One of the few south Indian cuisines to be really exposed to us all over the country is, of course, Chettinad — or more correctly, the cuisine of the Nattukotai Chettiar community of Tamil Nadu. Speak of south Indian non-vegetarian food (at least outside the four peninsular states) and nine out of 10 people are likely to nod their heads in understanding and say, “Chettinad chicken” (CC). As far as popular tastes go, CC has indeed become the equivalent of the Punjabi BC (butter chicken) — standing for all the clichés that we now equate with non-tiffin south-Indian food; “spicy” being the most common adjective used for it. But despite its overwhelming popularity in the foodie universe, the cuisine of the Chettiars is not really understood much. For one, it is a mistake to think of it as being simply “spicy”, or “chilly”— which is what most Indians usually mean when they call something “spicy”.

At a unique Chettiar fund-raising dinner held at the ITC Sheraton Park hotel in Chennai recently, I got a sampling of what authentic Chettinad cuisine should really be like— and no, chicken was hardly the highlight there. “America” Natesan is a big name in the community. As a cook of ample repute and fame his services are hugely sought after during weddings and other festivities and, in fact, he has earned his sobriquet because of months at an end spent in America catering to NRI weddings there during the “season”. But Natesan is not just a community cook—in fact he (and there are others like him) is what you would call a wedding planner in modern day parlance. He arranges for everything from décor and made-to-order mandapams to the priest, flowers, furniture, crockery and cutlery— in short the entire paraphernalia required for a traditional Chettiar wedding. The complete solution comes as a “set”—that’s what it is called. And anyone availing of an entire “set”, is provided “set soup” complimentary during the wedding feast. I mention this because it was Natesan and his men who had been roped in to cook that evening at the hotel — hotel chefs keenly watching them in the kitchen to learn the secrets of their masalas even as Natesan & co tried to dodge the observers adroitly; but that’s another story…

Having been told by executive chef Praveen Anand, one of the great researchers in the country into south Indian cuisines, that the humble soup (just dal water, apparently) in the typical Chettiar feast was special because of the tempering (with cinnamon and pepper) best exhibiting the community’s judicious use of spices, I was quite looking forward to sampling it. But alas, it wasn’t on the menu. One possibly has to attend a Chettiar wedding for that. The spread that evening at the Sheraton Park included dishes from other south-east Asian countries to where the Chettiar community has spread because of its trade links. Quintessential Burmese dishes like the Khao Suey are part of some Chettiar family repertoires too today and the version we got was different but with many more fresh condiments than what I have had in the past. But above all, the Chettiar semiya (food) is undoubtedly distinctive because of the use of spice. While it is not overtly “spicy” or hot as in the way we understand it in the north, the way they handle individual spices so that the khuzambus (curries), the dry meats, and vegetables all taste different from one another is really remarkable. Commercial kitchens may have ruined the true taste of Indian cooking by using the same masala or gravy for different dishes—butter chicken or paneer makhani, what’s the difference really?—but when you sample authentic, home style dishes from particular communites, you begin to appreciate the diversity of flavours that go into each of our meals. In true Chettiar cooking there is no ubiquitous “garam masala” mix drowning out all other flavours, instead the likes of fennel or star anise (note the south-east Asian connection) are more important. Excessive spicing is only the recourse of an ignorant cook; in the hands of the knowledgeable aachi (the term for Chettiar matriachs) or community cook, spices are handled judiciously and subtly.

