Kill Bill 3 ... Pasta in Tomato Pesto Sauce

I decided to make a tomato based sauce pasta last night. This time without champagne!


I bought my favourite herb, basil, to go with it. I had visions of chopping the basil and adding it at the end. Then I suddenly remembered the bottles of imported tomato pesto sauce that I had seen at shops. I thought I will give it a shot myself.


So this is how I made my tomato pesto sauce. I took 200 ml of tomato puree (wasn't sure of the consistency of fresh tomatoes), a handful of basil leaves, a teaspoon each of sugar and crushed black pepper, about 8-10 cloves of peeled garlic, a tablespoon of salt. I put all of this into a small mixer and switched on the button



I forgot to shut the lid of the mixer properly! Suddenly the kitchen looked like a set from Kill Bill. Our blue walls were red. As was the white door. And the brown tiles by the sink. The coffee mugs hanging there. There was puree splattered on my tee shirt. Pyjamas. And all over my arms!





I quickly got to work with a cloth duster and paper tissues. Thank God for washable paints. Our walls and door were soon back to normal. And I had to do a change of clothes in between making the dish.


The sauce turned out to be pretty good. Though a bit dry as some of the puree was now in outer space.

I made the pasta in a Bolougnaise meat sauce theme. Here's the recipe.

Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a non stick pan.

Add 250 g of chicken mince (healthier than pork or beef apparently) and fry it. Water will came out of the meat. Let it dry on a high flame.

The meat will be be cooked by the time the water dries.

Add in the tomato pesto to the meat and stir.

Add preboiled pasta to the meat. Stir till the sauce seeps into the pasta. I had some very nice Australian cheddar at home. I broke 100 g of this into little pieces and added it at the end. Another minute or so and the pasta was ready.






I normally add regular cheese to the sauce at the beginning. However, if the cheese is special then I add it at the end so that you can get a bite of the cheese.



You could even substitute the mince for boneless chicken, chopped cold cuts or do a vegetarian version with mushrooms, baby corn, tofu, etc.



This is a slightly dry dish and it makes sense to drizzle a bit of extra virgin olive oil at the end. If you want your sauce to be more liquidy then try adding half a cup of water when you add the sauce mix. Or a bit of fresh cream perhaps.


The imported tomato pesto bottles in shops cost Rs 150 (3 USD) or so. Here the puree was Rs 15, basil Rs 10, garlic perhaps Rs 2 or so. All of Rs 30 (less than a USD) and pretty fresh too.



Kill Bill photo credit: http://www.siue.edu/~ejoy/Kill-Bill-0023.jpg That's not me in the photo though.

One step new age chicken rezala recipe

I made chicken rezala for the first time the day before after work. Very simple. Oil free. Light if you are convalescing. Stupendously tasty. And its fragrance wafted through the house making it feel like the the Nawab of Oudh's house in Calcutta.

Here's the recipe.

Add 500 g chicken, 100 g whipped curd, paste of two onions, 1 tablespoon of garlic paste (K says it should have been ginger), 1 teaspoon jeera powder, 1 tablespoon salt, 1 teaspoon sugar, two dry red chillies, 3 bay leaves (tej pata), 5 cardamoms (elaich), half a cup of water to a pressure pan.

Keep an eye on the water. Add less than half a cup if your cooker works with that or if you make it an open pan. This is a very delicate dish and is spoilt if too watery.

And wait, there is a secret ingredient. Add two or three drops of rose water before you begin cooking.

Shut pan. Switch on flame. Three whistles on high flame. Twelve minutes on simmer. Done.

Fragrant. Subtle. Light. Delicate. I had it with steamed rice. Could you believe it? That's how tasty it was.

By the way hard core rezala aficionados would swear by ghee (clarified butter) in rezala. You can check Ushnish Ghosh's anthology of rezala recipes for this. My take is that we have not used natural oils enough in Indian cooking. In this case the oils inherent in chicken and onion paste would come to the party. It's a bit like the new age Hindi films which don't have song numbers. Keeps you healthy till you can hit the streets of Calcutta for the real thing.

I had posted a rezala recipe before but had not made it myself then. This I can guarantee.

Bengali chicken curry for the healing tummy

Caveat: Tales of slaughter ahead.


