Flurys Paradiso .... Calcutta live

Day 2 in Calcutta was a quiet one.

Went through our Swiss albums with Mom and was thrilled to see that we had photos at the same spots at Geneva and Lucerne (the fountain, the UN Building, the Red Cross Museum, Lucerne bridge) as we had from this time's holiday. Mom and I compared the sepia pics versus the new digicam ones. Quite an experience. That trip too was in September like this year's. I was six months old then.

Read this excerpt from my Mom's notes '4th September 1974 'Went to Schilthorn by cable car - longest cable car in the world - had coffee and cake at Piz Gloria's - mountain tops covered with snow - Raja ( aka The Knife) had a great time with the girls in the restaurant.

All I can say in my defence is that I was not married then.

Afternoon lunch and nap at granny's.

Evening saw a feisty blogger and friend, Scarlett, and me at Flurys Park Street in search of a non Coffee Day coffee. We finished off the sugary, buttery, earthy rum balls and chocolate cubes of Flurys. But the hit of the evening was the Legally Blonde 'strawberry cube' bright, sweet, chirpy ... S had one tentative bite and then many more.

The first cup of coffee was tepid but the second was piping hot as requested. As you can imagine I am wide awake after the two cuppas. Nothing like the bitter manly brews of Switzerland. Though I did appreciate the knowledge and passion of the person taking our order.

An evening which began with the thrill of taking a Metro from the new station outside my home and ended with a lovely nutton roll at Hot Kati Roll at Park Street.

It was also a day when a 82 year old lady said I had put on weight while a twenty nine year old said I had lost weight.

Oh, and if you thought I took a lot of pics while eating, then see this from a generation back, Switzerland, September, but 1974.

A fresh look at life ... Benjarong, Calcutta Live

If you read my blog then you will know that I am fairly old school and am a sucker for nostalgia.

I am at Calcutta right now. A city which to me stands for old favourites such as the Fish a la Diana and Devilled Crabs of Mocambo, Lindsay Street Phuchkas, Biriyani from Shiraz, Zeeshan or Nizam, egg rolls from Bedwin, rum balls and lemon tarts from Flury's, chicken envelopes from Cookie Jar and Mukhorochak Diary.

I normally come with a tried and tested 'must eat' list.

My bother who is eight years younger than me has discovered the city in his own way and comes up with new places which an old timer like me takes time to get used to. He is also a big host and has taken us to a number of new places in Calcutta. My version of Simon Majumdar's elder brother, The Great Salami who would often treat Simon to great meals.

The latest being at Benjarang, the Thai restaurant, at the South City Mall. I must say that the food was very authentic. Benjarang was a pleasant discovery for me. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.

The ambience was classy, spacious and yet cosy. The restaurant was divided into many sections and the decor was reminiscent of the magnificent old Thai capital of Authaya. And for once there was enough light for me to take good food photos without the flash.

The service was quite good. The person taking our order insisted that one main dish would be enough between me mom, brother and I. He had a point of view which I like and which I rarely see in restaurants. I didn't subscribe to his stand of red curry with chicken and green with prawn. I believe in the reverse but admired him for his principles.

The complimentary starter was quite unique. Chopped condiments such as peanuts, ginger, honey, onions, bird's eye chillies, lemons wrapped in a leaf. A Thai tribute to the city of the Calcutta Paan (betel leaf).

I started with a tom yum soup where they got the flavour and texture just right. The spice was tempered down for non Thai palates. The prawns were brilliantly fresh. Wish the soup was hotter though.

They passed my first test of authenticity when they got me a fish sauce on request. We will forgive them the lack of chopped red bird's eye chillies.

The prawn satays that followed were a work of art that Rabindranath Tagore would have approved off. The juicy, flirty prawn in a calming, faintly sweet and lovable honey marinade was sheer culinary poetry.

The satays set the stage for the green curry. Like a good 24 carat diamond the colour, consistency and clarity of the curry were just right. The flavours were well balanced. The salt was perfect. The chicken was supple. And as recommended, a curry and rice were just right for three good eaters. By the way, the curry passed my second test of authenticity, it had Thai Birnjals.

Benjarong is a treat for anyone who likes real Thai food. It matches up with the Thai Pavillion of Mumbai and at half the cost.