Chettinad chicken is what has caught popular imagination but a Chettiar feast would include quail, rabbit, pigeons and other game meats too. Legend has it that the Chettairs were once a leading business community in the ancient Chola kingdom but after a feud with the ruler were all but killed. A small group managed to escape to the Pandya kingdom and got permission to stay in one of most arid and landlocked regions before using their inherited acumen to take to trading in the 19th century with south-east Asian countries and acquiring their fabled wealth and status. Since their home is naturally arid, a variety of game meats are found in their cuisine. And organ meats not to mention animal blood delicacies are part of the repertoire too. But what is even more surprising is the fact that despite all this, the community was and is predominantly vegetarian. This should not really be surprising since this is a high-class Hindu community, that would have been traditionally vegetarian but for its nomadic lifestyle. In fact, the aachis were typically vegetarian, it was only their sea-faring menfolk who took to fish. One of the most interesting dishes in their repertoire is thus meen kozhambu and its vegetarian equivalent, “lotcha kottai elai”, as chef Anand informs me. The aachis would prepare a curry and divide it into two portions. While fish was put in one portion (meen khuzambu) for the men, the women themselves made a mock fish curry of sorts for themselves with the other half. For this, besan would be rolled in a fragrant leaf, steamed and cut. This imitation fish would then be curried for the vegetarian women. Business, food and the business of food were all entwined for this community.

One of the most interesting culinary practices has to be by way of each child in the household getting a special vessel to eat from. This vessel is called a “vaadi”, literally meaning “interest”. For a business community, it is pertinent to teach their progeny to only eat from the interest—without touching the principle! But finally, what I found most remarkable about the Chettiars and their passion for food is the fact that recipes have been codified—something that doesn’t seem to have been done in the rest of India at all– and passed down from mother to daughter. These are apparently zealously guarded and even today, it may be tough for you to get an aachi to part with her kitchen secrets. It would be well worth it if you managed.

(This article appeared in Anoothi Vishal’s food column, Foodphile, in Financial Express)

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

The truth about Chettinad

Despite being a smallish restaurant really, The Dhaba at the Claridges, Delhi, has always enjoyed immense popularity. Like Bukhara, the ITC brand, it has proved to be an evergreen concept, revolving around the simple theme of a highway eatery (or dhaba) and dishing out such staples as balti meat (which arrives on your tables in mini brass buckets) and tandoori items in a quaint setting, reminiscent of far humbler pleasures than dining out in a pricey five-star involve.

Over the decades, the restaurant has attracted fair traffic from amongst the high and mighty of Delhi society and if old timers recall Indira Gandhi’s fondness for the bitter chocolate cake from the Claridges pastry shop, it is with equal certainty that they brandy about the names of the younger Gandhis—Rahul and Priyanka—as being quite fond of the food at Dhaba. Yet, if you compare it to the turn that Indian menus in our metros have been taking of late, the Dhaba menu at the New Delhi hotel is quite surprising: For one it sticks to a handful of its trademark dishes and expects its loyal clientel to turn up again and yet again for more of the same. The menu has hardly been tampered with during the considerable length of the restaurant’s existence.

But it is perhaps because of the steadfast quality of what they turn out from their kitchens or perhaps because the earthy, Punjabi appeal of its ambience that the restaurant continues to be a winner. In fact, in hotel circles, it is often looked up to as credible competition to the mighty Bukhara itself— something not many Indian restaurants can boast of. While the New Delhi Dhaba remains the same, its loyalists have something new to lok forward to this season: A new, bigger, more lavish Dhaba at the Claridges’ sister property in Surajkund, which has positioned itself firmly as a business-resort. Just under a year old, the Surajkund hotel is charming with some of the biggest and most impressive room sizes available in the NCR.

With a spa and an inviting infinity pool overlooking a portion of the Delhi ridge, it certainly has the makings of a resort where you can spend a quiet weekend with your family while being just 20 minutes away from the city! On the other hand, it is entirely possible to finish off a busy working day by driving down to the hotel for dinner. And we would certainly recommend that you check out the new Dhaba at Surajkund. Enter the restaurant and you realize at once that far from conforming to the modern minimalist diktats of design, this is a restaurant that has gone all kitsch. The dhaba theme has been expanded — this, after all, being a much bigger restaurant than the one in New Delhi. Instead of the crammed interiors of the original, this one has enough space between tables to make for a private experience (even in the midst of children running around and having their fun), for a (rustic) lounge like seating area should you be waiting for your table and indeed for an entire truck!

