The last empty table at Bandra on Saturday night ...Gondola, Hill Road Kebabs

I was at a loose end this evening and jumped onto an impromptu Finely Chopped Knights (as I call them) or Food Commando (as they call themselves) dinner tour of Bandra.

They reached just as I left the gym and we all came up to our place. They were quite bemused and amused to hear about my being in the gym. For a while we were like the Zoozoos in this ad  as we discussed the gym. I can imagine their consternation though. Gym or Gai-eem is a strange thing in our food world. It does bad things to us. Sample this. I took a call from the FCs after the work out on my cell phone and absent mindedly looked for the phone at the same time! Fifty minutes of walking and cycling on the same spot does that to you.

The four of us - Rahul, Jini, Maity and me - set off on our hunt. First stop was the newly opened Lucknow Kebabs at Hill Road, beside Karachi Sweets. It was a sit out place. Jini with feminine common sense told us not to go to any non air conditioned place. So this was ruled out.

We were hungry by then. I saw smoke wafting up a bit ahead and remembered the road side kebab guy near Balaji at Hill Road. We often used to take stuff home there to have with a drink in pre- Lipid Profile test days. The Khiri (cow's udders?) are particularly good here. Soft, blubbery, mildly seasoned cubes ...  cocquetish pleasures reminiscent of the Hindi film actresses of the sixties and their kohl lined eyes. We shared a plate before we set off again.

I couldn't get a full shot of the khiris as we were all quite hungry. Still, you can get a hang from the remnants in the plate above.

Our next stop was Efhesan on the Khaane Khaas Road. I had read mixed reviews of the place. But Maity had read that the chelo kebabs were good here. We went there and saw that there was a queue to get in. It was a 'multi cuisine'  restaurant. Whatever that we saw of the Chinese being served didn't evoke much confidence. 'Bhokti hochhe na' as Jini summed it up.

We walked up to Yellow Tree. The three storied continental restaurant cum pub. The restaurant, which normally looks empty, was packed too. We weren't in a mood to wait.

I am yet to go to Yellow Tree and Ehfesan so no reviews yet. Doubt if I'll ever go to the latter though.

That's when Maity got the idea of going to Gondola at Pali Market. This place is empty whenever I pass it by. It ha a little kebab and counter outlet outside the restaurant. I think that it is own by actress Perizaad Zorabian whose family owns a poultry called 'Zorabian Chicks'. I last went there more than four years back though I live opposite the place. Maity, Rahul and Jini have often been there though and approve of it.

So we walked down. Even Gondola was packed when we reached at 1045 PM. Luckily one table was empty. A six seater. We grabbed it. And were soon politely moved to a four seater which opened up.

Gondola is an old school restaurant from the time when Mumbai was Bombay. Maity said that it was the first continental restaurant in the suburbs. I wouldn't know about that. But the ambience was classic. Most of the crowd consisted of peaceful family groups. The staff seemed like they had been here for ages. Simple acts such as constantly filling our glasses with water spoke of a different era.


I was very impressed by the comparatively young Maitre De who took our order. He had a point of view and would respond to our orders with suggestions. He pointed out that something that we had ordered was shredded and deep fried and  best avoided. He suggested something called 'dragon chicken' and could fully explain it when I asked what it was. Didn't seem up our street. The overall experience of interacting with him was a rare pleasure in Mumbai where I have come across very few waiters who are well versed with their own menus.

This Parsi owned pioneering continental place now has a Chinese dominated menu with a few sizzlers, steaks and sandwiches representing the Continent.


We went for a Chinese heavy meal.

My chicken sweet corn soup was 'extra hot' as requested for my bad throat. The chicken bits added on top. The soup thick and starchy enough to be eaten with a fork. Did soothe my soar throat though.

Our starters and main courses got mixed which ended up with everyone tasting a bit everything which was fine by us. As usual, we had over ordered. In fact it seemed like he read out the whole menu when the Maitre De repeated our order.

The chilly chicken was classic. Green chillies, soy sauce, garlic bits, good chicken. Brought back happy memories to our table of ex Calcuttans.

Our 'starter' of continental beef chilly followed. It tasted Chinesy too me. The French Fries and fried onions were the 'continental touch' I guess.

