Category Archives: Parsi food – the better half

>Of virgin white sheets and black lace. Foccaccia from Yazdani Bakery

>

White sands. Azure skies. Cheerful blue seas. The sound of waves crashing into the wind. Chilled white in a bucket of ice. Grains of caviar on virginal crackers. A bowl of grapes. White sandals strewn carelessly on a red rug. The swish of nylons, the shimmer of silk. A mischievous smile.

Does bread talk to you?

I was a bit disoriented as I realised that next week would probably by my last at Fort before we shift to the new office. I had lunch at Deluxe. Porota. Keralite chicken curry. The waiter, who recognises me by now, came and gave me a steaming glass of rasam. On the house. “Have it. It’s hot. Made fresh”.

I stepped out. Realised I was on the wrong lane and ended up in front of Yazdani Bakery. I stepped in and ordered the apple pie that I wanted for a while. Couldn’t finish it and packed half. It was 50 Rs (!). Then saw that they stocked foccaccia bread. I picked up a loaf for home (Rs 20).

I stopped at Sante’s at Pali Naka. Tasted Light Goat’s Gouda and some Turkey Bacon. Proper taste samples unlike the woman at Nature’s Basket who gave us some cheese dust to sniff the other day. Picked both up and walked home.

I made myself some coffee to have with the apple pie. Broke a chunk of the foccaccia. Added a drizzle of olive oil on it. Bit into it with and then a bite of cheese.

I had to whip out the camera.

2 Comments

Filed under Fort, Mumbai highs, Parsi food - the better half, photo blogs, South Mumbai, Vintage Bombay

>’ The Mumbai Food Oscars’

>I wasn’t going to write today. I was really tired. Eyes burning tired. Then went and got the mixer fixed at Pali Market after work. Went to the gym. I use minimum weights but still hate leg routine days. Made my doi posto ilish. Had to look up my own recipe. But was really happy with the results. Took less than ten minutes of work to put together but was worth it.

Opened my mail box after dinner to see this mail from ‘The Simplist‘ , a Parsi from NYC, who is coming to India with his fiance. Now the thing about me is that I am pathologically programmed to answer questions on food the moment someone asks me some. So I did. Thought I’ll share these with anyone else interested. So here goes. Mumbai Food Oscars, was The Simplist’s phrase by the way.

Me and my fiancée are coming over to Mumbai for 2 weeks and since it is her first time here I wanted to shortlist some places worth going. 

Here’s a quick survey you can take if you find a moment in your schedule, must mention the name of the place and I’ll do the rest of the research: 

Best Irani Cafe in Mumbai?

Britannia – or no?
Me: Yazdani Bakery

Best Dhansak in Mumbai not made at someone’s house? 

There was this Bombay Club your uncle-in-law would take you but I assume that is off-limits. So, Mocambo? or something else?

Me: Ideal Corner, Fort. Only Wednesday & Friday though

Best Parsi food available in a restaurant?

Sucker for patrani macchi, a good kolmi no patio, Dhansak, Pulao, Sali Boti, Chicken Farcha, Lagan nu Custard etc.

Me: Ideal Corner, again but their menu differs by the day. Mocambo has dhansak, cutlets, sali boti & pulao daal everyday except Sunday and are almost as good and air conditioned too. Britannia would be a distant third but for Mr Boman Kohinoor who is a darling

Best Biryani in Mumbai? 

Chicken or Mutton is fine… I like it dry with some masala, kind of like you. Not sure if anybody puts Aloo in Mumbai but that would be great.

Me: Best Biriyani (for folks who like it dry) – Kakori House – they have an outlet at Mahim, core shop at Bandra and one at Inorbit mall. No aloo though. Biriyani at Olympia was pretty good and has a bit more masala

Best Goan food in Mumbai?

Sucker for Goa Pork Sausages, Sorpotel and a decent Vindaloo. 
Me: I must choose Snow Flake at the Bastani lane beside Metro over Martins here

Best Keralite food in Mumbai? 

Rahmaniya or Fountain Plaza… I eat beef etc.

Me: Not an expert here. I would go for Rahmaniya by a whisker over Fountain Plaza. I have heard of a place called Sunny at Chembur from people whose tastes I trust

Best Malwani seafood in Mumbai? 

Gajalee? or something else? Mahesh Lunch Home? 

Me: Mahesh is Mangalorean I think. I haven’t gone there in ages but unless the standards have gone down I would still root for Saayba at Bandra for Malwani. I think Gajalee is over rated I would choose Apoorva over Mahesh for Mangalorean.

Best Cupcakes in Mumbai? 

Looking for some great cakes with some flair.

Me: I am not too much a cupcake fan. I like the ones at Candies, Bandra

Best Old-school Bakery in Mumbai?

American Express Bakery or something else? Looking for classic chicken puffs etc. I guess Merwan’s is great too.

Merwan’s Andheri has the best chicken patties


Best Chinese Food – High End?

Mainland China? Or something else? Golden Dragon?

Me: I am partial to Mainland China. Haven’t been to Golden Dragon


Best Chinese Food – Keeping it Simple?

Five Spice I know, others?

Me: Kamling, Churchgate. Wok Hei, Lower Parel 


Best Bengali Food? 

Oh Calcutta is on my list – how much advance book does one have to do?

Me: Oh Calcutta, Tardeo, just mention my name. Joking, you don’t need to book in advance. They are active on their Facebook page and you can write in over there

I would also recommend Calcutta Club, outside Oshiwara Police Station for a budget Bengali home food experience and Hangla for mutton roll

Best Experience Restaurant?

Just trying to figure out a nice place for a 1 on 1 date with Kelly. Indian food or Western is fine… unless absolutely ridiculous (>$500), price is not a variable.

Me: Slightly old school, but Thai Pavillion President. I don’t know how posh you are looking at but we quite like Yellow Tree, Bandra. Mid range Italian. Not a vast menu. But the ground floor is very relaxed and cosy


Best Vada Pao? 

I can always go to the one opposite Churchgate or whatever but if you had a favorite let me know.
Me: Not my thing but quite liked the one at Bandstand, Bandra near Seaside Cafe Recently

Best Kebab Assortment to pack in bulk and take home for drinks? 

