DAY 81
25 October / Varanasi
Not only a food haven, Varanasi is also known for its art and artisans. I found one such artist, who once was a Japanese chef, and now played the didgeridoo (a 5000-year-old instrument) in a small shop. People called him Mithu, but his actual name was Mithun. He believed that the didgeridoo was like a mobile phone that allowed you to connect with your ancestors. It was made of recycled materials like matchsticks and trash wood. He spoke at length about life, music and art. He seemed a bit divorced from reality, but nonetheless, he was spiritual, kind and genuine. One of the prime reasons he came from Japan was to find peace and play his didgeridoo!
He took me to the ghat to play his music and get me to try playing the instrument. The way to play it was by vibrating your lips to the sounds—di-ji-ri-du—with your lips pressed against the mouth of the instrument. I shut my eyes and listened to the music. If one paid attention, one could differentiate each note and feel the unique sounds emanating from the instrument. For me this experience was special because, usually, I am very good at motivating myself and chasing my dreams. When I met Mithun, I saw a man who was a cook and who felt like there was a void in his life. Unperturbed, he gave up that life to start another filled with music. No fear, no regrets, only positivity. One might question about how he earned a decent living? The answer is that he also ran a small restaurant on the side to make money that would fund his musical hobby. Perhaps, someday I will be able to be so successful and so content with my life that I will be able to leave the culinary world for the guitar, something that I have always wanted to play. Perhaps. I ate lunch with him, a simple meal that we had prepared and exchanged notes about cooking.
In Varanasi, whether it is breakfast, lunch or dinner, all meals end with the paan. When it concerns the city and its paan, the stereotypical connection for every Indian is Amitabh Bachchan and the famous song picturised on him, ‘Khaike Paan Benares Wala.’ I decided to listen to this gem of a song while completing the rest of the journey.This song of the eighties is still immensely popular because of the common-man connect with the pleasure of eating paan. To learn more about the Varanasi paan culture, I went and visited Keshav Paan Bhandaar in an area called Lanka. The reason for their success is credited to the purity of all their ingredients, which are sourced locally. I met Mr. Chaurasia, the owner of the shop. He explained that the paan leaves were not from Varanasi; instead, they came from Magadh, a region in Bihar. The best leaf was called magai that came from Gaya in Bihar. That region is not only popular for the leaves, but also for the gulkand that is an essential part of the paan. The magai paan leaves were soft, and I could feel their warmth as I bit into the stuffed leaf. It also melted in the mouth immediately. The relationship between Varanasi and paan came from the fact that Bholenath (Lord Shiva) resided here. Bholenath had a liking for two things: bhaang and paan. Both were consumed here as an offering to the God.
If you want to know how a magai paan is made, then here’s what you need to do. First, you take the magai paan leaf and spread kathechu, also called catechu, a paste made from acacia extract, rich in iron and calcium. Then chuna (edible limestone paste) is applied. Next comes the cardamom, and then a special paan masala called Shankar Shambhu, a type of sweet betel nut. Next comes my favourite ingredient, gulkand, followed by a sweet chutney, which is usually fruit flavoured. Last is the menthol; only a pinch is added because of its strength. Well, this is how Mr. Chaurasia prepared my paan. The actual magic was how he folded it into a neat little green pyramid. It took him a millisecond to neatly stuff all the ingredients into place, fold the leaf, and present it to me. Me, being the dramatic foodie that I am, asked for the paan to be fed to me, as a gesture of goodwill.
As I began to chew on the paan, the leaf softly gave way to the juices of the stuffing. The paan was fresh; the bitterness of the leaf balanced the sweetness of the gulkand. The fresh effect of menthol was definitely the first flavour that hit me.
After Surat, Varanasi had been a very rewarding experience. The people had been humble, welcoming and very knowledgeable about food. I spent the rest of the day wandering the streets, talking to some locals, cherishing the last few moments in the holy city. Before you ask, I didn’t watch the sun set.
DAY 82
Travelling from the holy city of Varanasi to Maner, Patna.