The truck in question is a specially fabricated feature at the entrance hiding the entrance to the washrooms—as it would in a real highway dhaba no doubt. There is a small “washing area” with a tap and earthen pots just next to it once again simulating a real dhaba experience before you enter the dining space filled with quaint bric-a-brac, Bollywood posters, menu cards designed like license plate numbers, earthen jugs and so on. You don’t need to be a foreigner (or entertaining one) to enjoy this slice of India. Most of the old Dhaba specials remain though the menu has been expanded too with many fresh additions. But all in all, this is a space where you don’t really go looking for novelty or dressed-up Indian food. Instead, like its theme suggests, this is a restaurant that you will visit for your comfort food—dal makhani and naan, even if you choose to pair these with a glass of wine or a single malt. Sitting in an a-c environ of a luxury hotel, enjoying the robustness of a rustic meal in customized crockery: Really, what can be better?

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

There’s a truck in this restaurant!

… but it’s strictly average—except for the staff

By Anoothi Vishal

The determined onslaught by foreign hospitality chains into the Indian market means that the industry is currently abuzz with who is moving where. Amongst the biggest players to have entered Delhi this year is the Hilton—the US-based brand founded by Conrad Hilton (whose great granddaughter Paris Hilton is someone you may be more familiar with) and it is in news not just because of the famous surname but because of the unlikely location it has chosen for itself: Janakpuri.

In west Delhi, Janakpuri is a middle-class residential locality whose fortunes the metro line built a couple of years ago is no doubt likely to change. Real estate prices are booming and there is much activity not in the least in the form of a couple of star hotels that the locality didn’t quite have until just now. The first of these about-to-come up properties is the Hilton, essentially a full-fledged business hotel like it is almost everywhere in the world, but with enough elements of leisure built in to draw the local crowd from nearby cash-rich areas and turn this into a profitable venture.

The hotel is a big and ambitious property— 10 floors, highrise, with as many as three speciality restaurants, a coffee shop, a bar, and a spa; all the works if you like. This weekend, I was invited for a stay at the property to review it and check out two of its restaurants that are open (the rest will take about a month more).

The design has been done by the Thai interior design agency PI 10, and the look is quintessentially “hotel” with lots of glass, wood and marble all around. The main lobby is impressive—a huge space, minimum seating and accented by a huge blown glass chandelier that reflects lights thrown its way from below. There are hundreds of other LED lights which make this an impressive space as you step in in the evening— just right perhaps for the West Delhi crowd that thrives on bling and would rather have more than less to flaunt.

The swimming pool on the third floor with its open-air ambience is perhaps the best designed space in the hotel. A room overlooking this may be on top of your desired list and you may certainly like to lounge around this space. On the other hand, I have a few grouses too. The carpeted flooring does nothing for the hotel. The look is 1980s, when wall-to-wall carpeting even in the tropical Indian weather was the rage. But there is nothing more putting off to a modern day traveler than musty carpets. Alas both the rooms and the corridors of the hotel seem destined for precisely that.

I checked out the Indian restaurant Zume—and found the same “retro” (but not chic) element there. With brass bric-a-brac and an ornate look, the “ethnic” restaurant—complete with a live song cast—is definitely the stuff of the 1980s. It is a restaurant from the past when Indian restaurants looked a certain way, conforming to a certain Western construct of ethnicity. It has been a long time since anyone dared to bring this format on to the table.

The food is unforgivable. Sure, this is a “foreign” brand and has for its guests many Hilton regulars who no doubt seek clichés when it comes to the India experience. And yet… The restaurant is supposed to specialize in Kashmiri food—they even have some Wazwan seating. But just 20 per cent of the menu is devoted to Kashmiri specialities, amongst them, rogan josh—the most done-to-death curry in Indian restaurants anywhere. Should you seek a wazwan experience, the staff assures, they will seat you on a low table, serve you perhaps in a trami but feed you from their regular menu— dal makhni, gushtaba, chicken tikkas et al! In a day and age, where dining in “Indian” restaurants has become much more sophisticated, and chefs and restaurateurs are going out of their way to serve up authentic regional experiences, this kind of a tacky, quintessentially “restauranty” menu without any depth whatsoever is shocking to come across. A chef has been imported from Red Fort restaurant in London—though it defies all logic considering that someone more in tune with Indian realities, contemporary and traditional would have been better suited.

