Keep to the Right: When it comes to eating or interacting with others in India, avoid the use of your left hand. It is customary to clean yourself with your left hand after using the toilet, and therefore the left hand has negative associations. It’s a difficult adjustment to make, but it will be appreciated. Even if you are left-handed, give it the ol’ college try.
THE FEAST OF ALL FEASTS
However, no single experience can compare to the deeply complex and lavish meal I had with a group of Kashmiri hipsters. Food in the Indian state of Kashmir isn’t just about eating, it’s an all-sensory sacred tradition. Kashmiri cuisine is as much about art and style and ritual as it is about the food. I’ve met Kashmiris while growing up in New York, traveling through India, and even living in Minnesota, where I’ve been based for nearly eighteen years. Without question, these folks are some of the most outgoing and outrageous personalities I’ve ever met. They are all about the party. That boisterous quality is not very surprising, considering that the state was a big hub for every spice and silk route that you have ever seen on an ancient map. Persian, Afghan, and Central Asian merchants passed through the area, and while for many it was just a stop along the way, their influence stuck with the Kashmiri people.
If you’re not Indian, be prepared for the locals to stare intensely at you. This isn’t considered rude; they’re just curious and interested in who you are and where you came from. Often, people (even complete strangers) will ask you very personal questions—about your age, income, appearance, and health. While it might feel invasive at first, it provides a great opportunity to ask them about their lives.
Kashmiri dining traditions are lavish, with an obvious passion for hospitality. Traditionally, the Kashmiri host lays out all the food that he has at home before his guests. Then the guests fulfill their role by grazing on the abundant spread until the food has disappeared. And thus the wazwan feast was born. A wazwan meal can consist of as many as forty courses. Organizing this meal is not for the faint of heart (nor is eating it, as I soon found out). Not only must the host select the numerous courses, he or she must also be willing to perform certain traditional ceremonies that accompany each dish.
Leave it to renowned Kashmiri fashion designer Rohit Bal to take on the daunting task of creating one seriously over-the-top wazwan feast. These meals often entail many days of preparation and hours of cooking. I received the invite the first night that I landed in Delhi. And while I was completely wiped from traveling, I could not resist the opportunity to hang with this guy. I couldn’t think of a better host for this kind of spirited feast, which is typically for special occasions and weddings these days. The colorful meal is a ritual, the preparation of which is considered an art form. The chefs, who are called wazas, pass this trade on through the apprentice system, from chef to chef to chef. While the traditional number of courses is thirty-six, there are sometimes a few more or less, and the preparation is traditionally done by the vasta waza, or head chef, with the assistance of wazas.
I arrived at Rohit’s home, located in one of the glitzier sections of Delhi. His neighborhood is absolutely beautiful, complete with parks and oversize three- and four-story brownstone homes. Rohit lives on the top floor of one of these gorgeous buildings. Even though it was ten p.m., I was one of the first guests to arrive. As I entered Rohit’s home, I could smell food coming from all over the place, but, curiously, his kitchen was empty. Apparently, the wazas had spent the previous twenty-four hours cooking, chopping, dicing, pureeing, boiling, sautéing, and baking in the hallways of his building. They arrive with pots and pan, burners and bowls, cutting boards and curios, and they take over.
Waz Up with the Wazwan Dinner?
~This dinner is truly a meat lover’s paradise. Most of the courses are made with a variety of meats, like lamb, mutton (sheep), chicken, and beef, and also fish.
~Sharing food at the table is the focus of a wazwan dinner. In fact, guests sit on the floor in groups of four to six around a metal plate (trami) and often eat with their hands. Don’t worry, though, a hand-washing ceremony takes place at the start of dinner. Whatever you do, don’t eat with your left hand.
~“Vasta waza” means “chief cook,” and usually this person has inherited his culinary skills from a long line of waza family members. He spends days preparing for the meal and assists his team with the food before the ceremony.
~Tea is an important part of the Kashmiri culture and the wazwan dinner. It’s said to rejuvenate the body.