This definitely enters my Calcutta 'must eat' list.

Going with a big hearted host who refused to let me pay added many wonderful layers to the treat.

Of loss of appetite and a drinking problem ... with agent J at the Yacht Club

Some of my friends were a bit concerned when the saw my status on Facebook a fcouple of days back ... 'big dinner in club pet bherri full (tummy's very full)'. Aaw they said. 'How can a full tummy came in the way of a great dinner for you?'

Well I was quite stuffed after the Kamling lunch. And our host for dinner was Jamshed Adrianvala, one of the most generous hosts that mankind has ever known. He had invited us to The Royal Bombay Yacht Club.




I have earlier written about some of the gala dinners that we have had here. Well this night was when we binged on the starters.


We started off with Eggs Kejriwal, named after a Club patron who had conjured it ... fried egg on slice of cheese on toast served with chopped fiery green chillies.



Then a favourite, ham sandwich, not just any ham, but 'Club Ham' which is as juicy as a Somerset Maugham classic, redolent of British greens and evening tea parties.

Cheese chilly toast where the cheese is grilled along with chillies on the toast leaving a nice warm welcoming feeling in your mouth followed.

Chicken lollipops with chicken fried in a ballgown of crisped batter ... a ballet of crunchy music, a primordial pleasure. Accompanied by a sinful Schezwan sauce ...scrunch, scrunch, munch.

Bullet-like cocktail sausages with a lovely English mustard

We had all of these and then Jamshed Uncle felt we hadn't had enough!!! After much prodding I called for the piece the resistance, salt and pepper prawns, the most succulent prawns, fresher than a stable boy, wonderfully flavoured, talked off for ages after being eaten.

Chocolate ice cream and then we drove home.

Post script: I got a call early at 8.30 the next morning. It was Jamshed Uncle who felt that I had not eaten enough!!! He was extremely concerned and I had to convince him hard that I was stuffed to my gills the previous night. After which he wanted to discuss my 'drinking problem' ... and before you get me the number of the local A A, let me clarify that he was referring to the fact that I did not drink at the Club as I had to drive home. And this apparenlty happens every time we meet and needs to be rectified.

I will drink to that.

Enter the dragon... Kamling, Churchgate

Kamling belongs to an era when Chinese food in India stood for Cantonese food cooked by Chinese settlers here. And Chinese was the only international cuisine which found some favour amongst the more intrepid of Indian restaurant patrons.

This was before Nelson Wang fried chicken in gram flour batter with coriander leaves and invented what he called a 'barbarian' dish called Manchurian Chicken. Before Indian Chinese that is. (Source: Vir Sanghvi's 'Rude Food').

We went to Kamling after years yesterday. Kamling is on the road which connects Churchgate to Marine drive and includes Pizzeria, Not just Jazz by the Bay, Shiva Sagar, Mocha and the Ambassador Hotel as its neighbours.

You enter the restaurant and are greeted by the decor typical of Chinese owned restaurants across the world - dim lights, lamps, red walls, dragons, heavy wooden furniture, Chinese proprietors - straight out of the Bruce Lee Hong Kong Kung Fu films of the seventies. The Hollywood technicolour interpretation of Chinatown and the world behind the bamboo curtain then.

The decor smacked more of the Chinese restaurants of Calcutta, a city with its own Chinatown, than the Sindhi and South Indian Chinese places of Mumbai.

The food was quite different too. Reminiscent of 'Calcutta Chinese' rather than the Indian Chinese of Mumbai best exemplified by 5 Spice.

The food was ethereal and had me oohing and aahing in nostalgic ecstasy.

Salt and pepper prawns - medium sized prawns fried in a yellowish batter, mildly flavoured. That's it no onion, chopped garlic, nothing. Reminiscent of the 'prawn balls' of the Chinese restaurants of yore. Different, in a quirky way, from standard prawn preparations in most 'Chinese' places here.

A heavenly roast pork with onions - exquisite thin slices of pork, tender as one's first love, with little wisps of pork fat flapping like a baby elephant's ears ... skipping happily in your mouth with each bite. It rested in a very faint, sweetish sauce which bonded, rather than overpowered, the meat. Little bites of fried onion to satisfy vegetarian guilt pangs. The Last Emperor would have approved.