Even the taste of what is served up cannot stand critical scrutiny. The Hyderabadi biryani is a travesty— the rice without any flavour; served up a sealed metal (!) handi. But the dough seal is just a prop; the rice is undoubtedly cooked separately from the meat, and they are bunged in together a la minute at the time of service.

But while I am going to be severe on the food, a word about the staff: This is the only area where the Hilton’s international standards are on display. The staff is extremely well trained and can converse intelligently should you want to do that. The rooms per se are once again average. I had visited the Hilton Garden Inn some months ago and was bowled away by their attention to detail and level of personalized service which is what a guest really craves for these days. No such luck at the sister property. Besides, a couple of design features within the rooms and baths need looking into. The bath tubs are extremely slippery and slightly raised from the rest of the bathroom. One false step on the raised edge while coming out of the tub and you may just injure yourself — or that’s how I felt.

To be fair, the hotel is still being done up and we will go back to check it out once the glitches are all sorted out. But my first impression—and apologies to their brilliant staff whom I genuinely liked—that this is an average, cliched hotel. Welcome for West Delhi because the area doesn’t have anything at all. On the other hand, I am told that once all three speciality restaurants (a Chinese and an Italian one are on the anvil) become operational, there are going to be many more leisure activities. A leisurely brunch on Sundays will involve just one fixed price for all three restaurants. You could sit anywhere and order from all three menus. A definite treat. Also, kids will have their own “cards” allowing them various discounts. We look forward to that.

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Hilton comes calling in Janakpuri…

By Anoothi Vishal

Stunned to discover a south-Indian repertoire of kebabs

You’d associate it with the Brihadeshwara temple, the magnificent Chola prayer-in-rock to Shiva, with Bharat Natyam, with the opulence of its gold-foiled embellished art work, with even sambhar (believed to have originated here after king Sambhoji substituted the Konkani kokum with tamarind in the daal)… but kebabs? No, Tanjore would hardly be the place for those.

Think of melt-in-mouth kakoris or their cousins– also tenderized with raw papaya till you hardly need to chew on the mince—the galwat ke kebab, and you think of Lucknow. Hyderabad’s charms come through in the shikhampuris, fancier than the plain shammis of old Delhi, and then there are all the others—the seekh, the gilafi, the dorra, all skewered and grilled, versions of the Turkish/Iranian meats that are supposed to have engendered our own kebab tradition in the Subcontinent. But kebabs from Tanjore, it’s a strange proposition alright.

The south may have its many robust biryanis, and it may also have those delicious meat “roasts” flavoured by anything from tamarind to coconut, but a legit kebab tradition in peninsular India has been non-existent. Or so you’d think. Chef Praveen Anand, executive chef at ITC Sheraton Park hotel has just discovered one, unearthing a written kitchen tome no less of the erstwhile Maratha kings of Tanjore. Called the Sarbendra Pakashastra, after the man who recorded it in the reign of the 19th century Bhonsle ruler of Tanjore, Serfoji II, the book is a collection of recipes, dated1812. Amongst other royal delicacies, what it also contains is a repertoire of 10-15 kebabs developed in the Maratha kitchen of the palace.

As we sit down for a meal at Dakshin, 20 years old this year, fabulous with an old world charm (gleaming brass chandeliers, Tanjore paintings, live carnatic music) that the brand has not been able to replicate in its restaurants in other cities, Anand is justifiably proud. The painstaking research that he puts into his food — delving into community kitchens, traveling in trains to visit the smaller towns in Tamil Nadu, patiently watching old matriarchs cook, is finally getting noticed and bearing fruit. But this wasn’t always the case. As a junior chef specialising in Continental cooking, Anand wasn’t quite interested in Indian food. It was only a stray remark from a visiting Chennai matriarch, disdainful of commercial cooking, that riled him enough to take up research into community-based (South) Indian cuisines seriously. “It was only because she laughed at my food that my pride was hurt,” he confesses, as we begin our meal with an appetiser of sweet banana dosa that “crisp, masala dosa”-demanding north Indians wouldn’t dream existed. Today, as one of the foremost researchers of regional cuisines in the country, Anand has been able to crack open many closely-guarded family repertoires. And now, he’s recreated the kebab meals of Tanjore’s Maratha kings.