The 'Chinese' beef chilly fry consisted of batter fried beef in sauce. The sauce and spongy batter gave a break in taste to the dry fried dishes that preceded. It was a bit salty. The fried rice was again nice and old school. Firm rice the way I like it. Slightly salty. Largely uncomplicated and reminded me of the fried rices one grew up on in Calcutta.

Maity ordered a 'Chinese Chop Suey'. An interesting mix of the whitish sauce of 'chowmein' of Chinese restaurants of Calcutta and deed fried noodles of Chop Suey. I found a tiny strand of hair/ eyelash after we'd finished more than half the dish. The staff apologised profusely. Offered to get a replacement or another dish. We refused as were quite full. I was pleased to see that they didn't charge us for this even though we hadn't told them anything to that effect. A mistake was made. But addressed. That's fine in my book.

The only non Chinese order was a steak for Rahul. They got it as a sizzler which is not what he wanted. They changed it and got it back without the sizzle. The steak was fairly good. Rahul liked it. I enjoyed the bite that I had. I am not too much of a steak person as I can't handle so much of concentrated meat. I need my carbs.

It was a nice experience overall. Not sure whether it was worth coming all the way from Wadala for Rahul and Jini. But the four of us did manage to catch up and chat in a relaxed manner over good food. That counts for something.

The dessert scene wasn't inspiring so I invited folks over to our fridge which was loaded with chocolates. That's when my sins caught up with me. Beef is not quite kosher for Hindus after all. I discovered that I had left me keys at home. So I couldn't get in. The others didn't have the chocolate in their fate either.

Rahul and Irin dropped me across town, I picked the spare keys and here I am. In my study. Well into Sunday.

Enjoy your Sunday. Eat well.

The Wonder Years ... Merwans, Andheri W

Anyone who has grown up in middle class Calcutta of the 80s and early 90s would remember shops like Jalojoga and Kalimpong. These were pastry and patties shops selling simple chocolate cube pastries, rum balls, mutton (cheaper and spicy) and chicken  (bland and more expensive) patties and egg devils. Rare treats for most of us. Birthdays perhaps. Or one Rupee fifty (late eighties) collected over a few days for a 'relished over a long time' pastry or patty. Flurys and Park Street belonged to another world. More premium. More expensive. As did the Cookie Jar which took La Martinere Land (a posh school) of Loudon (or was it Rowdon) Street by storm. Monginis came in towards the early nineties bridging the world of Shahebpara and Bangalipara.

I came to Mumbai and realised that Monginis was a more humble establishment here. Croissants etc, Gaylords and Birdies by Taj set the standards in a simpler world in Mumbai . Well before Philly Cheesecakes, Baileys Gatuex and Death by Chocolate.

Mumbai had a few stand alone pastry shops too. These were run by Iranis and were more affordable. One such shop is Merwans near Andheri Station. I had seen this shop when I was new to Mumbai. But was introduced to it by Kainaz. It was a favourite source for her for her 'Mamar Barir Abdar'. A Bengali phrase which means being spoilt silly by one's mom's side of the family. A phrase, and sentiment, which translates across cultures.

Merwans makes the best, and I am not exaggerating here, the best chicken garlic patties that I have ever had. How good is it? Well sample this. Mamma used to send some for me through Kainaz when I could not come with her. The patties would have probably been bought in the morning. Kept outside all day. I'd get to have it late in the evening. And since there were lots, sometime the on next day too. The crust would remain as soft and crispy as ever. It would not become hard or stiff. Nor would it crumble. And the chicken filling would remain as well flavoured and succulent as when it was made. That's how good it is. In fact the chicken garlic patties here is so popular that they get sold out by 5 PM.

Merwans has grown since then and has another shop next door. They have expanded their menu too.

Mama got some chicken garlic patties for us when he visited us a few days back. Mamma would be happy to know that Merwans is still doing a great job in a changing world. The patties tasted as good as they did ten years before.

The chicken patties are much cheaper than the much poorer quality ones that you get in bigger confectionery chains. Merwans is a good pace for old school cakes and pastries. Sponge, sugary, oodles of cream, thick frosting, big, very big, cheap.

Another family favourite from Merwans are the butter biscuits which you saw earlier in the post. Old school Irani specialities. One of the simple pleasures of life. Butter makes everything better after all.