I'd been eating gingerly after my last food poisoning attack. But the salt less curd rice that I ordered for Friday lunch was the limit. So I decided to make a chicken curry or Bengali Murgir Jhol at home. Dr Miranda said its good to have chicken while recovering from a stomach bug. But to make it at home instead of ordering from outside. 

The plan was to make something light, without chillies and yet tasty. And surprise, surprise, it did turn out to be yummy:). You can do wonders with curd, ketchup, whole garam masala and a dream.

The dish was significant because of another reason. We normally buy cold storage chicken. And only legs or drumsticks. The stuff we got off late were more like dinosaur legs than chicken ones. And tasted as stale.

So K got this idea of buying live chicken. I went to to this shop at Pali Market. Took me years back to my school and college days at Calcutta. Every Saturday my Mom would send me to Bansdroni Market to buy chicken. The guy would take a chicken out of the cage. The chicken would flutter its wings as the shopkeeper weighed it. Head chopped. He would hold it by the neck below his foot till the life went out of the bird. Feather plucked, skin removed ..the bird was chopped. Stomach, liver, neck and head cleaned. Packed with the rest of the meat and off I went to buy potatoes. 

Now you know why I am not squeamish about meat.

Well coming back to Pali Market, the chicken buying here was more tame. The shop was in two sections. You paid at one half and the chicken was cut in the other half. I peeped in though. Puerile pleasures. It felt strange holding a warm bag of meat back versus the usual frozen stuff. Well the chicken weighed in at a kilo and hundred grammes with feathers. It was very tender. 'Kochi' as we say in Calcutta. K and I finished the entire dish at one go. Including the breast pieces which we don't usually like.

Here's the recipe:

Take a tablespoon of oil in a pressure pan. Throw in a teaspoon of jeera (cumin) seeds when the oil is hot. Let it splutter add a tablespoon of mixed whole garam masala and two bay leaves. Let these cook till you get a lovely aroma.

Add two finely chopped onions. Stir and let it fry till it's soft and brown.

Add a tablespoon of ginger paste and a teaspoon of garlic paste. Stir till brown.

Add three tablespoons of tomato Ketchup. I use Heinz tomato chilly. You can use plain tomato puree but ketchup gives the dish a nice sweet zing.

Mix this and add the masala. For the masala, take four tablespoons of curd. Add a tablespoon each of turmeric, salt and cumin (jeera) powders, a teaspoon each of garam masala powder and sugar to the curd and beat it together. You can add a teaspoon of red chilly powder if your tummy is fit.
Add this paste to the onion base in the pan.

Add the chicken and three peeled potatoes (cut into two) into the pan. Let it cook on a high flame till the skin of the chicken begins to brown.

Add half a cup of water. Sprinkle a pinch of garam masala on the top. Close the pan and pressure cook.

Three whistles on high flame, twelve minutes on a simmering flame after that and you are done.
A very well flavoured curry which goes well with steamed rice, roti, bread, or if you are Kainaz, by itself.

Some readers have asked my why I use a pressure cooker. Well it cooks faster and the gravy really mixes well when steamed with the lid shut. The end consistency is nicer that way.

Animal Farm ... Jaya Palace, KL

Gosh it hardly seems like it's been two weeks since I stepped into Arindam and Sasha's place at KL. Two Fridays back. What a night it was. We chatted over satays and butter pork till 4.30 AM on Saturday morning. Did I say that I hadn't really met them before this?

Plans were made for the next day's lunch before we slept. But then it was that sort of a trip. Plan for lunch at dinner time. Dinner at lunch time. Lunch at dinner time. You get the drift. Breakfast? Given that I woke up at one' O Clock in the afternoon? No chance!

Our first lunch together saw us at a restaurant called Jaya Palace. We were woefully late but luckily they served us. And what a meal it was.

We started with smoked duck. I can't begin to tell you how wonderful it was. Tender to the T. Passive sweetness typical of the Orient. A very genteel smoked taste. Not too strong. Not shouting out. Yet making its presence clear. The sort of dish that took you centuries back to the romance of the Silk Route. I almost felt like Genghis Khan as I dug into my plate.

And to think that this dream like dish is not what we had come for!

Arindam had actually got me to Jaya Palace for Siew Yoke. Which thanks to yours truly snoring till one' o clock was over. So we 'settled' for a roast suckling pig.