The hakka noodles were nice and firm with a point of view unlike the limp and cold hakka noodles served in most local restaurants.

The mixed fried rice was just like the rice I had in two Chinese run places in Switzerland and at Sadri's at Langkawi. It was well flavoured, looked brownish thanks to soy sauce. Different from the pale white insipid fried rice in most Indian 'Chinese' restaurants which are engineered to call for a side dish. And it had peas (!) and some lovely chopped sweet pork bits.

The verdict? Two of us ex Calcuttans loved the food. The third, a pure bred Bombayite, maintained a polite silence.

Kamling would thrill those who loved the Chinese cuisine of the eighties, the thirty plus generation which has grown up on shades of authentic Chinese food. A bit of an anchronism for youngsters who have grown up on Indian masala Chinese though.

The prices were slightly higher than the local favourite, 5 Spice, main course at Rs 265 - 300 (5 - 6 USD) and noodles/ rice Rs 150 - 190 (3-4 USD). Quantities a lot less.

PS: Read Vir Sanghvi's book Rude Food for more on the evolution of Indian Chinese

And the belly danced in joy... Souk, Taj Mahal Hotel, Mumbai

I am all for the women's lib movement. Especially the part about women footing the tab. And who could complain when his wife treats him to an exquisite five star dinner on their anniversary?

We closed our eight anniversary on the 22nd with dinner at Souk, the restaurant at the top of the Taj Mahal Hotel at Colaba. Souk wasn't on my radar till I recently read about it on Gaurav's post on Metrotwin Mumbai. We are fond of Mediterranean food and Gaurav's description of Souk' view won me over.

The view was as promised. The Gateway of India looked like something out of the Arabian Nights from the top of the Taj. It was bathed in golden light and looked like a work of art. The photo doesn't do justice to the experience of sitting at the top looking onto the Gateway of India and the ships floating behind it lighting up the dark.

The decor was minimalist. An interesting scheme of blue lights, reminiscent of the Islamic art of the Ottoman Empire and the odd Turkish lamp hanging in the corner. The food was from Turkey, Iran, Morocco and Syria. Two of their chefs are from Morocco and Syria respectively.

The evening started with one of the staff explaining the sauces on the table. A practice which I saw in The Thai Pavillion across the road at The Taj President. The sort of thing that leaves you with a peaceful easy feeling of a lovely meal on the anvil. You know that you are in the hands of experts who understand and appreciate food.

And the food was stellar stuff. Unique and authentic and kept taking us back to our holiday at Turkey last year and the whiff of Lebanese food that we had at Dubai last month.

We started with a mezze sampler. We took two cold mezzes - a creamy hummus with chopped, fried lamb bits ... moist and crunchy ... and a samte tartare (cold baked fish in a stiff, salty dip) an electrifying taste which woke up your senses. The sharpness was too much for K though I loved it. We had a lamb kibbe for the hot mezzes. A distant cousin of the mutton chop of Calcutta. And some lovely steamed prawns to go with it. Juicy as a priceless oil well.

The only grouse was just two slices of gossamer thin and light pita bread to go with these gems.

Far our main course we had huge, though slightly stiff, prawns in a pesto marinade. We had this with a 'Souk Pulao'. This was made with thick rice, similar to Keralite brown rice, caramelised onions and dry fruits. The Maitre d warned me that it would be on the sweet side but I quite enjoyed the combo of the subtle prawns and the fruity rice.

We followed dinner with chocolate b'stilles. A Turkish Delight apparently. A very thin, sugar dust coated pastry flake stuffed with the richest chocolate with the sudden burst of twang. Sheer poetry in desserts. Sweet memories which only an anniversary can live up to.

Souk was refreshingly different and memorable. The food was superlative and stayed with you well after dinner was long gone. Each bite was a Whirling Dervish of culinary devotion and ecstasy. The service was polite, warm, courteous and knowledgeable. So rare in Mumbai today.

We would definitely like to go back someday.

A dinner for two without alcohol would cost around Rs 3500 or 70 USD, not very different from a meal from a mid to upper end restaurant in Mumbai.