There is another Irani bake shop called B Merwans at Grant Road. They are famous for their Mawa Cakes. A local favourite. I am not sure if the two Merwans are related though.

So that's about Mumbai and Calcutta. Are you aware of any such shops in Delhi, Bangalore, Chennai or other cities of India?

Still Lost ... Spaghetti Kitchen, Phoenix Mills

Spaghetti Kitchen (S K) at Phoenix Mill, Mumbai, will always have a special place in the world of Finely Chopped.

Finely Chopped owes its existence to places like this. I had begun my blog initially as a crib blog. Spaghetti Kitchen was the subject of one of my first posts which I wrote way back in October 2007. Lousy service, cold food, substandard fare... enough to give birth to an earnest blogger. As time went by Finely Chopped become much more than a crib blog. And I never went back to Spaghetti Kitchen.

Till today.

We headed there for lunch after much deliberation and a conversation about someone who wanted soup for lunch. Soup didn't feature in the final script though.

The person at the door of S K asked us 'Indian or Italian' when we entered. Spaghetti Kitchen shares the premises with Copper Chimney. I didn't hear him properly and said 'continental'. 'Indian or Italian?' he repeated. Luckily one of his colleagues convinced him that Italy was part of the Continent and we were seated.

I began to have misgivings. Was an ethnic 'Loins of Punjab' heart hidden behind the Azure promise of pasta? But why be biased.

So how have things changed since my last visit?

Well I have even less hair than before. And a lot more flab. That doesn't interest you?

I had complained about the food being served cold last time. I am happy to report that the food was brought hot to our table this time. In fact it was steaming. And stayed warm while I attempted a few cell phone snaps.

We ordered a Giriellini Di'pollo (Rs 275 - USD 6 -copied the spelling from the bill). The menu card described this as chicken breasts wrapped around mozzarella with sun dried tomatoes.

The dish, when it arrived, was hot and plated aesthetically. It failed to impress though. The taste of tomato in the sauce was too overpowering. The meat too tough. The mozarella completely lost which was a big disappointment for a cheese addict. There was a spinach and corn bed, the point of whose existence foxed me.

I ordered a Penne Vodka. I used to quite enjoy the Penne Vodka here. As Chef Max told me during our wonderful chat sometime back, Penne Vodka was a post WW II invention for Russian soldiers quartered at Milan.

The Penne Vodka which they served at Spaghetti Kitchen today would have made the soldiers forget all about the Armstice and get pretty violent. The penne was stiff. The shards of cheese were gone. The sauce had an overpowering smell of cheese. Didn't have the finesse and the intriguing background of faint sweetness with a micheveous touch of tanginess which the Penne Vodkas at Spaghetti Kitchen earlier had. This was more  a boil in the pan and pour on pasta version. Uninspiring. Not memorable. Not befitting the price of Rs 450 (9 USD).

So how would I sum up Spaghetti Kitchen now? Two and a half years into food blogging? Would I change my opinion?

Well it doesn't deserve to be in 'Mumbai Low'. The food was acceptable. But then 'acceptable' is not what one expects at these prices. So Mumbai Lows it is again. Out of the Blue, Cafe Mangi, Del Italia ... slightly cheaper if not the same price and leagues ahead in taste and quality.

Thank God for Costa and its Chocolate Tavelotto for soothing frayed nerves. Though the guys at Phoenix should switch on the Aircon in the lobby.

Count your blessings and not your calories: CBTL, India Bulls Centre

Caveat: Somewhere hidden in this rambling piece of self indulgence is a little review 

Never underestimate the power of good food and good people to buck you up. And if it's good people who love good food then it's the cherry on a double chocolate sundae with crushed brownie bits, hazelnuts, hot chocolate sauce.... but wait, let me stop before I get ahead of the story.

K's gone to Delhi on work. Last heard I have a slow roasted wife. I was at a bit of a loose end. Now think of all the Woody Allen films and the trips which the Jewish characters in them make to their shrinks. Well for the hypochondriac race of Bengali Alpha Males a trip to one's G P is the answer. So I dutifully went to Dr M who sent me off with a number of tests. Her parting words were 'call me with the results, no need to come over'.