Now Finely Chopped is not really vegetarian friendly. But the picture of the suckling pig could be too gruesome for many red blooded meat eaters as well. Or perhaps not. Keep reading if you have it in you.

The dish consisted of a four month old pig. Half of it was plated and served to us. So you had the litter bugger lying in front of you from head to butt. Sliced as is wont in this part of the world. If you look closely you will see a less in your face picture of the dish on the table in the picture of Arindam and Sasha earlier in the post.

If the smoked duck was divine. So was the suckling pig. I am running out of adjectives. Crackling skin. Little blobs of baby fat. A very thin and incredibly tender sliver of pork. Let your imagination run amok. You will be there.

This is the point at which you will go off Finely Chopped for ever. Or gnash your teeth in lust and hunger. It was the most perfect dish ever. But then so was smoked duck.

Which was better? Well as the birds in George Orwell's Animal Farm said, "four legs good, two legs good".

This brings me to the end of the last of the KL food stories. A week after I landed there. Sasha, Arindam, what do I say? You guys are the best :)

As they say back home "aashchhe bochhor hobe" (it will happen again next year).

Not that I can wait that long.



Update: I reconsidered my photo decision when I read a comment from Scarlett who's been a reader right from the beginning. I asked myself what would Tony Bourdain or Bobby Chi (saw him eating crickets at Manila yesterday) do? So here you are ... junior sliced ...shock and culinary awe

Wannabe Chingri Malai Curry ... A Bengali prawn in coconut milk sauce dish

First things first. This is not a traditional chingri malai curry recipe.

Chingri malai curry is the darling of Ghotis or Bengalis from West Bengal. I am a Bangal. From the other side of Bengal. Yet I love chingri malai curry. As do my Parsi in laws. In essence chingri malai curry means prawns (chingri) cooked in coconut milk (malai).

I had a gang of friends coming over on Sunday. I planned to keep it simple. Kosha mangsho. And prawn curry with the prawns that, who else, K's vegetarian (!) Mama (maternal uncle) got us.

I begun by planning to make my Mom's prawn curry recipe. That's when I saw a pack of Dabur coconut milk in the fridge. I bunged it into the curry at the end. Magic happened. And I have a group of discerning Bengali food lovers to vouch for it. K loved it too and said that it was better than both my Mom's curry recipe and traditional malai curry.

So here's the recipe. We made it with tons of prawns but I will scale it down. I will skip the potatoes which frankly don't go with malai curry.

Take 500 g of shelled and deveined prawns. Keep the heads of the prawns on for the ultimate Bengali experience. Chewing the head of prawns and sucking out the brains is a Bengali w%$ dream.

Marinate the prawns with a touch of turmeric powder and salt and fry them for a couple of minutes. Take them off the pan once the prawn loses its translucence. You don't want to over cook it.

Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a non stick pan. Once hot add a teaspoon of whole shada jeera (cummin). Let it pop and splutter. Add two dry red chillies, 2 bay leaves, a one inch stick of cinnamon and 3 or 4 elaich or green cardamoms. Let these splutter.

Add the paste of one onion. Let it cook till the onion loses its translucence and begins to brown. Add a teaspoon of ginger paste.

Once this browns add the pulp of 3 tomatoes or tomato puree. NOTE: traditional malai curry recipes doesn't involve tomatoes.

Add the masala. A teaspoon each of salt, black pepper powder, red chilly powder, sugar, half a teaspoon each of turmeric powder and garam masala powder and two teaspoons of cummin or jeera powder. You can mix the masalas in a tablespoon of water and then add this mix to the gravy base.

Let this cook till the masala integrates into the gravy mix and doesn't look raw.

Add half a cup of water and 200 ml of coconut milk and let the mixture come to a boil.

Add the fried prawns. Reduced the flame. Let the sauce cook for three minutes. Turn off the flame. Cover the pan with a lid and let the dish stew in its juices for 5 minutes.

Garnish with a touch of garam masala powder and split green chillies.

Have it with steamed rice.

So that's my chingri malai curry recipe. Not authentic. Likely to make people call for a Bangla Bandh and go marching to the Brigade Parade ground in Calcutta.

But tasty as hell.