'There is nothing better than butter' ... Julie and Julia

I just watched Julie and Julia. And, scarily enough, loved the film and empathised with many moments in the film.

From Julia's attempts to decode the French cook books and my recent struggles with the Swiss sauce packets to her ecstatic visits to the Parisian local markets, reminiscent of the little markets that we saw in Lucerne and Berne. The rhapsodies on butter. Julie's deifying Julia and my altar to Tony Bourdain. Julie's blogging night after night, wondering who read her blog. The thrill of the first comment. And better still, the first comment from someone she didn't know. Wondering just how much of her life to share. Her secrets known by her boss at work. Living a second life into the wee hours of the morning. Fielding questions such as 'but who reads your blog'. Explaining what blogs mean to mothers and others from the brick and mortar world. The dreams of writing books. The encouraging spouses. The breath of fresh air from blogging. Surreptitious glances at strangers the day Julie's interview came out in the papers. The rich colours of red meat. The cheese shops. The gushing and encouraging friends. Surreal.

Gosh I need to see a good Bond or Rambo flick soon for self affirmation.

But I would strongly recommend Julie and Julia to any blogger and food lover.

Ironically the snacks we ordered at PVR, Phoenix were lame, specially the bready hot dog and the stuffy samosa ... an insult to the film in which food was a religion. A Hindi film song came on as Julia walked the markets of Paris. Yash Chopra in the projection room? And the projection overshot the screen which was so not done for such expensive seats. But still a lovely film about food, in lazy chairs, with fellow food lovers and (why am I not surprised) a row full of fellow Bengalis discussing plans to meet over fish and mutton soon sitting in front of us and oohing and aahing everytime food was shown on the screen... yes it was a lovely evening at the movies.

Princess Nalli Nihari... A Royal Indian Feast at Gallops, Mumbai

Most landmarks in our family are characterised by food, travel and taking a break from work. Seems like our eight anniversary today is only going to be about food.

We went to Gallops for lunch. Gallops is really a special occasion place with its old world charm and exceptionally good service. Chandeliers, leather backed chairs, high ceilings, heavy wooden doors and waiters who keep an eye open to ensure that your side dish doesn't reach you without the main course and that there is a finger bowl by your side the moment you are done with the gravy, all are part of the Gallops experience.

As is staring lazily at the green race course through the boughs of the trees through the huge windows. Gallops is at the famous Mahalaxmi Race Course after all. An oasis of green peace in the middle of the concrete desert of Central Bombay. This is particularly a treat during a wet monsoon afternoon. (And no, you don't have to be a member of the race course to eat here)

Birthday celebrations, Valentine's nights, wedding dinners (and a guest list which didn't reach double digits) ... Gallops has been a big part of our lives together. It was an apt place to go to for our anniversary. Shared memories. And new discoveries. And wonderful food as always. A good suggestion from the wife.

And I am not speaking metaphorically when it comes to new discoveries. Gallops earlier meant continental highlights such as prawn thermidor (A MUST HAVE), liver pate, batter fried prawns, roast pork and double chocolate deserts to us.

And then we discovered the Indian fare at Gallops. If the continental dishes are sublime then the Indian fare here is regal and epic.

The shammi kebabs are definitely the best in town. They take time to come to your table, especially for a starter but are worth every minute of the wait. Juicy, mushy, squishy ... Mills and Boons meets a gossip rag.

And then there is the nalli nihari. A dish which I strongly think should be brought out on a cavalcade of elephants accompanied by royal pomp and fanfare. It is a dish meant for a Mughal Emperor and not mere mortals like us. Lamb shanks which are huge and yet soft as candy floss, a gentle giant. You get six to a plate and you would need the five Pandavas to finish it... and their half brother Karna too. Three people can make a meal out of this with rotis. It is served in an astonishingly delicate sauce, creamier than the best of silks. We are not too fond of curries in most Indian restaurants in Mumbai. The gossamer gravy of the nalli nihari at Gallops is an exception.

A nice malpua with rabri is a good way to finish an Indian feast here. The malpuas are light, slightly crisp and sweetened just right in a perfect marriage with the milky, calm and cool rabdi. The harmony of crunch and cream.

Note: My trouser waistline wants to put in its two bits and says "you ate too much".

