Food in review II – India at an end

When last checked in on all matters culinary, we were at the end of our stay in the charming state of Gujarat. Needing to fill in quite a few hours on our last day, without getting sweaty (as we’d already checked out of our hotel), we spent an afternoon/evening in aircon heaven at the mall, eating ‘mall food’. You’d think it a heinous proposition, but nup: even food-court food in India is more than palatable. Even better, as we were at Ahmedabad’s biggest mall, it was pretty flash.

We started off local, with a pav bhaji off, buying Mumbai’s famous street-food staple from two competing eateries and then putting them through the rigours of in-depth analysis. Or we just ate them and threw shade at the loser. We then whiled away a couple of hours at a schmancy cafe, which truly delivered, with the best coffee I had in all of India (so good, I had to have two). Finishing up with a post-movie Maccas feed might seem a little declasse, but the chicken McSpicy McBody-slammed any of the tripe Ronald’s serving up at home, to be honest: spicy, succulent, fresh.

From there, it was off to ravishing Rajasthan. I have to say, magnificent forts and deserts and palaces (oh my) aside, the food didn’t quite ignite the superlative searching on; however, this may have been more a mixture of illness (flu, what?), tiredness, plus the fact that the state is heavy on the tourist traps.

In Jaisalmer, the one true Insta-worthy meal went unphotographed due to fading light. It was at a stunning rooftop haveli restaurant, and was a real vege feast: a gorgeous, rich and creamy baigan (eggplant) bhaji; another new dal to add to the list, dhora dal, which has a wonderfully fragrant, roasted coriander seed flavour; and something completely new: Rajasthani gatta, dense, chickpea flour sausages, cut into chunks, and cooked in a spicy yoghurt and tomato gravy. Wow.

Otherwise, we mostly ate on the roof of our guesthouse; partly convenience, partly for the fort views, partly because the host was a real kool kat. It was also great for big pots of chai tea and milk coffee, which seemed to stretch forever in the small little chai cups favoured here. Bliss.

The hit-and-miss continued through our other two Rajasthan stops. I mentioned elsewhere how much we found the city of Chittorgarh a strange and unwelcoming place, so, yeah, we were more than happy with a couple of completely acceptable vege thalis!

Bundi, pretty Bundi, sadly derelict when it came to memorable eating, apart from one exceptional exception. Our guide’s sister ran a home kitchen from which she prepared fresh thalis for visitors that charismatic Jay had managed to convince they needed to try (but of course).

They were very expensive compared to all other thalis we ate, by some distance, including the epic Gujarati thalis I spoke about last time, but it’s pretty hard to beat freshly cooked curries and puris (gorgeous little puffy roti-type fried breads). She also made the most amazing tomato-chilli chutney that had us licking the bowl (it was oily so you know it was good!) . That stuff could be bottled and become the India’s version of Lao Gan Ma, seriously!

Delhi saw the dreaded illness return, and me either not hungry at all (say whut?) or needing/craving blandness (double whut?). The upshot, though, was that I finally got a good helping of luscious, organic peanut butter on suitably dense brown bread. Heaven!

Before the illness descended, there were two other great food memories. Randomly, we stumbled upon a Parsi restaurant that was very old school glamour. What was not old school, though, was the baby eggplants stuffed with coconut and peanut powder and served in a herbaceous spiky green gravy. Exceptional.

We also returned to the hipster enclave of Haus Kass, and a particularly memorable South Indian dosa. It was still as good as the first time around, and as a free gift with purchase, as we were eating early, we got to witness the maitre D perform his puja (prayer) for, I’m guessing, a profitable and successful night’s trade.

Onto Khajuraho, which, like Bundi, was pretty devoid of tourists. With food options a bit limited, we stuck to fairly mainstream tourist fare bar one memorable wander into a small local Jain place. I felt like eggplant, the owner recommended baigan nizami and told me to trust him, and I’m glad I did. A fried whole eggplant, split down the middle, and smothered in a richly spicy almost pastelike sauce arrived. It was duly mopped up with garlic naan.