DAY 83
27 October / Maner, Patna
After Uttar Pradesh, I was supposed to drive straight to Kolkata. I decided to drive through Bihar, briefly. From Varanasi, it was a journey of 750 km to Kolkata, via Patna. Luckily for me, Patna was en route, where I eventually stopped to taste a few delicacies.
Patna, the capital of Bihar, was the first stop on my journey to Kolkata. I was surprised to know that the history of Patna dated back to 600 B.C. In ancient India, Patna was a place where higher knowledge was imparted to young students. No wonder, even today, some of the brightest minds come from here. Just before I entered Patna, about 20 km west of the city, I stopped at a small town called Maner, a famous tourist destination because of the mausoleums and the dargahs (the tomb or shrine of a Muslim saint). There is yet another reason why foodies would have heard of Maner; Maner ke laddu was as popular as the Agra ka petha, and the Mathura ke pede. Maner Sweets was situated at the entrance to the city. The motichur laddu was special here. One of the reasons the laddus here got popular was thanks to yesteryear actor Shatrugan Sinha. In one of his movies, he asks someone if they had tried the Maner ke laddu. It helped that Shatrugan Sinha was from the area as well. The other reason is that the crew of Aamir Khan’s popular television show, Satyamev Jayate, stopped here to try the laddus. Hence, I had to stop and try.
The well-spoken gentleman at the counter, Rajeev, the owner and a postgraduate in marketing and business, now ran the family business, with a vision to expand his business across the country. The original laddus dated back to the time of Aurangzeb, when he was trying to conquer India. He, of course, took his chef along with him when he travelled. When he was in this part of the country, it was his chef who invented this laddu; that’s how the story goes. Another reason why they are so popular is because of the river Son, which is said to have sweet water. Rajeev’s grandfather was also an actor who had acted with Shatrugan Sinha in the same movie which led to the laddu becoming famous in Bihar and all over India. By now, my curiosity levels had gone through the roof, and I asked Rajeev if I could see how the laddus were being made. Kilos and kilos of laddus were being made here. Wherever the eyes looked, there was laddu everywhere.
The process was actually very simple. First, a thin batter of gram flour (besan) was made using the sweet water of the river Son. The chana dal (split Bengal gram) used was also called Bombay Gold. The mixture was then passed through a large eight millimetre perforated strainer. It was then tapped on the edge of the big kadhai which had hot ghee in it. The tapping made the besan fall like droplets into the oil. These droplets were commonly referred to as moti (pearls). The motis needed to be fine, and once fried they were removed from the kadhai and added to a thick sugar syrup flavoured with saffron. It was then cooked for five to 10 minutes, after which it was left aside for the granules to soak up the syrup. Once the granules fluffed up, they added cashew nuts, pistachios, melon seeds and kewra water. The mixture was then rolled gently into a small ball. I was lucky enough to try the whole process on my own. Considering the fact that I made my first jalebi when I was 12, I felt confident about making my own laddus. The owner, Rajeev, agreed that I was quite skilled at making them. I was feeling quite pleased with myself, the laddu turned out very well. Just like the motichur laddu, they crumbled in your hands, melted in your mouth, and left a long lasting flavour for you to remember.
DAY 84
28 October / Patna
It had been a journey of 260 km to Patna, and the next day was to be filled with a whole lot of new experiences to add to my handi (an earthenware or metal pot used in Indian cooking). Kolkata-Bihari cuisine is predominantly veg
etarian, but because they live by the rivers, there are a few fish dishes on the menu. A few dishes they swear by are sattu (powdered and baked pulses and cereals), and yoghurt. The first dish I tried in the morning, on my long journey towards Kolkata, was litti chokha. Found at every kilometre, it is so common that some people eat it for lunch and dinner, both. If you don’t like this dish, I doubt you would survive in Bihar. Definitely the common man’s food, litti is a hard pastry-like dumpling, smaller than a tennis ball, baked on a coal fire. It is made of white flour and filled with sattu and spices. Sattu is primarily made of gram four. According to my grandfather, sattu gives heat to the body. It is also one of the healthiest dishes you could eat. It gives strength to the body and helps the laborious workers of Bihar afford a healthy meal. Sometimes, it is even dissolved in milk and had in the morning like a desi malt powder.