Mr Siew Yoke and Ms Chicken Rice ... New Restaurant Ipoh Chicken Rice, KL

I landed at KL and told Arindam about my Char Siew tales from Singapore. Now Arindam's whole purpose in life was to show KL to me in its full glory. "Pshaw" he said. "Char Siew is fine but what you should have is Siew Yoke".

Then there was a dilemma or shomoshsha as we say in Bengali. I had left my hosts with five meal opportunities. Within that they had planned Lucky Garden for Chinese, Chilly Pan Me, frogs and Siew Yoke at Jaya Palace. We reached J P too late for lunch as I woke up at 1 PM. Siew Yoke was over. We had to 'settle' for suckling pig. More on that later.

That's when we needed the wisdom of a woman to break the detente. Sasha, Mrs Arindam, said that we should have Chilly Pan Me together, as it was a KL speciality, on Sunday. She offered to take me on Monday for Siew Yoke. Arindam finally began to breathe again.

So off we went to Restoran New Restaurant Ipoh Chicken Rice at Mid Valley, KL for my last meal on Monday.



Turned out that I was in very good hands. Sasha knew exactly what to order and could match her hubby dish to dish. And then she took me to Watsons and Carrefour to shop for home. No man could match that. Arindam would be as useless as I would be in the circs I am sure.

The legendary Siew Yoke appeared. It was everything the Chatterjees and DGs promised and more. Pork cooked to a surreal level of perfection. Skin, fat and meat coming together in the greatest symphony known to mankind. A taste which stayed with you well after your meal. The fact that such an apparently dry dish could be so delectable is a lesson in culinary excellence.

And then came the legendary Chicken Rice. Singaporeans claim it to be theirs. Sasha says the ones at Singapore are pale imitations. I have had it at KL before. A poetic dish of the most tender chicken possible. And the rice is made in chicken broth. The result is a rice which looks insipid and yet is so well flavoured that it would have a Mughal Emperor agree to give up his empire for it.

Sasha said she could make a meal out of chicken rice everyday when she is at work. I came back and had a butter chicken and rumali for lunch on my first day at work at Mumbai. As I waded through the oil and red colour I knew exactly what she meant.

What a meal to end my KL trip with! I left KL with a whole new view of the city. A picture which was hidden to me as a tourist. Brought alive by two immigrant ambassadors of the city. I stepped into my flight thankful that my visa was a multiple entry one. There is much more to eat I am told.

Note: This is not the last of the KL posts. I will alternate between KL and India posts now that I am back.

Barista Bummer

K and I went to the Bandstand Barista yesterday. Thought that sitting by the sea would be a nice change of scene. It was dark by the time we reached. Couldn't see the sea. But could feel the sense of openness which made me fall in love with Mumbai.

First things first. The coffees - hazelnut frappuccino and hazelnut latte - were very nice.

The problem with coffee shops is when you venture beyond coffee.

I ordered a chicken soup in deference to my recent food poisoning. Looked and tasted like steaming, excuse the vision, puke.

K ordered a penne chicken. I had somewhere read that about an old Italian saying which went 'you should always wait for pasta, pasta will never wait for you'. Well pasta made in Vashi, as explained by earnest waiter, was never good idea. It pained me to see two of Mumbai's best pasta cooks accosted by hollow red colored cardboard tubes.

I ordered a almond and raisin muffin to go with my latte. The muffin was good. Raisins? What raisins? And what's with this nuclear mushroom crowd sized muffin? Muffins world over are seen as a dessert option for the weight conscious. A muffin the size of Tuntun defeats the purpose doesn't it?

Frog out of the well ... Restoran South Pacific Seafood, Kl

I moved into Calcutta and India when I was a chubby eight year old. The neighbourhood kids would tease my rotundness with cruelty typical of little children. One of their chants was "Raja khai Bang Bhaja". Raja is my nickname and in Bengali the taunt meant "Raja eats fried (bhaja) frogs (bang)". Well take that suckers. I did eat fried frogs. And survived.

Frogs featured prominently in my Google chats with Arindam before I landed up at their place at KL. My motto of 'only birds, mammal and Pisces' didn't cut much ice with Arindam. And I found myself at the Restoran South Pacific Seafood on my second night with Arindam and Sasha at KL.


They don't mince their words at the South Pacific. The frog family is there to welcome you right when you enter. That's the moment of truth that separate the men from the boys. I am proud to say that I didn't run away.