Peshawari? Noorani? 

Me: Not the most cost effective for a drinking binge but go to Kakori Roll Centre and pick up the galawit and kakori. I swear by it

So folks jump in with your answers too

9 Comments

Filed under Dear Uncle Knife, Mumbai highs, Oriental, Parsi food - the better half

>Little Dadu. A story from Nowroz Bag, Mumbai’s Oldest Parsi Colony

>

Parsi ‘Colonies’, which dot the older parts of the city, are intrinsic to Mumbai. 
Unlike the ‘stupid fellow’ (my mom in law’s words), from North India on Kaun Banega Crorepati who didn’t know that dhansak is a Parsi dish, most Mumbaikars would have had some exposure to the Parsi community. Some would have known Parsis, or worked in Parsi run companies, met their dates under statues of venerable Parsi gentlemen or lusted after the famous Parsi Laganu Bhonu (wedding feast) . But the Parsi Colonies, hidden behind steep walls, remain a mystery to many.

These colonies were set up by wealthy members of the community to provide charitable housing to fellow Parsis. Today I was at Nowroz Bag. This is Mumbai’s oldest Parsi Colonies. Set up by the Wadia Family who own Bombay Dyeing today.





The set up of the Nowroz Bag would be similar to most other colonies. High walls enclosing the apartment blocks. A play ground for football and other community organised sports. Blocks of buildings. Three to four story tall. Each floor honey sliced into individual flats. Each apartment opening onto common verandas. Each floor linked by stone staircases, ‘uneven’, as Jamshed Adrianvala told us today as he deciphered the plaque at the base of the building we were at. The plaque listed the name of the benefactors of the society. 

The architecture is simple. Neat clean lines. A certain similarity to the look of each building. And yet a place which reeks of character. You looked around and you knew that there were a million stories all around you. 


Stories of people who lived their entire lives over here. Breathing their last breath in the very room they were born. Ninety years back. Of fights over who bought the best fish from the fisher woman. Of elderly parents sitting at the veranda waiting for the postcards from New Zealand and Texas. Of husbands and wives who knew each other as toddlers. The young girl who crossed the little path to move to her new family in the building next door. Of young boys in sadras (traditional Parsi vests) and striped pyjamas learning how to learning how to dismantle a Yezdi bike from their uncles. Of children who married out of the community and never could come back to live there. Of celebrations where every family in the community came together to participate with equal vigour.
(As you can see I have discovered the colour adjust feature of MS Photo Editor)

Today’s post is about one such story.

Today’s post is not about the very tender mutton chops that I had for lunch. Nor is it about the home fried potato chips. Or about the fierce looking and yet delightfully subtle, light and well flavoured chicken curry. It is not about the alcohol soaked heady birthday cakes ordered from model Naheed Cyrusi’s mother. Or the baker’s confusion about whether the cake should say “Happy Birthday Rita” or “Happy Birthday Geeta” .



Today’s post is the story of a man with a big heart. A man who fed seven hungry college girls day in and day out. A man at whose house I had the privilege of eating a couple of times. A man who once would spray Hugo Boss on himself before he went in to fry fish. A man who sits on his stool today and still directs his trusted cooks to conjure some of the most amazing dishes. A man who believes in excess when it comes to hosting. A man who when hospitalised for heart problems calls for mutton curry and rice from home.

Today’s post is about the story of Dadu (Dadi Pastakia). It was his daughter Rita’s birthday  on the 29th. The same day as my mother’s.
Dadu could not come up to the upstairs house where the lunch happened. But he oversaw the cooking, was satisfied that he had over-ordered and then let the party begin. Hoping that Rita’s fiancé, Farhad, would share some of his duties as a host. There is no photo of Dadi Pastakia in this post except one of one year old Dadu. He doesn’t look very different today, close to eighty years later.

This is a story that I won’t attempt to tell. I will leave that to Kainaz, one of the three of the gang of seven who made it back to ‘The Den’ today. So here goes. Keep your handkerchiefs ready boys as you read Kainaz talk about the one and only Dadu. A man she calls ‘The Original Knife’. An association I am proud of after reading this story.




<!–
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:Wingdings;
panose-1:5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0;
mso-font-charset:2;
mso-generic-font-family:auto;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:0 268435456 0 0 -2147483648 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:”Cambria Math”;
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:1;
mso-generic-font-family:roman;
mso-font-format:other;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}
@font-face
{font-family:Calibri;
panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;
mso-font-charset:0;
mso-generic-font-family:swiss;
mso-font-pitch:variable;
mso-font-signature:-520092929 1073786111 9 0 415 0;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{mso-style-unhide:no;
mso-style-qformat:yes;
mso-style-parent:””;
margin-top:0cm;
margin-right:0cm;
margin-bottom:10.0pt;
margin-left:0cm;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:”Calibri“,”sans-serif”;
msofareast-font-family:Calibri;
msobidi-font-family:”Times New Roman”;
msoansi-language:EN-GB;
msofareast-language:EN-US;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
mso-default-props:yes;
font-size:10.0pt;
msoansi-font-size:10.0pt;
msobidi-font-size:10.0pt;
msoascii-font-family:Calibri;
msofareast-font-family:Calibri;
msohansi-font-family:Calibri;}
@page Section1
{size:612.0pt 792.0pt;
margin:72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt 72.0pt;
mso-header-margin:36.0pt;
mso-footer-margin:36.0pt;
mso-paper-source:0;}
div.Section1
{page:Section1;}
–>

Who’s your Dady
“There’s only one man in this world who knows how to make prawn curry and his name is Dady Pastakia. (Editor’s note: ‘WTF’ 🙂 ) I was 18 when I met him. He’s Rita’s dad. Rita’s my friend and she deserves a post of her own. This one’s not about her. 

This one’s about the only man in the world who knows how to make mutton chops and his name is Dady Pastakia.