(A main dish, two soft drinks, rotis and a dessert come to Rs 750 odd or 15 USD and is enough for two and the doggy at home)

A Bhai Fota Story ... Kolkata Mumbai Delhi Texas

Raksha Bandhan is an old Hindu tradition where a sister ties a Rakhi around her brother's wrist as the brother pledges to protect her. It's most majestic rendition was when Rajput princesses would tie Rakhis around their brothers' arms as they (the brothers) left to fight the Mughals.

Centuries later Rabindranath Tagore revived this cusotm when the British proposed partitioning Bengal for the first time around 1911.

The Bengali version of a brother sister festival is 'bhai fota'. This happens a couple of days after Kali Puja or Diwali. This is celebrated in other parts of India such as Maharashtra as Bhai Dooj.

In Bhai Fota the sister prays for the well being of her brother. From what I remember the basic specs are as follows:.

Bother and sister sit facing each other on the floor. The sister dips her finger in sandal wood paste and applies a dot/ teeka/ fota on the brother's forehead. This happens thrice with curd and ash from a diya (or kajal/ eye liner???) substituting the sandal wood paste.

While doing this she recites a little ditty which goes something like this In Bengali:

Jomer duare porlo kaata

Jamuna dai bhai ke phota

Aami di amar bhai ke fota

This loosely translates as 'Yamraj, the God of death, is stopped in his tracks as Jamuna gives her brother a fota (teeka) and I give my brother a fota.' This is based on a mythological story which I once knew.

Sweets are exchanged. If the sister is older she blesses the brother who touches her feet and gives him a gift. This is reversed if the brother was older.

Yesterday was bhai fota and I was remembering Pupai, our next door neighbour from Kolkata. We had all moved into our apartments in Kolkata in the mid eighties. We were two brothers at home. And Pupai was an only child with no immediate brother. I was eleven. My brother was three. it's not polite to refer to a young lady's age but I think Pupai was five or six years old.

So our bhai fota ritual started. We hardly missed a year in between. I was elder than Pupai and my brother was younger than her. So we all got gifts.

Her mom would organise the sweets and cook ghoogni, a Bengali chick pea dish, which we really looked forward to. (Turn to another Bong Mom's lovely blog for a recipe of traditional ghoogni).

My Mom would get pastries from Jalajog, the Bengali savoury shop from the Stone Ages, and make 'chow mein'. Very few Bong Mom's would make Chinese at home those days and this was quite a novelty too.

I left Kolkata fourteen years later. Pupai, grew up went to college, went to Delhi and then to Texas. Through her journeys she would find out my email id's and wish me on Bhai Fota.

I hadn't heard from Pupai for a couple of years and I was thinking of writing this post on Sunday. I opened facebook on my phone and suddenly saw a Facebook friend request from a vaguely familiar name. Turned out that it was from Pupai using her grown up name!!! ('Pupai' was her nickname.) She had tracked me out and sent me Bhai Fota wishes all the way from Texas. She's doing her PHD. And I am sure the world is her oyster now.

That message from miles away made my day. I told Pupai to buy a Bhai Fota gift for herself on my behalf.

I guess this post will have to do till we next meet.

Happy bhai fota Pupai.

Caveat: The customs and historical references in this post are based entirely on my memories from a long time back. There could be mistakes and gaps in them and should not be taken as definitive. Any corrections, as comments, would really be appreciated.

Table tales and the best anniversary gift ever

I love Bandra. There is no doubt about that. But the flip side of being a Bandra blogger is that you tend to blog from a very small house. You are lucky if you can fit in a toothbrush mug. A writing table is a luxury which the odd Bollywood star can afford. And some of them do blog nowadays.

So I spent a couple of years hunched over the sofa or the rocking chair or the lounge chair or the folding chair blogging away industriously. And periodically taking breaks when my back gave in.

The house we rented sometime back gives us the space to think of a writing table after putting in the toothbrush mug. But getting a writing table is easier said than done. The usually reliable Fabindia let us down. The shopping mall Home Stores weren't of much use. We even checked Ikea at Dubai to no avail. At one point we contemplated buying a dining table (no we don't have one!!!!) and multi tasking.