We have been talking about Andhra’s own “butter chicken”—cooked in a white, creamy sauce– that existed much before the Punjabi BC was concocted, when the Sunkat Shunti arrives at the table. The most delicious of the Tanjore “kebabs”, these are jumbo prawns smeared with a double marinade—first in an onion and tamarind paste that would certainly have been anathema in the north, and then in a recognizably Maharashtrian style dry-roasted masala of copra, seasoned with peppercorns, cumin and coriander seeds. Finally, this is cooked in a tandoor; more tikka than kebab but a unique amalgamation of the north and the south certainly. Serfoji II, records show, was an educated man and pushed for several reforms in his kingdom before the British ended the Maratha rule. He was also a trained ophthalmologist and would pay his subjects to get treated by him (!), the chef tells me. The Pakashastra is one of the few culinary records in the country where kitchen knowledge and lore has traditionally never been codified. “There were four different kitchens that catered to the palace,” Anand explains, including the water and the sherbet section, a Maratha kitchen, that catered to the non-vegetarians, a Brahmanical kitchen as well as a western kitchen where English and French recipes were practiced, including, what is noted in the book as a recipe for “Lady Mohammed’s roast”.

The prawn Shunti has a lamb equivalent in the “Daanedar Shunti”, one of the most elaborate kebabs in the repertoire, once again with a double marinade. Amongst the ingredients that go into its making are poppy seeds and copra, cashew paste and onions. The meat is boiled, its fibre taken out before all its tied with a banana thread and fried! There are fish seekh kebabs, kombdichi (chicken) kebabs, and others still that will remind you of the shamis except for some unfamiliar flavours that you don’t really expect from a kebab in the north. At the Saraswati Mahal Library in Tanjore, adjacent to the crumbling palace where the once mighty kings’ descendants have nothing but their surname alone to boast of, the book is in the public domain. Yet you will find few hunched up turning its pages — save a chef someday.

Sample these at: Dakshin, ITC Sheraton-Park, Adyaar gate, Chennai,
Tel: 044-24997904

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Kebabs from Tanjore

Curating a monsoon food and art festival at The Park New Delhi has been fun and a good learning experience. I discovered the importance of seasonal foods in our cooking traditions…

Seasonal diets have always been an intrinsic part of Indian regional cuisine(s). While we may not have had codified “kitchen literature”, and recipes and methods of cooking may have been passed down generations simply through word of mouth, Ayurveda, the “science of medicine” and food, undoubtedly played a significant role in how Indian families across the country cooked and ate. Households developed their own repertoires based on availability not to mention granny’s wisdom and such cooking was centred around the undisputable premise that you were what you ate! And that good health could be ensured by eating correctly.

Monsoon foods of different communities were significant for the simple reason that the season is so central to the Subcontinent—and not merely in terms of climactic conditions. Instead, like the Western construct of “spring” in art, literature, music and more, that time of the year inextricably and symbolically linked with renewal (of hope, love, happiness…), the monsoons in India have connotations that go much beyond the odd shower or two! In a primarily agrarian world, traditionally, this has been a season of abundance, fertility, and thus of celebration as seen in the spirit of festivals such as Teej and Ganpati, Rakshabandhan and Onam. And with so many festivals marking this time, can an abundance of fine food — community feasts and prized family recipes—be far behind? And thus we have everything from jave (typical of Rakshabandhan), golen and ghewar (for Teej) to fresh coconut-filled modaks, a favourite of Lord Ganesha, not to mention his devotees.