Within half an hour of meeting him I was richer by a minimum of 2000 calories. Fried potatoes, prawn curry, ghee-laden chapatis, egg something or the other, Pepsi – not made by him, chocolate ice cream – totally made by him. In the next half an hour I learnt that he’s not Dady uncle or Dady ji or Mr Pastakia. He’s Dadu. To me and to all the other six girls who lunched at his home at least four times a week. We were seven of us and he was our Santa Claus of Spices.

We ran to him after exam results and he pacified us by frying fish till the skin crinkled. When fever had wiped out our taste buds he would resurrect them with hot chicken gravy. He knew when one of us had our hearts broken, because that’s when we wouldn’t take a second helping. That one got special attention and the leg piece. 

Ham sandwiches that would end in screams of delight. Eggs only fried in too much butter. Not chocolate. Chocolates…. Cutlets and kebabs worth bunking lectures for. And if any of us got blacklisted for attendance he would come to college as our dad! He would get into character and fire us in front of the principal. Then take us home in his blue dome-shaped fiat and feed us scrambled eggs. 

Many know how to cook, but Dadu knows how to feed. Who was allergic to rice, who couldn’t stand raw onions, who wanted gravy separately, was all noted by him and taken for granted by us. Some of the girls asked him for recipes but I only asked for stories. 

If there is one thing Dadu can do as well as cook, it’s to tell a story. Actually make that two things. To tell a story and to love. Which brings me to talk about  Meher, the love. The wife.
I would run out of English if I tried to tell you how much Dadu loved Meher. She was beautiful, warm and with a temper that would make a sizzler feel like an ice cream. They fought like children. Doors were banged and thousand-rupee worth prawns (in the nineties) were chucked out of the window – some neighbour must have felt very lucky that day. I wasn’t there to see any of this. By the time I met Dadu, Meher was gone. A prolonged illness took away from Dadu, the sugar and salt of his life.

He started cooking only after she died. Why? My guess is to feed and take care of what was left behind of Meher; their daughter Rita.

Meals would often be accompanied by stories of Meher. How she loved this and would have yelled at him for that. I remember once mid-meal Dadu got up and opened what was once her wardrobe. It was intact. Dresses on the hanger, ironed, not musty. Skirts and scarves where the belonged. Her exquisite sarees. Only the most expensive and best for her. She was not his wife. She was his queen. Listening to him talk about her would make me put my spoon down and let the fish get cold.

Today’s Rita’s birthday and we met. Dadu was lying down. Age can defeat a man, or at least try. He sat up with some support from the table, looked at me and said, ‘you can have the prawn curry with chapatis,’ He remembers I am allergic to rice. Even if he forgot that he had actually made chicken curry today. 

I had the chicken curry with chapatis. It was one for the soul.” Kainaz Karmakar




13 Comments

Filed under Anniversaries, Parsi food - the better half, People, photo blogs, South Mumbai, Vintage Bombay

>Do re mee… Veera’s ‘Chicken Dhansak’ from Scratch recipe

>

Ideal Corner’s Dhansak 

I often get queries on Parsi food recipes. People assume that K would be cooking a storm in the kitchen doling out dhansak, sali boti, patrani machhi and so on. Well what comes out of our kitchen is Bengali, Italian, Oriental, occasionally Goan or Coastal but almost never Parsi. Except when we microwave stuff that we have bought from outside. Which, if you read the book ‘Mixed Marriages’, is a very authentic Parsi tradition. There was one short story there where a big part was devoted to how Parsis don’t like to cook at home and depend on dabbas from caterers for food. For the record, food is cooked regularly at my various (parents, uncle, aunts) in laws place . They are Parsis. So hope the BPP doesn’t take away my pulao daal rights for this. By the way K does make one Parsi Dish. It is called sali par eendu (egg on potato straws). Great stuff.

I was stumped when Pree from Toronto asked me for the recipe of Dhansak last night. I had put up Mamma’s (K’s granny’s) dhansak recipe earlier on the blog. There was a catch to that. It involved the use of ready made dhansak masala which I understand might not be easily available worldwide.

That’s when I tapped another Parsi diva, my friend Veera, who lives at Muscat now. Veera had treated me to one of my first dhansaks when I was a hungry immigrant new to Mumbai. Manna for a PG’ite. She obviously doesn’t get dhansak masala at Muscat. But even she warns that you need at least one core masala, Parsi Sambaar masala (not the South Indian one). Still, see if this works for you. This is Veera’s Dhansak recipe in her very own words:

Chicken Dhansak
(For 4 people)

The Dal

6-8 handfuls of Tuvar (toor) dal – soak for about 2 hours

1 Potato/Onion/tomato/pumpkin (small pieces)

Methi Bhaji small one if available ( I make do without)

2 spoons salt

Ginger garlic paste

Wash the soaked dal, add all the above ingredients and water and pressure cook.

The Chicken

Put the pieces of chicken with some ginger garlic paste, jeera, one potato sliced, one tomato (quartered) and salt. Add water, pressure cook.

The Vaghar/Tadka (spice mix)

Saute:

5 cloves of garlic finely chopped

Jeera

Chilli paste both green and red ( About one teaspoon each)

1 spoon Dhana jeera (cumin) powder

1 spoon Parsi Sambhar (essential, especially if you don’t have dhansak powder) – not to be confused with normal sambhar powder….its more like the pickle poweder….

¼ spoon garam masala powder

1 small lump of jaggery

Method:

Once the dal is ready, strain it (Don’t remove the veggies) until it is smooth and thick. Make the vaghar (spice mix) and add the dal to the vaghar and boil. Add the chicken with a little of the soup/ stock, (not the veggies), gives the dal extra flavour and makes it nice and thick (while boiling)….for more spice/sweetness, add jaggery/sambhar powder if necessary.

The Rice:

Fry one onion till brown, add jeera (cumin).

Make normal rice, but add the onion and jeera tadka…also whole spices like cloves, pepper, small bits of cinnamon sticks.

Make a nice cachumber (salad chopped cucumber, tomato and onion with coriander and lime juice) with lemon, add to the dhansak and eat.