That's when we set off in search of the legendary Oshiwara furniture market.

We manged to spot it (S V Road Oshiwara) last Saturday and checked a few shops. It was hot, dusty and one felt claustrophobic in the narrow shops. Still there was a glimmer of hope. There were a few workable options.

Went there again today. After hauling our selves out of bed at noon. Drove the empty, glaring roads. Looked at a couple of shops. Saw some nice and simple pieces. Began to move towards the shop we zeroed in last time. Suddenly K walked into a shop with no sign. The furniture and the seller looked slightly more classy here.

And there it was. K spotted it. Nestled in a corner. Elegant, aristocratic, genteel and yet compact, Bombaiya style. A chest of drawers which open onto a writing desk. Fell in love with it immediately. Like with a girl in checked pyjamas eons back. Selected a chair for the table. Haggled. Two and a half thousand Rupees down on the quoted price.



And finally I have a writing table. And the actual chair will come on Saturday. Our study room is no longer a place to dump clothes for ironing.

Now when's our anniversary again? Need to think of a gift. How much time is left for the 22nd October. Help!!!!!! (psst ... ladies, any suggestions, SOS?)

What? You want a food angle? Well the best thing about furniture shopping at Oshiwara is stopping at Calcutta Club. Our fruitful shopping today was followed by a celebratory meal of chholar daal, alu bhaja, rice, bhetki paturi and patishapta there.

We had bought a number of sauce packets from Switzerland. The instructions were in a foreign language. I typed it in Google translate and tried Frech and German. Neither worked. So I followed a friend's advise, followed my guts and made a lovely penne in Sauce Bernaise (from a sachet) with chopped chicken franks.

Which was cool because I hate following recipes. Don't mind dishing them though and in the middle of all of this helped a colleague make fish curry for the first time for her husband through Facebook and SMS instructions. Her husband later told me that the curry turned out very well. All in a day's work.

Happy Diwali

Diwali's the biggest festival in India. Even President Obama celebrated it. I guess that says it all.

Back in Kolakata we celebrate Kali Pujo at the same time. Bursting firecrackers is common to both Kali Pujo and Diwali. The main food association with Kali Pujo was mutton curry as traditionally there used to be a goat sacrifice or 'patha boli' during the puja. That is largely a thing of the past though I won't be surprised if it still happens at the legendary Kalighat Temple of Kolkata (never been there myself). Can't say that I miss Kali Puja as much as I miss Durga Puja.

My main association with Diwali in Mumbai is the longish holiday and the box of mithai one normally gets at work. This time we just have a three day weekend versus the four to five day break one has got used to.

But it was niceto get a box of sweets from office as well as a Diwali lunch for all. Especially after the big bad recession last year and the austerity drive in Corporate India.

Green shoots?

Well at least my new cubicle mate (about to topple into the box of sweets in the picture) plans to polish of the laddoos (sweets) while we think about such weighty matters.

And you enjoy a nice, sweet Diwali.

Swiss chartbusters

Just can't get the holiday out of my mind. So you will have to bear through many more Swiss posts. Here are my top ten food moments. I wanted to do top 5 but just couldn't choose. These are in no particular order

The pizza at Risotarante Pizzeria. Hand crafted

Quiche, or cheese pie, as they call it ...'richer than the average Swiss banker' as I wrote. The best was the first one that we had in the departmental store at Geneva station

The best Spaghetti Bolougnaise in the world...warmed us on the icy Matterhorn Glacier

'One chocolaterie per city' ... this was the first, Zurich

The discovery of Raclette

Migros cafeteria... cheapest and best... loved the canapes, restroom stop too

Sprungli cafe of Lindt and Sprungli fame ... like buying a Mt Blanc from the Mt Blanc shop


Holding on to the last few minutes at Zurich, the night before we lent, and a magical cobble path dinner

Chinese food at Berne station when i was craving for 'home' food towards the end of the trip. Most amazingly well flavoured prawn fried rice and breaded prawns

And our many trips to Starbucks thanks to my better half

Er, technically this is beyond ten but have to mention eating horse (!) steak at Restaurant Chalet at Montreux. K found the meat to be too coarse. But still the sheer experience of eating something beyond the usual memories of All Quiet on the Western Front