I then went to the Gai-eem . I rowed and I cycled without reaching anywhere and was then sent to a four step escalator which climbed in the opposite direction. I did a Charlie Chaplin act for a few minutes before I became breathless. I had forgotten my blocked nose and ear and was paying the price for it. I thought I was having multiple cardiac arrests and wasn't really impressed by the head trainer who said that this was 'normal'. I trudged back home to great chicken curry and some much needed babying on phone from the skewers of Delhi.

I then watched Chowringhee, an old Bengali movie. I had recently read the English translation of the book and was quite impressed. The film had the great Uttam Kumar. It was quite good. But it was also everything because of which I never used to watch Bengali films while growing up.

It was in black and white. And it was very depressing. In fact I remember that we used to have a very old lady as our cook. She had once gone to see a Bengali film in a theatre. My mom asked her how she found it. This four feet tall, hard working, wizened lady said, "It was very good. It made me cry".

Well as you can imagine I didn't go to sleep in a very Technicolour frame of mind.

No breakfast  when I set out this morning as I went to the bloodsuckers at the the path lab. Taking a con-call in between. Breakfast finally happened at Mona and Eliza's. A day full of meetings faced me after that. I skipped lunch. Yes, you heard me right. Even I can't believe it. Wasn't hungry.

Then we went to the India Bulls Centre at Lower Parel for a meeting which turned out to be unusually cordial in today's pressure cooker world.

We went downafter the meeting, at three pm, to the newly opened Coffee bean and Tea Leaf CBTL at India Bulls. It was an 'express' version with  no live sandwich counter. I ordered a chicken tikka wrap for lunch which was quite tasty. The chicken was very well flavoured and tender. Especially for a coffee shop ready made dish. I had a rather pedestrian masala alu puff with it.

I was with a couple of my colleagues. They love to eat. Thank God for that. I had introduced one of them to CBTL's Ultimate Mocha recently. She had introduced it to the other. Two Ultimate Mochas were duly ordered. And a Black and White Mousse cake which I had recommended earlier. And an Apple Pie Crumble. All this while repeating oaths to begin dieting from the next day. The apple pie was described 'as not as good as other apple pies' and demolished before I could finish my roll and puffs. The mousse, thankfully, met unqualified praise. 'Thankfully' as my reputation was at stake!

My order of 'fresh brewed coffee' was ignored twice by the guys at the counter. They probably felt that it didn't gel with the Ultimate Mochas and two pastries. Cindarella stuff.

They finally gave me the coffee which turned out to be a nice 'pick me up'.

The Ultimate Mochas were met with scowls. 'It's not right'. The manager was called. 'This is not Ultimate Mocha (U M)'.

'Ma'am U M has chocolate coated coffee beans in them'.

'This doesn't have them!' Two sets of arms were crossed and cheeks puffed in righteous anger.

'Really sorry. We'll get you another'

They looked at their empty glasses. 'No, let it be'

A feedback form was offered.

'No, we don't want to write about this... But this is not Ultimate Mocha'.

'Ma'am we'll offer you complimentary ones the next time you are here'

'How will you recognise our faces?'

The manager scribbled something on our bill and we finally left. Happy in the knowledge that we had another meeting with this client soon. Happy with the knowledge that there were two Ultimate Mochas in this world with our names written on them.

So it was back to work. More meetings and calls. I was too late to pick my test results at the Path Lab. One more con-call was to be made. K was still being tandoored in Delhi. The house was still empty.

But at least those twenty minutes at CBTL livened up a dreary day.

Thanks girls :)

Technosaurous Unwinds

Weekend breakfasts are a big part of our lives. Well any breakfast is to me. And K now needs her morning fix of Cappuccino too.

Waking up on weekends is quite a struggle. So breakfasts are closer to noon if not to lunch time. I draw the line post one O'clock. There are the rare moments when I get up before eleven. Then I wait patiently instead of waking K up. Sometimes I nod off and she wakes up. You get the idea. The car cleaner and press-wallah have been told not to come before noon on weekends. And Banu herself appears after one.' o clock If at all.

Weekend breakfasts are literally stretched out affairs with our coffees and sandwiches. It's been ages since we had breakfast at home. The idea is to laze and let the week seep out of our systems. We tend to go to one of the lovely places in an around Bandra and vegetate there.This weekend was a good one. Candies on Sat with Michael Jackson waking up the neighbours.  Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Sunday.