Sweets apart, this is the time for savouries too—as the summer heat abates and the weather gets more pleasant in most parts of the country. Thus, you will find dal-bati-churma gots, gatherings or picnics, in Rajasthan, and people gorging on bhajiyas and batata vadas in western Maharashtra. With several common seasonal ingredients in different parts of the country, it is also interesting to see how the same ingredient (and, many a times the same way of cooking) gets customized to local tastes. Thus, in old Delhi and Uttar Pradesh, if you have patore, a snack made of colocasia leaves, in Mahashtra, it becomes aduchi vadi and patrode in Mangalore’s Bunt kitchens, a dish of the same colocasia leaves stuffed with rice, dal and jaggery. On the other hand, some times, traditions differ. In the villages of Punjab, a typical monsoonal pastime in the old days, would be sucking on small, ripe mangoes (still available in the north in the rainy months), while sipping kachchi lassi—one quarter cold milk, three quarters water; unsweetened, supposed to aid digestion and soothe the stomach. In coastal Maharashtra, on the other hand, the season for hafus and amrakhand is already over.

Since the rains typically brought in their wake several water-borne diseases of the stomach in our tropical climes, chaat, vegetables and street snacks were to be commonly avoided. In their place, there was a stress on pucca khana, deemed more hygienic and safe since food was fully immersed in hot oil or fat during cooking. It is to this wisdom that we can possibly trace the evolution of bhajiyas, bhajas and pakoris not to mention aloo ki tikkis, samosas and vadas. So next time you see hot, smoking oil in a wok and batter-wrapped vegetables, including onions, potatoes and green chillies being deep fried as soon as it starts raining, you will realize the method behind the pakora madness India. But in north India, where potato and onion supplies could be hit due to the rain, households would traditionally also make the likes of kashi phal (gourd) pakoras. Similarly, other monsoon vegetables like other varieties of gourd, zucchini, colocasia and jack fruit would be used instead of leafy greens either spoilt by the rain in poor storage conditions or worm infested.

The iconic status of the pakora as a rain food in many parts of the country is shared by the khichuri in Bengal. A fragrant, subtle preparation pepped up by a number of side dishes like beguni (chickpea flour coated aubergine slices), kosha mangcho, slow-cooked lamb, and, of course, what the non-Bengalis will simply call fish fry.

Fish was (and is) commonly not eaten during the monsoon months in most parts of India— except in states like Assam and Bengal, where river fish is a fixture. In Kolkata, this is hilsa time as much as it is the time to make khichuri, and the ilish, fresh water fish may be either steamed wrapped in mustard paste, the fabled Kolkata way, or fried. Another common monsoon category was ankurit foods, or germinated seeds, highly nutritious. Chunki hui moong (moong beans soaked overnight, tempered with heeng) is thus a simple but delicious delicacy as also usal, more robust with a flavouring of the Maharashtrian kala masala.

While, today, there are various opinions on whether or not to consume jackfruit during the rains, it is a common seasonal ingredient and various jackfruit preparations are thus popular in different parts of the country; including jackfruit papads, jackfruit sambhar as well as a jackfruit and fresh coconut preparation from Mangalore that’s on our menu. Other ingredients find expression in dishes such as singadhe ki subzi from UP, a host of corn preparations, in the use of lotus stems and seeds and so forth.

What was to be avoided during the rains was fermented food, in keeping with the tenets of Ayurveda. So yoghurt was replaced with milk and milk products (as we see in the kachchi lassi of Punjab) but there were exceptions, of course. Tambli, a buttermilk like drink from Karnataka, continues to be consumed during this season but is prepared with a tempering of either garlic or ginger—heat-inducing ingredients in keeping with the weather. Naturally sour, astringent and bitter foods were supposed to be included in the diet— supposedly to benefit the stomach and keep diseases at bay in this season. So while the tomato-based saar and tenga, or the hot menas kai may be consumed even during other months, in monsoons they gain a special relevance.

You will find many of these foods in our monsoon food festival. The recipes have been painstakingly collected from families belonging to different parts of the country—many of whom didn’t even remember whether their traditional diets ever had anything special for the rains. But memory is a strange thing. Rejig it a bit, and customs, habits, traditions come tumbling out.