~With more than forty courses to the meal, it’s likely your host will send you home with a doggie bag—especially after a wedding.
So there I was. I was nervous. I mean, I didn’t know anyone at the party. There were models, filmmakers, TV news anchors, and other Indian celebrities, and they all looked so fabulous. In no time, the Kashmiri knack for hospitality kicked in and the evening ended up being a real learning experience in Indian high society.
After about an hour and a half, we finally sat down for dinner. Rohit had cleared out his entire living room and outfitted it with bright lights and a Kashmiri silk carpet. Everyone was seated on the floor, in groups of three or four, on top of gorgeous pillows set in a semicircle, and that was where we began with the first ritual of the evening. A tash-t-nari, an ornate silver basin, was passed by the attendants for guests to wash their hands. This ritual is less about hygiene than it is about symbolizing the cleansing of the soul and ridding yourself of negative energies.
Next, large serving dishes arrived. These were piled high with heaps of rice, and divided into four quadrants with seekh kebabs, which are made up of meat sausages that have been skewered and grilled. It’s perfect for this kind of shared meal—four guests get to eat off the same plate, but everyone has his or her own personal zone. Four portions of different types of purees and yogurt sauces and sides of barbecued lamb ribs sit in the platter as well. The meal is accompanied by yogurt that is garnished with Kashmiri saffron and different salads and pickles and dips, and you just kind of start eating the moment the food arrives.
One of the cornerstones of the wazwan is making a whole lamb part of the process, ensuring that every part of the lamb is utilized. More than thirty varieties of lamb are raised in that part of the world, and this multicourse meal makes use of the animal in nearly every dish. It’s even considered a sacrilege in some serious Kashmiri homes to serve at the feast any dishes that are based on lentils or grains. We were offered handfuls of fried lamb ribs sprinkled with turmeric, chilies, and lime juice. The dish was deliciously fatty and rich, which from a flavor standpoint I absolutely love. However, after two or three of these mini racks of ribs I was almost full. At that point, it was nearly midnight and I was ready to go to sleep. But the next thing you know, more food starts pouring in.
Every time you’d finished a course, more food would arrive. Fried lotus stems. Cottage cheese squares. Bowls of chilies and radishes and walnut chutney. A parade of four or five different stewed lamb dishes, one after another after another. Lamb curry cooked in milk. Jellied bouillon made from the meat and bones. Eggplant and apple stew. Rogan josh, a very spicy lamb stew. Another lamb stew made with tree resin. Mustard oil–based roast lamb. Cockscombs. Saffron-infused lamb. But the highlight was gushtaba. Food books describe them as balls of chopped lamb seasoned with spices and cooked in oil, milk, and curds. That doesn’t even begin to describe the process. The chefs put raw lamb, a bit of garlic, and some mild spices in a mortar and begin to pound the mixture with a pestle, adding handfuls of minced fat as they go. It takes on the texture of a hot dog and it tastes like bologna, but like the best lamb bologna you ever ate. So light, with so much fat beaten into it. It holds a ball shape, so you can cut it with a knife, and even though it has a hot-dog-like chew to it, it also has this melting, smooth quality—it disappears down your throat as quickly as you’re chewing it. It’s one of the most glorious dishes I have ever tasted.
We had thirty-six courses, and finally, at two-thirty in the morning, I
needed to be thrown in a wheelbarrow and rolled back to the hotel. I was the first to arrive and I was also the first to leave. Despite the warnings to slow down and not eat it all at once, I pushed the pedal to the metal. You have to pace yourself. The food tasted unlike anything I’ve had before, and I probably will never experience it again. Holding back is way too tall an order for someone like me.
And so I wandered out to the streets of Delhi looking for a cab, desperate for a few hours to lie down to try and digest this amazing meal. Nobody loves lamb more than I do, but the next day, I swore to myself, I am never eating lamb again. I had lamb fat coming out of my pores for days. Of course, with such an amazing array of lamb dishes available in that city, it was only a matter of time before I caved on that one.
