiful. And that day, it surely was.

Traveling with an entire extended family can be a pleasure, but equally a pain. Eating out on travel becomes frequent, and a lengthy process. So do the tea breaks. Some health concern always pops-up. Kids end up fighting. Women end up fighting with the local sari and shawl shops. Teenagers end up discussing their crushes and romances. And Men end up finding out ways to smuggle in a bottle of Whisky. Like all group travel experiences the entire group splits up into smaller groups. But the problem is, that you can never abuse. And an even bigger problem being a teenager from a Hardcore God-Fearing Brahmin Family is that you can’t drink!

But at that moment I could only see Tsangu, all the fights in the background over tea cups, and lays packets was just secondary.

That wasn’t the only visually satisfying experience from the day. I remember the drive and then the walk towards Nathula Pass, me and my cousins hugging the Chinese Army officials who spoke a very sweet version of Hindi, and the snow laden mountains around the area. Extreme whiteness reflected extreme purity, sadly corrupted by the impurities of a 1962 initiated conflict. But the experience was silky smooth, across the ancient silk route. But then, Murphy had to strike.

Our driver drove us towards one of the countless snow point. This area had all the usual suspects. Beautiful looking girls selling Yak-Milk tea and coffee, along with sumptuous bowls of Maggi and trays of Momos; frivolous salesmen selling so-called Sikkim Handicraft; all-pervasive cameraman carrying a photo-album and a hardbound address book with a dusty shutterbox; Gum-Boot and protective clothing lenders and tyre-snow-ride fellows commonly found along the Himalayan belt, from Rohtang, here till Nathula. I along with my slightly nut-head cousin sister and my most notorious cousin brother walked past all these. We saw snow and we saw a spot at some height, we just started running towards it.

On the way we exchanged volleys of snowballs, fell many a times on the soft snow bed, did some sliding Shammi Kapoor style, used an imaginary bottle of Roohafza to pour it all over a snowball and eat it, and did all the stupid little things. We reached the short peak, sat on the soft snowbed and felt really nice.

But just as I got my cousins spoiled the day for me. First my sister hurled a huge snowball towards me which hit my face and created a cold fusion reaction all over my head and eyes. Total Brain Freeze.

As I was recovering from the blow, my cousin brother pulled my pants (they were loose) from behind and pushed heaps of snow behind. That was massive. As if a brain freeze wasn’t enough, I just had my first ass-freeze.

To make matters worse I slipped and slid down the entire length of the snow track. All the memories of the Chinese smiles and the Tsangu beauty were long lost. I felt as if I will die soon, with half my body refusing to retain any sense of sense.

The cold was so bad that I couldn’t even shout at my cousins, who were visibly quite scared. My uncles and aunts and cousins started coming towards me with all sorts of remedies. A bowl of Maggi, yak-milk tea, blanket, towel, a strip of crocin, a booklet of Hanuman Chalisa. Bloody, get me a brandy will you!

Amongst all of this one of little cousin sister told, “Dada, why don’t you take a hot water bath!”. I felt it was a stupid idea. But then I realized what it can do to me. And yes there was hot water being prepared in drums by melting snow, being used to make Maggi, Tea and other stuff around. So I asked the cruel culprit cousin of mine to run and get a bucket of it.

He came running back saying that the guy asked for Rs. 50. I asked my uncle to give him 60 and get the bucket soon. I started removing my clothes on the side, without feeling half my body. Although the brain was slowly returning back to normalcy.

My cousin got me the bucket and I stood there with my briefs on, naked in that white gloomy snow-filled setting. The Sun at Tsangu didn’t happen that long back I thought. I used an old paint dabba and poured the first batch of hot water on myself. I felt a sudden rush of blood back in the body, it was as if all the old mills in Mumbai had all of a sudden started back in a single day, and were already producing at peak levels. It was a rush of energy, I loved the fact that I couldn’t have a brandy today, or I would have missed out on this. At that very moment, all my senses were alive.

All the mistakes were forgotten, things were being laughed about, and for once even the Yak Milk turned tastier.

November 5, 2012