Arindam took charge of the ordering. Portion for three of everything he ordered. In excess as we always found out at the end :) Hot water asked for sterilising the cutlery. Prawns to be de-shelled. Pork to be added in mixed rice. Pork isn't mentioned on the menu of a number of places at KL so as to not offend the Malays who are Muslims. But as I said before, 'Chats knows his s%^&' (paraphrasing Bourdain on Simon Majumdar).

Well the frogs arrived. Didn't look anything like our green friends when served on a plate. Looked more like a plate of chilly chicken or kung pao chicken if you ask me.

And then the Bourdain/ Majumdar moment of the trip happened. I gingerly forked a piece of frog and pop it went into my mouth. I took a bite and waited for the clouds to part and for thunder to strike me. Nothing happened though. I lived to eat another day.

"It tastes like chicken", I croaked. Yes it did. Just softer and squishier. Did I like it? Well let's put it this way, given a choice between Chicken Manchurian and Frog Manchurian, I would go for the former. Was this due to social and cultural conditioning? I don't know. I did make a second go for the frogs but didn't really dig into it with gusto. But at the end of I could proudly say that I did eat "Bang bhaja" (fried frogs).

We also had some squids. Chats asked for 'spicy' and spicy it was. Given the amount of green chillies, masala and curry leaves you wouldn't be blamed for thinking that you were eating a Mangalorean preparation from Jai Hind in the middle of KL.

We also had a 'butter prawn'. This came in a light semolina batter. The prawns very fresh, juicy and buttery. Just what one needed after our adventures with frogs and the fire of the spicy squids. We had all of these with a fried rice which, as is the norm outside India, was flavoured in soy. The rice was on the softer side.

So ended a very memorable evening at KL. In the hands of two people who really loved their adopted city. For those interested, Restoran South Pacific is in an area called P J. See that's the thing about KL. Their gems are often hidden outside the touristy Golden Triangle.

But I will be back with my multiple entry visa. I have to try the chicken fish after all.

Note: My parents in law were unfazed by my frog eating stories. Apparently you used to get them in cold storages in Mumbai. They were sold in the form of frog leg lollipops and my in laws used to have them. "Tastes like chicken" was their verdict too.

Dr Miranda rocks ... from the diaries of James Bong

A three o clock meeting at town saw me and my partner in food crime colleague head to Kamling.

Great mixed fried rice and prawn chilly (sauteed in onions and chopped chillies, no batter). We ordered a small portion so needed another side dish. Was made to order chicken over pork despite my preference of their roast pork and onions. The hakka chicken was well favoured, dry and yet juicy. Something went ping in my head though. The chicken felt a bit under cooked under the batter. I kept my misgivings aside and enjoyed my lunch.

Began feeling a bit out of sorts after the meeting that followed. I blamed it on the back pain pain killer that I took. But soon realised that things were amiss. Reached work, called for a Meru AC Cab, and left early. Slept through the ride. Came home. Still feeling very uncomfortable and full. Hit the bed immediately. Those who know me know that I HAVE to have a shower when I return. The fact that I flopped down even without washing my face tells you how gone I was. I was knocked out till about 8.30 PM lying in a foetal position on the bed.

I could barely reply to SMSs in between all of this. Though the James Bong in me rose to the occasion when a fellow foodie texted me for advice on what to eat at Hangla. SMSs followed as she would update me with her feedback while waves of nausea and dizziness swept over.

I finally threw up at 8.30 at night. It wasn't the prawn. Or the pork in the fried rice. It was the offending piece of white meat. Cleared the mess. And hurled again. This time didn't make the mistake of leaving the pot.

I rung up Dr Miranda our doc as I was in no state to step out of the room forget going to a doc. Her first question was about where I ate so that she could avoid it in the future. She was a bit surprised to hear about Kamling, an old favourite. She laughed when I told her that this happened because I chose chicken over pork and called me 'a funny man'. Medically she said that I should have thrown up earlier. Prescribed an antacid and a nausea medicine. I called for these on the phone from the chemist and felt much better after I took the pills.