Best had after a nice drink and before a long snooze

1 Comment

Filed under Finely Chopped Knights, Parsi food - the better half, Recipes

>Romancing Vintage Bombay on Parsi New Year…. Cafe Samovar, Jehangir Art Gallery

>

 

19th August was the Parsi New Year.

We decided to celebrate it the way Parsis would approve of. By eating with joy and gusto. We chose a place which was not a Parsi restaurant. But situated in a building built by Parsis. As are many other parts of the original business district of South Mumbai.

We went to Cafe Samovar at Kala Ghoda’s Jehangir Art Gallery. The only reason a philistine like me would spend time in an art gallery.

Samovar is an old favourite of the arty crowd and regular hungry souls. It is located in a long veranda by the garden in the art gallery. I had been there when I worked at Nariman Point. Colleagues had strongly recommended the kheema (minced meat) parathas then.

The gentleman in the white shirt and the lady in blue work with me and patiently waited while I clicked photos galore. Photographing Vintage Bombay was an old dream of mine. Managed a part of it thanks to Chinmai and Neha

Close to ten years later the kheema parathas remain as satisfying as ever. Both the thin paratha and the lightly spiced mince stuffing seemed more like home-made stuff than oily restaurant food. The alu (potato) paratha didn’t thrill me. Lacked a bit of salt. The alu stuffing had turmeric and I prefer the whiter stuffing that Banu, our cook, uses for her alu parathas. The surprise of the afternoon was the sprouted moong dal paratha. This healthy high protein paratha had a debauched, degenerate foodie like me purring in delight.

The chicken vindaloo roll was another show stopper. Tasted nothing like vindaloo but I just loved the succulent, juicy chicken stuffing which came in a fiery looking, yet demure, masala mix.

All of this washed down with a rather petite and chirpy sweet lassi. As you guessed, we didn’t see any of the paintings on display.

The walk back to office on a wet afternoon wonderfully captured the magic of Mumbai.

Hawkers selling everything from pictures of deities to porn dvds to pirated books to plastic cutlery, cigarettes, shoes, nameplates, biscuits, fruits, peanuts, Bombay sandwiches, Bombay chaat. Petty commerce surrounded by majestic buildings of yore. Many built by Parsis. Parsi shops and Fire Temples.

So join me and feast on the photos of the Mumbai I fell in love with.

Porn DVDs on one side and Parsi Matrons checking kitchen utensils on the other
This was the landmark given to me for my first office at Mumbai (summer of 96)
Add caption

Kala Ghoda. Fountain. Fort. And the leafy lane leading to my temporary office building. A building blessed by the Goddess Laxmi. The Goddess  of wealth and prosperity. The quirk of fate by which a simple market researcher momentarily occupies the corner office where the man who was once the most powerful man of Indian advertising sat in his heydays.

And yet Mumbai or India is not the tourist hot spot it deserves to be.

The answer perhaps lies in the mysterious columns of pillars on the stretch we walked back. I have often wondered what they were. I checked thoroughly today. No sign plates. So we have to go by the words of  young Chinmai who claims that these columns were part of the original Fort of Mumbai.

Now imagine what Singapore, KL, Bangkok or Istanbul would have done with something similar. And you will get your answer.

11 Comments

Filed under Fort, Kala Ghoda, Mumbai highs, Parsi food - the better half, photo blogs, Vintage Bombay

>Happy bites … Ideal Corner, Fort

>

My last post was about an uber cool five star coffee shop in the suburbs of Goregaon.

This one is about a small Parsi restaurant at Fort at South Mumbai. I am back in Mumbai’s original commercial district for a few months before I return to our office in the suburbs. ‘Back’ as I was based at Fort for my first assignment in Mumbai. Presenting my summer training project.

It was symbolic that we went to a Parsi restaurant on day one. The Parsi community, after all, had a big role in building this area and were leaders of trade in modern India. And yet I am based at an office building now which was thrown open in 1938 by a fellow Bengali, Sjt Subhas Chandra Bose, a fellow alumni from Presidency College. Alumni till he was thrown out of college for booting down the British Principal down the stairs that is.

South Mumbai with its vintage buildings from a bygone era is steeped with nostalgia. It is only fair that our first lunch out was driven by someone’s nostalgia. Rajika, who suggested the place, told us about how Ideal Corner used to be a hole in the wall restaurant. Looked very different then from the Irani Cafe with bright coloured walls and Mario Miranda sketches that we went to on a wet afternoon yesterday. She used to come to Fort to buy art supplies from school on Saturdays. The high point of the trips was going with to Ideal Corner with her dad.

Many years and many coats of orange on the wall later Rajika is still fond of the place. We found out why. 

The dhansaks, chicken and mutton, were both quite authentic and closer to home-made dhnasak. A contrast from what you get at Britannia. Plus you get the raspberry drink here without having to wrestle with the charming octogenarian, Boman Kohinoor, of Britannia.

We ordered sali boti which was fantastic. The mutton was cooked very well and the accompanying curry was very deep and robust. A contrast to the sweeter jardaloo (with figs) sali boti served at other places. They have a daily menu and some fixed items at Ideal Corner. Rajika said that the Chinese (!) here is a nice and quick option too.

Ideal Corner run by Mr Parvez Patel is open only for lunch. Till stocks last.

We wanted cutlets yesterday. But they were over. We wanted rotlis (soft Parsi ghee soaked rotis). Over. I wanted an extra serving of caramelised rice. The very friendly waiter got it for me. I had to wait a while. It was literally fresh from the pan. We decided on caramel custard and mousse for desserts. They were over. We were heartbroken. Wanted to run home and sob into our security blankets. Don’t think the company management would have bought that excuse.

Five of us ate for all or Rs 410 (8 USD) allowing me to very magnanimously pick the tab. And we deserve individual Oscars for the sad faces that we tried to put up for the camera.

It was symbolic that we went to a Parsi restaurant on Wedensday. It was the last day of the Parsi year. Pateti. Times Of India said that you shouldn’t wish people on Pateti as that’s the day Parsis remember and revere the dead.

I asked my  mom in law, a Parsi. She pooh pooh’d this and said that Pateti is a day where you ask for forgiveness for past sins so that you can commit fresh sins. You ask for strength to face the punishments you get for sinning.