Most Americans think they know what characteristics make for the best hot dog. Some say it’s all about the sauerkraut or relish. Others think it’s Heinz ketchup and yellow mustard. And then there is that group of people who believe one drop of the fancy red or yellow stuff completely ruins a tube steak. But at least we can all agree that encased ground meat served on a bun is the foundation for a basic hot dog.
Well, laksa is to parts of Southeast Asia what hot dogs are to America. This dish is one of the most popular soups served in that region, especially Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia. There are many different styles of preparation, and everyone has an opinion about what makes one bowl better than another. Laksa is a spicy noodle soup that originated in the Peranakan culture, a heritage often referred to as Baba-Nyonya. As a group, the Peranakans formed centuries ago when indigenous Malays merged with some of the descendants of Chinese immigrants.
Many different dishes symbolize Peranakan culture, most notably otak-otak, a sausage made of ground and seasoned forcemeat and steamed in thin portions in bamboo, banana, or other edible leaves. It can also be grilled or baked. To some people this is the most popular and iconic of all the traditional Peranakan foods, but my favorite regional dish is laksa.
To understand this dish is to understand two things: One, it’s an easy, cheap meal in a bowl, with lots of noodles and shellfish in the broth. Malays, Singaporeans, and Southeast Asian food freaks argue about what makes for authentic and honest laksa. To me, that sort of culinary dialogue often misses the point. You can argue about whether or not crispy shallots belong on top, or whether little strings of cold omelet should be julienned and stirred in, or how thick the broth should be—whether it should be thin and sour (as it often is in Thailand) or thick, rich, and creamy with a sturdy foundation of coconut milk. And let’s not even get started on noodle options. Who cares? All those soups belong in the laksa family. It’s like arguing over pizza. It doesn’t really matter whether it’s from a grocer’s freezer or a neighborhood wood-fired-oven joint, it’s all pizza as long as it tastes good to someone.
OFF TO FIND THE BEST
I’ve often thought that what propelled laksa to such incredible heights can largely be attributed to the jump in American tourism over the last forty or fifty years, where visitors came back to their hometowns raving about the best meal-in-a-bowl. The obsession with this high-energy, big-flavor dish reached staggering proportions because the combination of flavors is just simply off the charts. Any traveler who goes to Singapore and doesn’t have a bowl of laksa might as well call the trip a waste of time. Once you have tried it, you become consumed with it.
I’d been dying to get to Singapore for as long as I can remember, and finally had my chance in 2008. On most trips, the first impression of a country comes as your plane prepares for landing. Sometimes it’s what you see through the window; other times it’s what you hear over the intercom. This is especially pertinent when landing in Singapore. It is a kindly auditory welcome mat stating, “It is ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit, thirty-four degrees Celsius, this morning in Singapore. Please mind overhead compartments, as luggage items may have shifted during flight. And please remember that swearing and spitting on the ground are against the law, and the use or importation of illegal drugs, even for personal consumption, is punishable by death.” It’s the kind of thing that makes you gasp the first time you hear it.
A FEW OF THE FACTS
The Republic of Singapore is certainly a unique place. It’s a very small island, roughly four times the size of Washington, D.C., with about five million inhabitants. Singapore is one of few city-states in the world. There is Monaco and there is Vatican City, which are certainly rarefied company. Singapore, which boasts a gorgeous natural harbor with very deep water, is strategically positioned in the Pacific Ocean among the low-hanging Southeast Asian countries. Take a look at a map and you can see why this was the perfect place for the British East India Company to send one of their most aggressive agents, a gentleman named Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles.
Sir Thomas arrived on the island to create a British trade port that was intended to compete with the Dutch, who were Europe’s big trading force in the region. He founded the city of Singapore in 1819, and it became a British colony. Subsequently, it joined the Federation of Malaysia in 1963, and then became an independent republic in 1965. Currently, Singapore is populated predominantly by people of Chinese extraction, who make up 76 percent of the total population. Another 15 percent or so are the indigenous Malay people, and about 8 percent are Indians.