Note: The Monsoon Cuisine-Art festival is on till August 1 at The Park New Delhi

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Monsoon cuisines of India

An old Delhi restaurant gets a spanking new makeover— successfully

By Anoothi Vishal

Growing up in Delhi, one restaurant that I frequented more than any other was Baluchi at the then hotel Intercontinental. Part of an older genre of “Indian” restaurants, this was a family favourite, as much for its tikkas and curries as for live musical performances; more Bollywood than ghazals. It is with such memories that I walk into a spanking new avatar of the restaurant – and am totally disarmed.

Gone is the slightly fraying space as you would have remembered it—complete with its live singing set up. In its place is a completely contemporary restaurant, swanky and spacious with a huge wine bar for an accessory. In fact, the huge wine bar with an exceptionally well put together list of labels is the defining feature of this smart new restaurant. A substantial by-the-glass menu (ranging from Rs 400-2,500 per glass offerings) means that patrons are encouraged to experiment, pair their food with wine—and witness for themselves how wonderfully pan Indian food can go with new world varietals; the Argentinan malbecs, Chilean cabernet sauvignon, New Zealand sauvignon blancs or, of course, the big wines from Italy—the Massis and the Antinoris.

Once you have placed your order at the wine bar, you can turn your eyes towards another new, swish feature—the bread bar. Baluchi is perhaps the only restaurant of its kind in the country to offer this. Chefs make breads of your choice in a live kitchen and you can order an assorted basket of sheer mals, missi rotis, stuffed kulchas and something called the pheni roti (from Avadh, it is crisp and absolutely divine) to munch on while you sip your wine. The breads are a must try, fragrant and addictive and come accompanied by home-made dips, including carrot, radish and fenugreek ones.

Despite its name that would suggest food from Baluchistan/Afghanistan, Baluchi now serves you a pan-Indian selection. Dishes from Kashmir and Karnataka rub shoulders with those from Avadh, Lucknow and Maharashtra. Apparently, the Delhi restaurant is going to be a prototype for an entire chain—the brand to go to other The Lalit properties across India soon. For our meal, the chef sent us a portion of chapli kebabs, a Lahori delicacy, made of mince and traditionally shaped like a chappl or shoe (these, luckily, were not), his special seekh kebabs which are different from the usual ones you may have sampled in that they include onions, tomatoes and much more masala in the mince, paneer tikkas for the vegetarians and an astonishing mushroom galauti—that totally replicates the original non-vegetarian kebab in taste and texture. Definitely, my find for the evening.

In the main course, you could choose from the various curries—our selection included a Maharashtrian-style chicken (with mustard seeds) and kosha mangcho from Bengal, which was average. But what you must also try is the Dal Baluchi—the restaurant’s own version of dal makhni. Cooked overnight, it is less tomato-ey than the fabled Dal Bukhara and a must try. The service is prompt and courteous, the views afforded by some corner tables of Connaught Place by the night totally worth it and the food shows hard work and great understanding of regional flavours.

All in all, I am glad that Baluchi has changed. For the better.

Ratings
Food: 4 on 5
Decor: 3.5 on 5
Service: 3.5 on 5
Where: Baluchi, The Lalit, Barakhamba Road, New Delhi

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Wine bar, bread bar, Baluchi bar bar

Bollywood cafe Chalchitra falters on its execution

Bollywood and spicy Indian street food can be a potent mix, which is why it is wonder that no one really thought of bringing these two together – before Chalchitra. A new restaurant-lounge in GK II, Chalchitra (meaning “moving, or motion pictures”, to translate it literally) was a concept waiting to happen. That’s the reason we are in an exceptionally bright—and forgiving– mood even as we climb up the narrow stairs adjoining Costa Coffee, and promptly get blinded by the red lights that illuminate this space not to mention deafened by the blaring remixed dance numbers, courtesy a DJ on the top floor. But what the heck, Bollywood can be equally loud and you have only to watch a couple of 1980s flick to be overwhelmed by psychedelics.