That sounds more interesting. Like popping heart pills after eating red meat.

8 Comments

Filed under Fort, Mumbai highs, Parsi food - the better half, South Mumbai, Vintage Bombay

>Mumbai’s Fawlty Towers…. An Irani Cafe Story

>The family legend goes that my dad learnt how to cook Chinese from one of his Chinese patients in the UK in the seventies. That my mother learnt from my father and was one of the first mothers in Calcutta to make Chinese in the eighties. Twenty years later I began cooking Chinese based on memories of what I remembered seeing her do back home. Tonight I made my trademark (chicken sausage) hakka noodles. It was the last night of her visit to Mumbai. She asked for seconds.

Thought that I must write a light post after my whining last night. Thanks to all of  you who wrote in after that. Lapped in all the sympathy. Almost as effective as Monica’s cookies and box of tissues (I must have watched each episode of FRIENDS for a minimum of five times).

Remember those times when you go to a restaurant and gnash your teeth because of bad service? Promising never to return?

Well consider yourself lucky that you didn’t go to an ‘Irani’ Cafe in Mumbai. Irani Cafes were run by ‘Iranis’, Zoroastrians originally from Iran. Not all ‘Iranis’ are Zoroastrians. Some are Muslims too. However the Cafe owners were Zoroastrians.

The Irani Cafes dotted the landscape of South Mumbai in the last century. They were famous for their inexpensive food, distinctive Irani chai or tea, brun maska (crusty bread with butter) and kheema pao (mince curry with bread). Round wooden tables with chequered tablecloths and quaint Goldilocks wooden chairs were core to these restaurants. As were eccentric owners with a set of rules which included some the following:

Photo credit: This picture is from an Irani Cafe in  Hyderabad I think. Saw the photo in a number of sites. Here’s one. Hope it’s the original http://www.oddee.com/item_96471.aspx

Almost like living with your parents huh? There are still a few Irani Cafes left in Mumbai. But their numbers are diminishing.

Well Kainaz’s mama was at our place today. He started telling us about an incident which happened in an Irani Cafe he had visited. It was quite funny and I made him write it down as the original dialogues were in Parsi Gujarati. You will get the beauty of it if you understand Gujarati and the essence of it if you understand Hindi. I will try to bring this story to you in English. I hope that it doesn’t get lost in translation. And I hope that I deciphered his scrawl properly.

This happened sometime in the seventies or eighties. In an Irani Cafe in South Mumbai’s Fort District. We don’t know the name of the Cafe. But it was a place which employees of The Central Bank of India used to frequent.

It was early evening. A break after a slow and sultry afternoon at work. A few moments snatched with friends over a cuppa chai before heading home. All the tables under the slowly whirring ceiling fans were occupied. There was a muted hush of conversation enveloping the place.

Suddenly a jovial shout broke the still comfort of the Cafe.

“Behram chai ma khandaj nathi” (Behram there is no sugar in the tea)

Behram, the owner of the Cafe, continued looking at the cash box, counting coins.


“Behram, samjhaich ke? Chai me khandaaj nathi” (Behram, did you hear me? There is no sugar in the tea. )

Behram looked out towards the entrance. Oblivious to the strange phrase, ‘customer service’.

The customer got up and walked to the till.


“Behram, chai ma khandaj nahin” (By now even you know what this means)

Behram looks up at the big bulbous Parsi nose pointed at his face.

“Main tumhe bulaiya? Ke aaa, maari dukan ma chai piye jaa? Tum tara mere aai pagathiya chadiya aayechh. Aaj koine kaai complaint nathi. Baddha chup chap chai peene chali giya. Koi kai bolta nahin. Tamune kai kai nakhra sujechh…. (he takes a breath) kaun jaane tara bairi tara saathe kem rahta hose? Chhe ke haju taare saathe, ke chorhine naasi giyechh?”

(Did I call you? Did I say, come to my shop and drink tea? You are the one who climbed the steps and came. Today there are no complaints. Everyone’s quietly drunk their tea and gone. No one said anything. What are these tantrums that you come up with …. God knows how your wife stays with you. Is she still with you or has she eloped and run away)

Guess we can count our blessings the next time our waiter is slow. Or doesn’t smile at us.

We have Freddy Kerawalla to thank for this story from more than thirty years back. A man who discovered Ferrero Rocher for the first time in his life today. And is smitten.

Update: I am pasting this comment from my friend Harshad Rajadhyaksha, a Maharashtrian with the heart of an Irani  Cafe owner and a Bengali Union leader. I had read about this sometime back and thought that this is an interesting peak into the past of Harshad’s beloved Mumbai:

“Kalyan, here’s a little bit of trivia on the Iranis of Bombay, that I had come across a while ago. Apparently, early last century, Bombay was seeing its first crop of ‘block’ buildings, with commercial spaces available at the ground level. While the predominant Gujarati traders lapped up most of these spaces, the prevailing superstition amongst them was that the corner shops, with their ‘goumukhi’ shape (like a cow’s face) were inauspicious for business. So these technically premium places, which gave access to the premises from two streets largely remained unoccupied.

And one community’s superstition was another’s profit. So the Iranis who had come in and were setting up their restaurants couldn’t believe their luck, and lapped up many of these building corner shops.

So even today, so many of Bombay’s remaining Irani cafes are found on building corners!”

10 Comments

Filed under Icons, Mumbai local, Parsi food - the better half, South Mumbai

>Mamma’s daal: Dhansak Recipe

>

Dhansak is arguably the most famous Parsi dish. Yet you will never get it in a Parsi Wedding or navjote or other happy feasts. For it is a funeral dish. So your best hope to get an authentic dhansak is to get invited to a Parsi house. The thing with Dhansak is that it takes four hours and a granny’s love and patience to cook it.

This is my wife’s granny’s dhansak recipe. The Late Manijeh Kerewalla, known as Mamma in the family. Suitably customised for Modern Times where no one has four hours to cook a dish. We got the recipe from her son who wrote it down for us. He also gave us a treasure trove recently. Recipes painstakingly written down by Mamma with her own hands. Yellowing, crumbling sheets of paper which hide a million stories within them.