CBTL has one of the best coffees around. More importantly they are one of the few places which get omelettes right. We got an unusually competent waiter today. Sensing my reluctance to share K ordered her own masala omelette. I had an egg white herb omelette. Both pretty good.

And nothing like sinking deep into their sofas and gazing aimlessly on a relatively lazy Lining Road.

I took my new laptop out for the first time. Thought I will write there. They have free Wifi at CBTL. The thought of million doorbells and a billion questions from Banu disturbing me as I tried to write in my study at home made me take refuge at CBTL. So I left the comfort of the sink into heaven sofas and went to one of the hard backed chairs once K left. Got the Wifi password and connected. But Mozilla didn't open. Nor did Explorer. Must have been a problem with the comp settings. Tried switching it off, lowering security settings, trouble shooting... nothing worked. Others had connected their laptops to Wifi. So it wasn't a problem with the Wifi.

Anyway I had a new magazine assignment to work on. Finally managed to open Word and pounded away. Fuelled by an Ultimate Mocha. In hindsight it was good that I couldn't got connected. Finished the first draft without being distracted. Hope it works out well.

I am one of those mid thirty folks who thrive on the world wide web without knowing too much about the mechanisms invovled. A bit like Bertie Wooster who could drive a car but was foxed whenever Jeeves would pull out a spark plug or two.

So any suggestions would be welcome. I have a Vaio. It connects to the Wireless Broadband at home. As well as to the Tata Indicom Photon. It connected to the public Wifi. But i couldn't open the net. Any idea on what I need to do to open the internet if I connect to an external Wifi? Help sorely sought.

By the way went back to the gym for the first time after I joined it. Ran out of excuses. So headed there after a coffee shake and half a chicken croissant at Gloria Jean's. K Suggested ordering ice cream after dinner. So guess there won't be any evidence left of the sweat that I spilled on the treadmill.

The morning after... Poila Boishakh Dinner, 1417

The first thing Bengalis ask themselves after Poila Boishakh or Bengali New Year is "what did you eat last night"

Well I ate too much. Came home after dinner and sat up for a while. Had only OJ and black coffee for breakfast today. And curd rice for lunch. Was finally able to breathe in the evening. 

We went to the Oh Calcutta buffet last night. I am not very fond of buffets but this one won me over with its variety and the freshness of the food. The dishes kept marching in from the kitchen. as we demolished them one by one. It was a long journey through the rich gastronomique culture of Bengal. In the middle of central Mumbai.

We started of with the snacky stuff - the chops. The fish chops were ethereal. The mutton chops solid. They had chicken steamed in banana leaves and chhana or cottage cheese too. The latter seasoned in some wicked aamchoor (Pickled mango masala).

Then there was the ubiquitous rice. Steamed  rice to have the veggies with. And a light pulao for the special stuff. Folks in many traditional Bengali households eat rice before they leave for work. Rice is what defines us. The colloquial term for a typical Bengali is 'Bheto (rice eating) Bangali". You would be well advised not to use this term on a friend. It's slightly pejorative and condescending.

I particularly loved the mochar ghonto here. A banana flower dish perfected by grannies. The alu posto (potato in poppy seeds) were exquisite too. In fact the vegetarian dishes were good enough to get approval of the devotees of flesh at our table.

Then there was luchi, alur dom and kosha mangsho - the three deadly sins - the hallmark of decadent Sunday breakfasts and gala wedding banquets.

Meat normally is had at the end of Bengali meals. Chicken followed by mutton. The Kosha mangsho here won over a buffet cynic like me. The kacha lonka chicken pieces were too big though for the discerning Bengali.

The dal wasn't too appealing but the alur dom more than made up. Again the same standards as their regular a la carte fare. Went very well with the luchis which they kept replenishing.

There was rui in shorshe or mustard curry. The chingri malai curry was the tour de force. There was an elderly Parsi couple with their elderly son. They did give us all a run for the prawn stakes.

I had some tomato and aamshokto chutney with papad as a taste breaker before the sweets. I am a big fan of Bengali chutneys or chaatnees as we pronounce them. They had made it very well here. Brought back memories of chutneys that  I would eat after Durga Puja feasts in our building in Calcutta.