I was surprised to discover that Indians made up such a small percentage of the Singaporean population, given that Indian culture in Singapore is so vibrant and quite predominant. You can’t turn around in the street without seeing the wide sway of Indian influence. Considering the country’s diverse cultural makeup, it’s easy to see how—and I admit, I hate this term—one of the world’s most famously original “fusion” cuisines was born here. English, Dutch, and European influence on a Chinese and Malay culture, with free-flowing Indian exposure, spices, food styles, curries—this is the stuff that creates the ultimate hybrid food palette.
Eating has become a national pastime in this modern, bustling country. People eat all day long, and so my first job was to find out where most people do their chowing down. My priority was to check out the hawker centers, and I do love street food. I think that’s the best way to eat, because you have so many options. Some stalls are more like restaurants, offering five or six dishes, while others specialize in one dish, like barbecued ribs, stewed mutton, or otak-otak.
GOING FROM STALL TO STALL
I was ecstatic to visit People’s Park, which boasts hundreds of stalls. I also checked out the Zion Riverside Food Centre, as well as Adam Road Food Centre, which is in a Muslim neighborhood, so all the food there is halal. People’s Park is the one that I returned to on several occasions—it doesn’t hurt that it’s right in the center of town.
Many Americans get flustered in hawker stall environments in foreign countries, freaking out about whether or not they’ll be hovering over a toilet for hours after having a few bites of street food. I wouldn’t stress too much about that in Singapore. These hawker centers are spotless. Singapore has a well deserved reputation for strict laws (I mean, they outlaw chewing gum), so the extreme cleanliness of the country is not surprising. This is a country in pursuit of excellence. They want to be the best when it comes to food. They want to be the most crime-free country on the planet. They want to be the cleanest city in the world.
Singapore is known for enforcing some pretty strange laws. For example:
~Bungee jumping is illegal.
~Selling gum, as well as chewing it, will land you a hefty fine.
~You may not walk around in your home nude.
~Spitting, littering, smoking in public, and jaywalking are all against the law. If caught littering three times, you must clean the street while wearing a sign that states, “I am a litterer.”
~Failure to flush a public toilet after use may result in a fine of up to five hundred dollars.
~It is illegal to pee in an elevator. (Okay, that one I agree with!)
~If you have a flowerpot, or anything that col
lects water, and mosquito larvae subsequently hatch in it, you risk being fined.
~Leave your spray paint at home—if you’re caught vandalizing anything, you could get thrown in jail and caned. Caning consists of getting swatted on the bare buttocks or hands with a cane made of rattan. Yowch!
These laws seem very harsh, but, to be fair, Singapore is the cleanest country I have ever been to, and the crime rate is extremely low. Something must be working!
Given some of the places I visit and the things I eat on Bizarre Foods, it might surprise you that cleanliness around food is extremely important to me. Not just from a visual standpoint—I actually get concerned about my well-being when I see a lot of filth and degradation. That’s no environment to be preparing food in. Sadly, that’s how much of the world operates—including the United States, which is ironically one of the filthiest food countries with respect to kitchens. Everybody hems and haws about what to eat while traveling, but I’d be more concerned about picking up a bug from something at a giant American chain restaurant than at a Singaporean hawker stall.
Hawker centers are government-run in the sense that the government owns the space and leases the stalls. This allows the government to keep the place clean and well-managed. Fortunately, the government understands that it has no business cooking food. Let the artists, the chefs, come in there and do their thing, and let them do it in an environment—the physical space—that the government maintains. The centers have tables as well as lovely little gardens where you can sit down and enjoy your food. But first you have to decide what to eat. You claim a numbered table, then walk around to the stalls that stretch for half a mile in a series of indoor and outdoor courtyards in People’s Park. You order, and you let the hawkers know your table number. Once your grub is ready, a runner will ferry the food to you.
Andrew Zimmern's Bizarre World of Food Page 9