Ingredients for Mamma’s Dhansak Daal,:

·         Toor daal : 125 g
·         1 small brinjal
·         1 piece of pumpkin
·         1 chopped onion
·         1 large potato cut into cubes
·         1 teaspoon methi seeds
·         1 teaspoon dhan jeera masala or Dhansak masala
·         1 teapoon turmeric powder
·         1 teaspoon chilly powder
·         1.5 teaspoon ginger garlic paste
·         Salt
·         1 teaspoon pepper powder
·         1.5 teaspoons butter
·         2 tablespoons chopped coriander leaves
Process:
·         Wash and soak the toor daal for half an hour in two cups of water
·         Put all the spices,  and the vegetables in it
·         Put the mixture in a pressure cooker and cook on a high flame till there are three whistles. Put it on low flame for half an hour after that
·         Open the cooker when it cools and the steam is released
·         Add a bit of water to loosen the daal and mash it with a spoon (only the mutton pieces should remain whole)
·         Add pepper powder and coriander leaves and let the mixture simmer for five minutes. Stir gently so that no lumps are formed
·         Add the butter or ghee on top of the dal, shut the gas and keep the dhansak covered for five minutes so that all the flavours infuse in
This should be had with rice caramelised with deep fried onion  
PS: Traditional dhansak has mutton in it. You can cook some mutton and add it to the dal when you take it out of the cooker.

 
Talking of grannies, this is what Siti of Malaysia had to say in a conversation at  the Finely Chopped Facebook Page 

Siti Nurkiah Denni hey ^^..
whoa.. u did try it! the curry xD
well, mostly our curry slightly different from ur country of course =)
im good on cooking the curry. i learn from my mum and grandma.. they know everything from cooking to baking..
sadly, my grandma already passed away and i dont have chance to dig her knowledge about cooking…..

And further when I told her about my granny in Calcutta

Siti Nurkiah Denni aww~ dats soo sweet! =)
better take the chance, learn with her,

Thanks Siti, I look forward to going back to your wonderful country in a few days.

By the  way Banu and I made quite a decent dhansak today. Mamma’s grand daughter, Kainaz, approved of it. The colour and consistency looked close to the original. And yet it wasn’t the same.


This is what I instructed Banu to do;

  • Soak 250 g Toor daal in water
  • Put in a  100 g piece of pumpkin and 2,3  peeled small aubergines in the dal and water and put it in the pressure cooker
  • Shut the lid and cook on high till there are three whistles
  • Let it simmer on a low flame for ten minutes
  • Take it out and blend the mixture in the Mixer Grinder
What follows from here was a deviation from Mamma’s recipe and as per the instructions on the pack

  • Heat a tablespoon of chopped onion in oil
  • Add the dal to this, two tablespoons of Dhansak masala (which you get at grocers at Mumbai) and a tablespoon of salt
  • Let it cook for five minutes
  • Add some chopped coriander leaves, cover with a lid and close the flame
Banu later told my Mom that she used to cook dhansak for ‘Parsi Aunty’ in our building. The recipe she described was similar to Mamma’s… boil at one go version. This octogenarian, Freni Irani or Parsi Aunty, is very ill and in a hospital. Do keep her in your prayers.


We had this with fried surmai or king fish. Mamma would have approved. My mom, who is visiting us from Calcutta, liked it too




6 Comments

Filed under Parsi food - the better half, Recipes

>Adding gloss to Finely Chopped: Food and Nightlife Magazine

>

No, I am not trying to increase the eyeballs on the blog. Finally got hold of the Mumbai launch edition of the Food and Nightlife Magazine at a stall in front of Pot Pourri at Turner Road. Sorry, Lemon Grass.

I am a child of the seventies. Seeing one’s name on an eBook on a Kindle or an I Pad doesn’t compare with the thrill of seeing it in a good old glossy. The last time I was so excited to see a magazine was when a guy in school had got his collection of a magazine whose name we don’t mention in mixed company.

Food and Nightlife Magazine is an eight month old Delhi based magazine. They just launched their Mumbai edition in May. I was a bit flustered when they contacted me. I explained that I stepped out of ‘Nightlife’ when I entered the Marriage Registrar’s office earlier in the decade. An article on the hotspots on 1999 might be a bit out of place.

Well, that’s the genesis of ‘Mumbai Marinated’. My attempt to look at the cultural roots of Mumbai through its restaurants. A personal journey I must admit. Not to be taken as the Wiki Truth.

Can’t read it? Here’s the link to May e – magazine . Skip the picture of the skimpily clad lady and go to page 32. The article’s there. Or better still, I have pasted the text here. The magazine article reads marginally different after editing.

                           Mumbai Marinated

I have lived in Mumbai for more than a decade now. And I am still floored by the city. Where else would you find a city which is so welcoming? Which is such a mix of cultures and identities? So warm and lively? It is like a fantastic Indian curry made with a mix of unique spices which combine together into one heady experience.

The city’s food scene reflects this. You have Sushi Bars coming up. Lebanese Shwarmas have become a street corner favourite. International wi fi enabled coffee shops, such as the one I am writing this article from, are springing up all over.

But how did it all start? Was Mumbai always so ‘cosmopolitan’? A walk around Central and South Mumbai would give you a peek into the city’s origins. And there’s no better way to experience it than through its food. So let’s take a look at what fed the early settlers here.

You should start at Dadar or Central Mumbai to have a taste of Maharashtrian food. Maharashtians form the largest community in Mumbai. Dadar is dotted with Gomantak seafood joints serving the fiery, coconut based seafood dishes typical of coastal Mumbai.

The newly opened Purepur Kolhapur near Portuguese Church gives a whole new insight into Maharashtrian food. This offers food from the landlocked regions of the state. Very different from the usual coastal fare. Mutton and chicken form the core here. It is worth trying out for the interesting spice mixes in their dishes. Try the Dhangari chicken or mutton for a taste of rough, earthy tribal masalas. Or the mutton fry for a very delectable cut of meat. And if you find it too spicy then there is the chicken stock and coconut milk based Pandhara Rasa to cool down with.