To understand Dr Miranda better I need to go back to my first visit to her. I had gone with, what else, a food poisoning attack. We got talking about food and I came out with her favourite pork spare rib recipe!!!! She is bubbling with life and lives in a pretty little cottage called The Bubble near Bagel Shop and St Anne's Church Bandra. The cottage has a lovely garden which lifts your spirits the moment you enter. She says 'God looks after the garden'. Her dispensary is filled with stuffed toy including Bertie the Bear whom I am particularly fond off. You go to her with a cold and she will ask your spouse to be careful as its infectious and then say 'what to do, you guys will kiss in any case'. Can you blame me for wanting to go the doc at the drop of a hat?

I woke up this morning. Nausea was gone. Stomach was hurting though. So from feeling like a pregnant women I shifted to PMS. I opened my mail and saw another friend saying how she went to Hangla and really enjoyed what I recommended.

I guess an International Man of Food has to always be on call. Iron Cross nominations anyone?

Well we went to Dr Miranda who listened to my tales on the Kamling chicken and said that I would know as I am a 'connoisseur'. She gave me stomach pills and said to keep them with me specially given my food adventures. She suggested avoiding pork in restaurants as it is not ordered often and could be on the shelf for a while. She prefers cooking at home.

I told her about my frog adventures at KL. She told me about how she cooked frogs and dissected them at med school. She apparently didn't have the nerve to paralyse the frogs by pinning them as was the norm then. So she would get them home, pour country liquor down their throat, get them drowsy and dissect them. All for the cause of medicine!

I asked her if I could have chicken at night and she broke into a rhapsody about how all meat is good and gave me various recipe options to grill chicken without using oil which would be tasty and healthy too.

I woke up Bertie the Bear, shook his hands and left feeling much better.

And then K and I went to the Mary Poppins land of Candies for some sandwiches and ice tea.

And they ate happily ever after ... A Bengali's take on the Parsi Laganu Bhonu (wedding feast)

Warning: Long seven course post ahead. My spell check gave in so please write if you spot any typos.

Parsi wedding feasts are very famous in Mumbai. The Parsi wedding dishes are classic and most weddings stick to the same menu. The distinctiveness lies in how well these are cooked. One thing going for Parsi weddings is that they serve meat and fish. Unlike Bengalis, the dominant Hindu communities of Mumbai - Maharashtrians and Gujaratis - and the reasonably prominent Punjabis, Sindhis, Tamils and Malayalis do not serve non vegetarian food in their own weddings. This adds to the aura of a Parsi wedding feast, also known as Laganu Bhonu (Lagan = wedding, Bhonu = feast).


I was recently invited to a Parsi wedding through my Parsi in laws. I took my camera to click it for you. Turned out that this was a full blown traditional sit down dinner versus the modern buffets. So sit back and take in the Parsi wedding through the photos that follow. This story has meat, alcohol, good natured boisterous swearing and is the complete opposite of the Sooraj Barjatya wedding tableaus.

Parsi wedding feasts happen at 'Baugs'. Literally gardens, these are wedding arenas, usually attached to Parsi Fire Temples. Traditionally theses meals used to be sit down affairs. Unlike Bengali weddings alcohol is served here. There is a DJ belting out numbers from the seventies and eighties and you get to see whirling dervishes of sequins, velvet dresses and low back blouses jiving away into the evening. Laughter, back slapping, chatter, drinking and eating sum up these wedding receptions.

We went to Cama Baug which is near Lamington Road at South Mumbai. It was the wedding of the daughter of Mr Nariman Udnawala. He was my mom in law's neighbour when they were growing up at Surat.

You enter the Baug through it's tall gate into a serene traditional wedding hall, lit up, decorated with flowers. Far removed from the hustle outside.

Mr Nariman, the father of the bride, is the one in the traditional Parsi dress Dagali with his arm outstretched in the photo below. He is greeting the guests as they eat, exhorting them to eat well.

Parsi sit down dinners have an interesting custom. You have to queue up behind those who are eating and book your place. Seemed a bit impolite but I soon shed my Bengali inhibitions and planted myself behind a gentleman who was digging into his meal with gusto.

Once we sat down I noticed the look of glee and anticipation on the faces of Kainaz and my in laws. I was a bit sceptical. With typical Bengali smugness I was prepared to be unimpressed. Our wedding feasts star the legendary kosha mangsho, doi maach, golda chingrir malai curry, luchi and chholar daal after all.