I do also have to confess that I had been craving a proper beef burger for quite some time, and while Westerning it up, I had a lamb burger that really Hit. The. Spot. #dontjudgeme

Varanasi, and again more continental fare: eggs and more peanut butter and brown bread. Our one night meal was spent at an NGO where the Indian/French husband and wife owners appeared to be in the middle of a marriage breakdown. The tension clearly got into the food. Sad buzz.

At least, though, we did get back to the world-famous Blue Lassi shop, to pray at the altar of lassi. We tried a trio of orgasmic delights: pomegranate, coconut and chocolate, banana, coconut and chocolate, and saffron and dried fruit and nut. All were super stuffed with fillings, lusciously rich, and just glorious.

Lassi galore at the Blue Lassi Shop.

West Bengal’s Hill Country, and the towns of Kalimpong and Darjeeling, represented a dramatic shift. For the first time in three months we were cold, for multiple days in a row. It was equivalent to the middle of a New Zealand winter, with a cracking storm to go with it. So, we did what any humans would do in such a sudden and shocking climatic change: we carbed it up.

In Kalimpong, we momo’d ourselves into a frenzy, unable to restrain our desire for Tibetan dumplings any longer. We had them beef, we had them pork, we had them any way the lovely people wanted to give them to us. But it wasn’t all carbrageous sinning. There was the strange case of finding another example of Keralan chicken curry, which now has me convinced it is the source of Indo-Fijian chicken curry, and a pretty decent thali (served without breads!).

‘Keralan chicken curry’

In Darjeeling, though, the carbfest reached its zenith. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that our guesthouse served us bolstering but gargantuan breakfasts every morning, including local Nepali cuisine that had us saying, where we do we sign up?

The first night we went to a famous colonial era place, Glenary’s; the kind where elites of yesteryear would come to hob their knobs. Now it’s international tourists and classy domestics who come to knob it up amongst period wood panelling. Perusing the menu, I saw the words baked macaroni cheese and I didn’t have to be told twice. The chinese-style fried rice and chilli chicken was also pretty magnificent.

Beyond that, it was a lot of eggs and cumin hash browns with chunky wholemeal toast, and a most amazing beef burger that tasted like the very best of homemade food. I hate to admit it, but it was all comfortingly sublime, despite the new layer on insulation I could feel growing around my middle. Eek.

But there was local too, with a rather magnificent experience at a wee family-owned place, where we were served a feast of momos and two types of Tibetan noodle soups, gyathuk and bhagthuk. Again, where do we sign up?

Our India odyssey came to an end in Kolkata, but was unfortunately again marred by the return of dreaded lurgies, which pretty much had me holed up in our hostel for the last three days. So disappointing.

It didn’t, however – and nothing would – stop me from living it up with Kolkata’s gift to the street food world: Kati rolls, a layered paratha bread, coated on one side in fried egg and then wrapped around usually mutton curry, chutney and red onions. So utterly sublime, and genius in its simplicity.

Kati roll.

We also felt the need for one last Biryani…and we chose well. The mutton was so soft it put up no fight to stay attached to its bones, and each grain of rice felt lovingly hugged by its subtly spiced cooking broth. We also added another new dish to the repertoire: vege banjara.

Banjara means cooked in the style of gypsies, which basically means that the dry spices that make the masala are more coarsely ground, it’s easy to make with ingredients to hand, and it generously wallows in plenty of ghee. It’s also got a pretty fierce chilli bite. Excellent.

Finally, for our last meal, it seemed fitting to go out with a bang, in a place called Oh! Calcutta. Our vege choices were for the memory books: okra cooked in mustard oil and served in a gravy of mango and caramelised red onion; baby potatoes in a creamy, tomatoey curry; and banana flower cooked in coconut and warming spices (cardamon, cinnamon, etc.). The paratha alongside was golden, crispy and layered to perfection.

Oh India, delicious, delicious India, how I’m missing you already…

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