Travel southwards from Dadar and you will come across the snaking J J flyover which transports you straight into the southern tip of the city. Skip the bridge and go underneath it to head to some of the original Muslim quarters of the city. One of the most famous restaurants here is Noor Mohammadi. Their shammi kebabs are legendary. As is their ‘Chicken Sanju Baba’ named after Munnabhai. You can combine this trip with a detour to Chor Bazar and pick up old film posters and other curios. Check out Suleman Mithaiwala for colourful, deep fried sweets. The malpuas, rabdis and aflatoons are custom made for hearty eaters with mighty hearts.

The areas under the JJ flyover, such as Mohammed Ali Road, really come alive during Ramzan. Kebab stalls on the road in between hawkers selling new clothes and shoes, teeming multitudes, mithai shops opposite biriyani counters … enough to make an intrepid food traveller lick his chops in anticipation. Sarvi near Nagapada Police Station offers melt-in-the-mouth beef kebabs which you can polish off with rotis and parathas through the year, well beyond Ramzan.

None of these options are for the faint hearted though. The restaurants here are not for those who prefer to stick to the safety of antiseptic American food chains when they travel. Most of the restaurants here are grimy, non air conditioned places with more colour and character than cleanliness.

If lots of meat and dust isn’t your scene then head to Girgaum in a direction parallel to Md Ali Road. This is a Gujarati dominant area. Walk into any of the Gujarati ‘Thali’ places here. These restaurants are clean, air conditioned, vegetarian, more expensive… everything that the restaurants of Mohammed Ali Road aren’t. The operation here is simple. You sit down. A smiling waiter dressed in a traditional attire clangs down a stainless steel plate on the table with tiny stainless bowls on them. They come to your table with Star Trooper like regularity filling your plate with farsan or salty snacks, rotis and puris, and bowls full of curries and daals which get replenished the moment you look up from your plate. The waiters would be by your side doling out rice and ghee, pulao or khichdi followed by a range of sweets before you could say ‘kemchho’ or ‘how are you’ in Gujarati . This barrage of food comes at a fixed price and requires an expandable waistline. A particular attraction in summer would be aamras. The delectable local dessert made with the pulp of Alphonso mango. As any Mumbaikar will tell you, there is no mango in the world which matches the Alphonso. Most would be hard pressed to choose if asked to compare their devotion for Alphonsonso with Tendelya or Sachin Tendulkar.

A couple of good bets for thalis would be Golden Star Thali and Rajdhani near Charni Road Station.

Gujaratis are one of the largest communities in Mumbai after the Maharashtrians. Then you have the Parsis. This fast diminishing community makes up in sheer presence what it lacks in numbers. Parsis were one of the leading ‘native’ communities during the British rule of India and played a big role in making Mumbai the commercial hotspot that it is. South Mumbai is full of statues of Parsi entrepreneurs and philanthropists, Parsi Fire Temples and lots of old Parsi buildings with Parsi names.

Old Mumbai was famous for its ‘Irani’ Cafes. The Iranis, like the Parsis are Zoroastrians, who had come to India from Iran. They were quite active in the restaurant business. Irani cafes were known for their distinctive round tables, chequered table cloths, iconic dishes such as brun maska and chai, their surly no nonsense owners and their cats. Most of the Irani Cafes have closed down now. But you can still go to one of them, Cafe Britannia, at Ballard estate. This two-storied restaurant is run by the amicable octogenarian Mr Boman Kohinoor and his family. Don’t be lulled by the walls with peeling paint and the lack of air conditioning. It is a reasonably expensive place. They don’t accept cards. It is an extremely popular restaurant and tables are at a premium during the lunch hour. Landmark dishes here include mutton sali boti, beri pulao, mutton cutlets and patrani machhi. Try to convince Mr Kohinoor to part with his stock of raspberry, the red aerated drink core to Parsi wedding feasts. It’s worth it. Chilled caramel custard would be a nice way to end the meal.

Britannia is only open during lunch and shut on Sundays.

You could also head to Cafe Mocambo near Bombay Stores at Fort for Parsi food. Unlike Britannia this is air conditioned and has a bar too if you need a beer to beat the heat. They serve fairly tasty Parsi dishes here. Cheaper than Britannia. The dhansak and brain cutlets here are pretty good. There are two catches though. First, the Parsi dishes are only available during lunch hour. Second, the Parsi menu is often hidden behind the more expensive continental menu.

A trip to Colaba Causeway would of course take you to Leopold made famous by Shantaram. Well, technically it is an ‘Irani’ restaurant. But it is more popular for enormous pitchers of beer and the buzz of tourists from all over the globe, than for its Parsi food. The food here is indifferent. Though, its beef chilly fry still has many devotees.

A walk further up Colaba will lead you to Martins near the old Strand Cinema. It is one of the few really good Goan restaurants in Mumbai. Surprising, given the number of Goans in Mumbai and given Goa’s proximity to Mumbai. Martins is a hole in the wall, non air conditioned place, with a beef steak fry with onions to die for. Try out the Goan sausage fry here. Goan sausages are a pungent, pickled delight which stands out from its pale, pink cousins from the Western world of sausages. They serve a fairly good pork vindaloo too. Don’t be put off by its austere looks, five Spartan tables and simple seating. The food here is the sort which people keep coming back to.

It would be wrong to say that Mumbai was built just by Maharashtrians, Gujaratis, Parsis, Goans or Muslims and other locals. It was once a Biritsh city after all. So head back to Colaba Causeway and step into Cafe Churchill for fish and chips from good Old Blighty. This is a small but extremely popular continental restaurant run by the same Parsi couple, Dolly and Polly Mistry, who run Mocambo. The prawn Newberg pasta and Sausage in Firecracker Sauce are our favourites here. Their dessert counter and its cheesecakes are legendary. I am a slave to their gooey chocolate cake.

Theobroma, run by the new generation of Parsis, is situated opposite Churchill. They serve some of the best brownies in the world. Pastries, sandwiches, cookies, cupcakes and chocolates; the shop is straight out of Hansel and Gretel. But if I were you, I would focus my energy on their vast range of brownies.