As the dinner progressed I was forced to eat the humble Laganu Custard though. This was phenomenal stuff. The feast of the gods.

The meal was served on banana leaves like Bengali feasts from a time gone by. Except the banana leaves were cut in a round shape versus Bengali meals which were served on the natural shape of the leaf.

You start off by choosing your soft drink of choice (alcohol is served in a separate counter). You should go for raspberry, the red coloured soda typical of Parsi weddings.

In case you are wondering, that's no Sufi concert in the background in the photo below. Parsis are full of life and are animated and boisterous talkers.

The meal starts with 'Laganu achar'. A sweet carrot and raisin based pickle which you have with roti or a white, thick papad called 'saarya'. This is another departure from Bengali traditions where lemon is served but not pickle which is considered to be inauspicious.

Most Parsi wedding feasts have moved on to the buffet format. The wedding I attended, as I said, was a traditional one where waiters came and served you at the table. You can ask for your choice cut of meat. The waiters come with jugs of water for you to wash your hands at the end. This is vey useful as you can use your hands to eat. There is no other way to enjoy any Indian cuisine after all.

A tip of around Rs 10 to the waiter, I am told, is customary at then end. I gave around Rs 30 which apparently didn't make me very popular with the other guests.

There is not tipping in Bengali or other Hindu wedding dinners though.

All meat groups are covered in Parsi weddings. You start with chicken. We had 'sali chicken' which is a chicken curry served with potato straws. The latter is similar to the Bengali alu bhaja though the meat and potato straw combine is unique.

The chicken was very tender here and the curry was sublime. Sali chickens often tend to be overly sweet due to the use of 'jardalu' or figs. No such problem here.

One alternative to this in other weddings is 'chicken farcha' which is like a Parsi Kentucky Fried Chicken. Chicken deep fried in a masala and egg batter.

'Cutlets' followed. Parsi cutlets are a patty of mashed boiled potato and meat (chicken here, could be fish or mutton too) and masala deep fried in an egg batter. A gravy is served with it. The mutton cutlets at Britannia at Mumbai are really good.

The star of a Parsi feast is the fish. Parsis love fish. We Bengalis are nothing in comparison to the Parsis when it comes to love for fish. The megastar, the Amitabh Bachchan, the Nobel prize of Parsi fish dishes is 'Patrani Machhi'. Pomfret marinated in a green coconut and coriander paste steamed in banana leaves. The patrani in Friday's dinner was amongst the best that I have ever had.

This is a contrast to the Bengali 'Paturi'. River fish marinated in mustard and green chilly paste and steamed in a banana leaf.

A substitute to Patrani Machhi in weddings is Saas ni Machhhi. Fish is a light, white, cream sauce. A poor cousin on patrani machhi. All the Parsi wedding that I have attended have had Patrani Machhi.

You have heard of 'dhansak', the most famous Parsi dish? Don't expect this lentil and meat based dish in a wedding. This Sunday afternoon favourite of Parsis is actually a funeral dish and is never served in auspicious occasions.

Pulao daal is the normal substitute. The pulao here was very similar to Bengali biriyani. Long separate grains of rice, potato and mutton. The best pulao that I have ever had. This is served with 'daal' (brownish lentil sauce) which is the same as Dhansak without the meat in it.

The pualo daal is normally the grand finale and you wrap up your banana leaves for the waiters to clear once done.

But don't get up yet. Dessert follows. Unlike the Bengali wedding fare of ice cream, mishti doi and many sweets, desserts in a Parsi wedding consist of just one item. It is either a Laganu Custard (a stiff, sweet pudding) or, as in this case, coolfi. An Indian milk based ice cream. The coolfi in this wedding was a dry fruit one and was really good.

In keeping with our family customs the women gave my pa in law their Coolfis and he had three!

We later figured out the secret behind the great food in this wedding. It was catered to by Tanaz Godiwala one of the most famous Parsi wedding caterers. Seemed like she had an office just outside Cama Baug.

So where's the bride and bride groom you ask? Big Indian weddings are never about the couple getting married are they? It is a social do where parents fulfill their social obligations, people come together, family feuds are forgotten for a short while, new friends are made, some matchmaking is done, folks enjoy a few moments of fun and frolic, culture and tradition are remembered as the next generation gets ready to take centre stage. And it at all ends with a great meal