It might sound boring and bland, but it was very tasty because of the spices used. The main ones used were: roasted cumin seeds, dry mango powder, carom seeds, finely chopped green chillies, onion, coriander, ginger, chilli, pickle masala, and garlic. The sattu was then stuffed in the litti casing, and then shaped into a tennis ball. Traditionally, it is baked on an open coal fire, but there were options of cooking it in the oven, or deep-frying it. Litti was traditionally had with chokha, a stir-fry of brinjals or potatoes. I ate this interesting meal for breakfast. Not realising initially how filling or energy giving they were, I had four of them. You definitely need to have a body and stomach of steel to eat these. I ate mine from a street vendor near one of the railway stations. There are no personal favourites, you can go anywhere, and find a decent plate of litti chokha for yourself. It reminded me of the dal bati I had in Rajasthan. I spent the rest of the day travelling to reach my ultimate destination.
I wasn’t bored of my Bihar delicacy, and stopped on the highway to eat some with fish curry.
DAY 85
29 October / Kolkata
As I moved towards a new side of the country, the landscape and the lifestyle changed slightly, and so did the scenery. We were clearly moving into West Bengal.
I was trying hard not to succumb to the pressures of my travels. I almost caught a terrible flu, I seemed to be a few sizes smaller than my clothes, and I had an irreversible tan. I hadn’t shaved for days and I did look quite unwell. In fact, I not only got the flu, but I gave it to my director as well. With such tight schedules, there was no stopping and resting. I was a man on a mission; to complete 100 days of India, non-stop. A difficult drive health-wise, I must say.
The road was very smooth from Patna to Kolkata. We managed to reach Kolkata at 4 p.m. in the afternoon, checked into the hotel, took a medicine for fever, and slept for four hours.
I never did actually wake up for dinner; my first half day off since we left Delhi!
DAY 86
30 October / Kolkata
I woke up early, hungry and sick. For a second, I actually did ask myself if I could finish this journey. My crew asked if I wanted to fly back. It all seemed too good to just let go off because of a fever. No, I wasn’t going to go back, I was going to go find some good old Chinese chicken soup.
Before that, I want to formally welcome you all to Calcutta, or Kolkata. Well, I prefer the latter over the former…for reasons I can’t explain. The capital of West Bengal, it used to be the capital of India during the British rule. This was pretty clear considering the architecture, the roadways and habits of the people. The place reminded you of a different era altogether with the tea-drinking habits, the way the locals spoke English and the general aura of the city. As far as the cuisine went, fish meant everything to Bengalis. I cannot imagine a single traditional meal without fish, and the staples: lentils and rice. The Bengalis are also known for several creations that are popular across the globe: kathi rolls (skewer-roasted kebab wrapped in a parantha bread), kala jamun (dark brown sweet balls made from cottage cheese and whole dried milk, deep fried and coated with sugar), and rasgulla (Indian sweet consisting a ball of cottage cheese cooked in syrup).
There is also a thriving Chinese community in Kolkata, that continues to live in China Town. Geographical proximity to China has, over the years, resulted in a large Chinese population in Kolkata. Of course, this has also led to the evolution of the Bengali Chinese menu and a whole array of dishes such as sweet corn soup, manchurian, chilly chicken, all heavy with the use of MSG (mono sodium glutamate a.k.a. ajinomoto)—the villain of Chinese food. There are still places in Kolkata that serve authentic Chinese food, out of which the most popular is Tiritta Bazaar. It is very popular for its fish ball and prawn ball soup. At 6 a.m. I found myself in the market following my nose to the nearest soup shack. I met an acquaintance there, a freelance journalist called Anshuk, who helped me get better with a Chinese breakfast! The bazaar was open from 6 a.m. to 8 a.m. People bought and sold everything available here in these two hours. It was right at the entrance to Old China Town, a broad road with shops lining the two sides of the street. For the late party goers and insomniacs, this was a great place to have breakfast to close an eventful night. Both steamed and fried momos were served with a sweet chilli sauce on both sides of the road, flanked by bao (also called baozi, it is a type of steamed bun with fillings, in various Chinese cuisines, as there is much variation as to the fillings and the preparations) and sausages, vegetables and soup. For a second it did look like a Chinese town, until you heard them speaking in Bengali.