Or you can skip the allures of the Raj and continue on your ethnic trail. Go to the Sindhi restaurant Kailash Parbat in the alley beside Theobroma. Eat some hot jalebis, gajar halwa and gulab jamuns to have a nice sweet Indian ending to your journey. While you are there you could try to get hold of some ghee filled Sindhi sins such as dal pakhwan, ragda pattice, kadhi pakora and chana bhature. You only live once after all.

And this is just the beginning of what Mumbai has to offer. South Mumbai is a good place to begin your discovery of Mumbai as you follow the evolution of the city. Believe me, there is enough here to keep you well fed during your discovery of Mumbai.

So that’s Mumbai. My adopted home. The capital of Maharashtra. A city which welcomes folks from neighbouring states. And from the rest of India. Home to Parsis and Sindhis who left their countries in search of home. And to expats who fly across today’s migratory world. A city where all blend in leaving behind their food trail. Rich and well flavoured. Relished by all.

10 Comments

Filed under Conti, Food musings, Heritage, Icons, Indian food, Mumbai highs, Mumbai local, Parsi food - the better half, South Mumbai

>Alice in Parsi-land …. Navroze Dinner, Parsi Gymkhana

>

The family finally met up up at the Parsi Gymkhana for dinner on Navroze on 21st evening. Parents in law, mama, masi, K and me. Reached the Gymkhana on Marine drive after a never ending drive from home, picking up the in laws on the way.

The Gymkhana consisted of a narrow club house and an open field on which the festivities happened. There was a nice tableaux inside of the Prophet and other auspicious and religious symbols.



As you can see below, the lawns were packed with happy and boisterous Parsis. Not that there are any other kind. At the fag end, by the club house ,were a group of enthusiastic dancers who didn’t need any cajoling to jive. There was a M C dressed in formal office wear. Typical announcements were:

“There are three winners of the guess the weight of the cake contest”

Keki where are you? Are you in the toilet?”

“The first one to come to the dance floor wins a … ” (we never got to know what as the M C was knocked down by people running on to dance)

“Since there are three winners of the guess the cake contest, one will get the cake while the other two will get five hundred Re vouchers at the Bar Night next Friday”

(Wry, timid Bengali heckler, “you mean there is some night which is not a bar night?”)

I walked towards the food counter. Was fascinated to see people frying fish at the buffet itself. Fish vindaloo, saas ni machhi, chicken farcha, cashew chicken, mutton pulao daal, faluda, muttton batiya, tawa fried rawas … I didn’t care if they didn’t start the fire but this looked like one heck of a feast.

Which is when I chanced upon the caterer and head chef of the evening, in the red shirt, who seemed to have a Gordon Ramsay thing going. He snubbed a few pensioners who came for their dinner saying that dinner would be served only at 9.30 PM. “It is written in the pass”, he stressed. And then he bounced on from counter to counter exhorting his team, charging them on, yelling and screaming, trying to instill a sense of the occasion. He was a man who was born to lead in the best traditions of aapro Sam Maneckshaw.

The buffet was finally declared open and hoards of festive but hungry Parsis launched on the festive feast. I knew when I was out numbered and quietly waited for my turn. “Soon it will be Durga Puja,” I thought, “we’ll see who is at the front of the queue of the Mughlai Paratha shop then.” Evil, not too loud, laughter.



So how was the food? Vegetarian Mama (in white) went to see if there was anything for him. After all he could see fish being fried. Not potatoes or cheese. Turned out he had the last laugh. He was the only one in the group who really enjoyed his food. A rare occurrence for a vegetarian in a meat loving community’s banquet.



The expression on my pa in law’s face showed how the rest of us felt. I felt blessed that I was too stuffed from lunch to be able to eat.



But then as I say, food is not just about food. Festive dinners are occasions for people to get together and often that’s the high point. Baah, who am I kidding? We all wished the food was better. But still …



I particularly loved the picture below of Mom in Law and Mama, her elder brother, at the buffet. I wonder if they would ever have thought that they would celebrate Navroze together in faraway Mumbai, when they were growing up in Surat.



Wonder how uncle and niece celebrated Navroze a couple of decades back … do we ever grow old enough for our family elders?

Or that one day there would be a Bengali from the East Coast at their table on Navroze? Even if he sat at an edge of the table with an escape route kept clear?



Here’s a look at the food.


Starter: salty mutton samosas, prawn kebabs with a sole shrimp in each and bland potato balls.

My first serving of fish was a washout. The saas ni machhi (fish in white sauce) was as limp as it looks. The fried fish was salty and rubbery too. The dal (brown liquid on rice in the photo) wasn’t a patch on the afternoon’s. This is the point at which my parents in law gave up on the dinner.

The second round of mutton batiya (brown meat curry) was slightly better. The pulao paled in comparison to lunch. The fried potatoes which we took from the cashew chicken station were cold. As was the rest of the food. Did I say that I am not too fond of buffets as a genre?



The entertainment didn’t end there. We went to the dessert counter for faloodas.

There were no glasses. The crowd was getting restless. An elderly lady came timidly and ‘asked for more’ like Oliver Twist. She was shoo’d away by the boys at the counter till a young Bawi gave up her coupon so that this granny who had strayed by herself could get a second helping of the falooda.

Here’s the gist of what I heard our caterer mutter, ‘These Parsis! You can feed them all they want. One thing is late and they won’t keep quiet. They don’t care that the kitchen is somewhere. The place to wash is somewhere else. The boys are somewhere else ….. “.

Thankfully the blessed glasses appeared and the unappetising dessert was served to the belligerent diners. A riot was avoided.

We finally drove off. Not before my mother from Calcutta admonished her thirty something son for driving ‘so late at night’ on phone when I called her.

So if any Parsi feels offended that I took a light hearted look at the auspicious evening then please my feeble jibe at my own kind. And once again, Navroze Mubarak.


And if the caterer wants to slap a case for libel, then the picture below announces the table I belonged too. And my response would be, “You mess with me, you mess with the family”

(Godfather theme music fades out).