The dessert or mishti corner was the cynosure of every Bengali at the restaurant. The kheer kodoms and roshogollas were really good. The dark fried sweets like malpua and chhanar goja could have done with a longer sugar syrup soak though. Then there was payesh or Bengali rice pudding. Again meticulously made by grannies on special days.

Any Bengali gathering is incomplete without 'adda' which means random discussions about any topic under the sun. We take this quite seriously. In fact there were two gentleman smoking outside debating the threats posed by Pakistan to India versus those posed by China. 

We were too busy eating to talk at our table though. But tales from old issues of Femina, the film mag, did liven things up.

Soumik and I really batted through the innings like Gavaskar and Viswanath of yore. We arrived before the others and ate to keep our table busy. Funnily I don't remember having a pot belly being before dinner. As Obelix says, the chest must have slipped.

I did remember to hold in my breath before the next photograph.

It was a festive evening. A single minded focus on food for most. Memorable food. The sort of food whose stories one can dine on for many winters. Mothers chasing children, begging them to eat. Middle aged couples eating in grim silence as the wife got food for the husband from the buffet. Peals of laughter. Bawdy jokes. Good natured swearing. Saris and 'Panjabis' (Bengali Kurtas) on show. Friends old and new.  Gathered together. Shared memories. The usual diaspora stuff.

I must thank the folks at Oh Calcutta for yet another lovely Bengali New Years Evening. Specially Bhavana from the Speciality Restaurant Group and Sajal Chakraborty of Oh Calcutta who ensured that our group of Finely Choppers had a table specially reserved for us.

Shubho nobo borsho and Maha Bhoj

Today is the Bengali New Year. “Nobo Borsho” as we call it. The first day of the Bengali calendar. It is also referred to as ‘Poila Boishakh’ or the first of the month of Boishakh. This is also the day when a number of other communities in India have their new years.

Of course there are hardly any that can match us when it comes to the importance that we give to food and eating and festivities in general. As the idiom goes, it’s “baro maashe tero parbon” for Bengalis (thirteen festivals in twelve months).

The relevance of this day, when the English language, Obama devotion and the Gregorian calendars rule, is questionable. In fact I was trying to think about the Nobo Borsho customs that we used to follow in Calcutta as kids in the 80s and 90s. I was hard pressed to come up with something fundamental.

I remembered that new clothes were big. Clothes still used to be bought on special occasions then.  There was the ‘Haal Khata’ – the new accounting book opened by local shopkeepers. The Bengali calendars and box of sweets that they would hand out to regular customers for this. And sweets which neighbours in our apartment complex would distribute to those on the same floor. Poili Boishakh was hardly a big thing by the time I reached college in the nineties. By then cable TV had arrived. MTV, CNN and the Bold and the Beautiful overshadowed our simple single channel Doordarshan past. We were hurtling towards an age when Bipasa Basu, and not Jyoti Basu, defined Bengal to many.

Poila Boishakh is still a holiday though.

Things are different now. Capitalism rules. People realised that you CAN sell ice cubes to Eskimos and Bengali restaurants to Bengalis. And there are many who are willing to splurge in a decandent bourgiouse manner in fading red Calcutta.

In Mumbai it is a way for those of us who are a part of the Bengali diaspora, albeit in India, to find a way to connect. Dada and KKR don’t offer us much after all. My thumbs were paining from sending and receiving SMSs this morning. Loved every moment of it. In most cases it becomes all about food. In fact Parsis are probably the only other local community who spend as much time planning out their New Year feasts. Luckily I have both ends covered between Kainaz and me.


So, inspired by the Paths of Glory, Jeffrey Archer’s pot boiler on the climbing the Everest, we have organised a group who will try to scale the peaks of Oh Calcutta’s Poila Boishakh Buffet tonight. The group’s been working hard on it. Some of us, moi included, have stayed light (yogurt, muesli, rotis, cabbage) to prime ourselves into peak physical form for the final assault at night. Some have taken an off to rest at home and get into the zone.

Kosha mangsho, prawn malai curry, kacha lonka murgi, rui shorshe are as inspiring as the peak of Everest. Probably more. There would be a lot of jostling. A story of blood, sweat and tears. Grit and glory. Angst and alienation. Many would want to make their pilgrimmage. Few will survive. Hopefully we will be up to it. The climb starts soon.