Anshuk was one of those people who fell in love with this market and suggested we start the morning by having a warm bowl of soup. The soup stall was run by a middle-aged lady, who was a bit cranky at first. She was not especially interested in me or my questions about her family history. All interviews are not planned, and some don’t go very well. Anshuk explained that as a community, they had been through a lot, and generally liked to be reserved and private. I quietly took my fish soup and went to a corner. The soup was not thickened with cornflour, nor heavily laden with MSG. The fish ball was made of surmai, and the soup was clear, with some serious restorative properties. These recipes had been handed down generations and that was very evident by the simplicity of the dish and the flavour of the broth. There wasn’t much place to sit or stand, and the vendors had not set up fancy shops. I had two bowls of soup that gave me the energy to go on for the rest of my day.
It was time to take a deep breath and go get some real breakfast. I moved around the market and surveyed the various other dishes on sale; different types of chicken, pork and shrimp dim sums (all of which I tried and loved). Pork sausages were hung from store ceilings; I tasted those as well. I was most happy with my big bao as they call it, which was stuffed with chicken, egg and spring onions. The bao was slightly sweet and the chicken stuffing complemented the soft springy texture of the insides. I still wasn’t full, so I went in for the rice dish that looked like a churro (a fried-dough pastry, predominantly choux-based snack), and was called lathi (stick). For those who really didn’t care for Chinese breakfast, there were a few aloo-puri stalls in a corner. I ate till it was time for the market to shut down, and there was literally nothing left to eat. It was humanly impossible to eat for the next few hours; so instead, I decided to explore the Kumartuli Market.
Traditionally a potter’s quarter, Kumartuli is where clay idols of Hindu Gods and Goddesses are made. In recent years, this area has become very popular because of the idols of Durga that are made for Durga Puja every year. Kumartuli is even on the tour map of Kolkata city. Filled with extremely skilled artisans, who model clay with their hands, and follow a traditional technique which hasn’t changed for many years, they get really busy for a whole month before Durga Puja. A well made sturdy idol is about 10-feet tall. They first make a brass frame in which they fill straw, and tie it into the base shape of the idol. They then make a mud and clay mixture and coat the hay that is tied using string. Once coated, they begin to carve in the intricate designs. Surprisingly, they don’t use any references and just model the idols freehand. It t
akes about 10 days to complete the whole process. These idols are, I was told, exported to 90 countries across the world, and the artisans produce 20,000 deities throughout the year. I tried designing one of the clay idols and made a complete mess. It obviously required great skill, patience and practice, like cooking.
After my visit to the market I went to the Victoria Memorial, another popular tourist stop. The entire building was made of marble. I would recommend everyone to take the tonga ride and go to the memorial. I actually took a detour and went behind the memorial to eat chaat, and drink masala aerated drink, made with lemon and chaat masala. My version was spiked with green chilly. If you are not planning on going to Kolkata any time soon, try this at home; it is very refreshing in summer.
After my morning soup and mid-day snack I was feeling a tad bit better. I decided I would spend the evening exploring Kolkata’s street food culture that is very famous all over India. The street food had the daily specials common to all the metro cities: chaat, bhelpuri, pucchka (called gol gappa in Delhi and pani puri in Bombay), samosa, chowmein; but the most popular was still the kathi roll. Though everybody had their own personal favourite, Decker’s Lane had some of the best street food in Kolkata. Me being the enthusiastic chef that I am, I requested one kathi roll owner to let me take over his stall for a while. The idea was to see if I could generate more revenue for him by making my own version of the kathi roll. A typical one is almost a shallow-fried flaky parantha, with or without egg, which is then stuffed with various fillings like paneer, chicken, mutton, vegetables. Known to be extremely oily and greasy, it tastes absolutely divine. The idea was to create a new roll, an experiment that would fit in with the taste of Kolkata.
India on My Platter Page 19