Shubho Nobo Borsho. ‘Bhalo theko’ or ‘live well’ as we say. And eat well.

Time for me to leave Base Camp.

Update: I called Didu, my granny, in Calcutta to wish her after I wrote this post and left. Her eyes are giving trouble. We discussed this for a while. And then she set her pain and anxiety aside and said that she was going to the neighbourhood shops who had invited her for Haal Khaata. Here's to grandparents and the children in them. And please join in me wishing her a speedy recovery.

Do try this at home: Chicken Hakka Noodles made in India

'Don't try this at home' is a book which chronicles the 'culinary catastrophes' of celeb chefs. The book is like the curate's egg. 'Good in parts'.

My recent botched attempt to make biriyani reminded me of the first time I tried to make hakka noodles. This was soon after we got married. I told K that I'd make noodles. My mom used to make it in Calcutta. I had seen her at various stages of making it and felt that I could crack it easily.

A while into the noodles and I knew that it was a 'historical blunder'. The noodles were soggy, squishy. I hoped to rescue it with lots of oil, sauce and ajino moto. But it turned from sticky to worse. I went into the next room where Kainaz was catching up with a childhood friend on the phone. One look at my face and she put the phone down and tried to calm me. The next day I went and asked a Chinese fod cart guy at Nariman Point about the secret to firm noodles. The kind guy in a loongi, was not flustered by the question from the pin striped 'saab' and helped me out. 

It's been close to nine years since then. A few disasters in between. But I can confidently say that hakka noodles are my forte now. I have written about pork and bacon hakka noodles before. Well this is with chicken. The plot remains the same. A few little tricks and you can get some variations.This is a nice way of making tough, chunky cuts of chicken, which you get if you buy a big bird, palatable. We were recently stuck with some at home.

Chicken Hakka Noodles (for 2)

Prep:

• Boil 250 g chicken. Cut into little bits. You can cook it straight without boiling but will need more oil. Some say that's not a good thing
• Fry an egg, smash into pieces and keep it aside
• Finely chop one capsicum, one peeled carrot, two or three stalks of spring onions, a bit of cabbage and some small chillies

• Boil 200 g noodles. I use cheap local egg noodles. I find that the fancy, expensive ones (e.g Chings) don't have a spine. 
• Boil the noodles in thrice the amount of water. Switch off the burner the moment the noodles become a bit flexible. DON'T OVER COOK. Strain it out and hold the strained noodles under a running tap of cold water. This is the secret to firm noodles. You don't even need to add oil though some advise that. Separate the strands with a fork.

Cook

• Take 4 tablespoons of oil in a non stick pan. You can't skimp on the oil. Use olive oil if you feel guilty. I do
• Once the oil's hot add a few pieces of chopped garlic. Or ginger. Once the fragrance of the garlic begins to mix with the oil add some sauces. I used a tablespoon each of dark soy, green chilly sauce and ketchup (adds a slight sweetness). This is the point at which you could experiment and go to a shop and buy oyster sauce, black bean sauce, Thai chilly plum...the world's your oyster in India these day. Cover the pan with a lid as the oil could splatter.
• Uncover the pan after thirty seconds and add the chicken. The meat should ALWAYS be added after the sauces and before the noodles and veggies. Meat takes more time to cook. And you want the flavour of the meat to spread through the noodles. In restaurants they just add stuff in the end. Pshaw!

 

• Stir the meat till its coated with the sauce
• Add the noodles. Add a tablespoon each of salt and black pepper. A teaspoon of ajino moto (skip this if it makes you wary). Pour a bit of vinegar so that the seasoning dissolves. Slowly fold the noodles around the meat. 'Fold' is a fancy, pretentious word which means 'stir the noodles in a way that the meat pieces are distributed evenly'.
• Stir the noodles till it looks cooked and till it has taken a bit of colour from the sauces

• Add in the vegetables. This comes towards the end as the veggies should have a bit of a crunch in them and should not be over cooked

• Stir for a bit more time on a high flame so that a few strands of noodles become a bit crunchy
• Top it with the crumbled fried eggs and you are done

The end result is quite well flavoured and you don't need a side dish with it.