The first impression is that of kitsch. If you have Manish Arora sensibilities, at least when it comes to fashion, this may be your kind of space. There are posters all around, produced by the restaurateurs themselves, that lampoon various film titles and dialogues just as the menu card does. Sholay, is of course, chole, Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson become “Do Jasoos” and memorable one-liners come in the shape of “kitne paranthe the?”. There are also a couple of coffee table books on Bollywood masquerading as décor. And on the walls, projections of popular films roll on silently: Chupke Chupke is on when we visit. It’s a world full of college humour that one could almost like – but for the music. And that’s where, Chalchitra begins to falter. In a space peopled by not more than 10 people, screechy Bollywood numbers make conversation impossible—and it isn’t even Cinderella hour when high-spirited Delhiites abandon their chairs to dance on, well, table tops, bar counters and restaurant floors in clear contradiction of the law…

The menu: We love the menu cards, which are as kitschy as the décor. And there are some sparklers in the seriously average affair otherwise. First, the highlights. The chicken tikka is good—tender and succulent, there is a Parsi version of KFC-type fried chicken which you will also love, and there are chaat masala sprinkled French fries to complement our desi spirit. The snack platter comes with salad and chutneys as also a “bowl” fashioned out of crispy papad full of other papad and peanut munchies, the kind that are always a success with Black Label guzzling guests. There is a deliberate attempt at achieving a mouffusil tone to go with the Bollywood theme. And the star of the evening is the home-style khichda (with chicken!) that we get, just right with its flavouring of ginger and green chillies.

Next, the lowlights: What, for heaven’s sake, is a French onion soup, and not very good either, doing on this determinedly street-Indian type menu? You can have a better version at Kwality’s and other Raj institutions. And some of the food quality is so low that you want to pull up the restaurateurs for daring to dish it out. Prawn Koliwada that we order are a mockery of the real thing—pakora like here. Clearly, it is a fallacy to order anything “south Indian”—the fare is so inauthentic. Another Chettinad-style prawns that we order, teamed up with lemon rice, has too much masala drowing out tiny bits of shrimp. No, you wouldn’t pay fancy prices for this.

All in all, Chalchitra disappoints because it could have been so much more. The food is strictly average, and a lot of times dips further. What happens as a result is that the restaurant comes across as a chaloo, insincere place — much like many of our potboilers, which is a shame because with the idea they had, they should have had a winner on their hands. And, please someone turn off the volume!

————–ends—————

Chalchitra

M-38, 1st floor, GK II, M Block Market, Delhi
Meal for two: Rs 1,000 (without alcohol)

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Potboiler…gone wrong

Amritsar’s street specialities keep alive its foodie reputation but I manage to have the best thin-crust pizza in India in this chicken tikka town

Almost the first bite that I have in Amristar, fabled city of food and worship, is strangely enough from a thin-crust pizza. But what a bite! My five-year-old in her infinite wisdom has decided to forgo local specialities being served up by the charming chef at Ista, our hotel, and opted, instead, to go Italian in this kulcha city. But the thin-cruster — with a child-friendly, grilled chicken topping — is so inviting that I promptly dig in, forgetting my travel mantra of eating only as the locals do. It is a choice that I don’t regret. This is the one of the best pizzas I have ever eaten (in a decade-long career as a food critic), including in Italy. The crust is just right, the mozzarella suitably stringy and the chicken, umm, in kukad-land, that’s one thing they always get right.

The pizza may as well have set the tone for our visit. Amritsar, after all, is a town in flux. Ista, that opened about two years ago is the city’s first five star hotel, there is a huge mall adjoining it —popular for weekend parenting— which opened scarcely six months ago. There is a multiplex of equally recent provenance, a day-old flyover connecting the old city to the GT Road, and, yes, KFC and McDonald’s. The last have finally found a toehold in this foodie city just a couple of months ago. Does the old Amritsar live — beyond Wagah’s touristy tamasha and the mesmeric Golden Temple? We’ll find out.

But day one is reserved for the spa. For all its holiness and history, Amritsar is emerging as favourite modern-day spa destination for Dilliwallahs and others. While the colonial Rajit Savaasa has a decent enough spa managed by ITC Welcomheritage, Ista is driving another set of tourists to this city. With Ananda in the Himalayas for its sister property, the hotel has a huge reputation to protect. And it does.

The “stone therapy” that I undergo is proof enough. Hot black basalt stones and chilled white marbles are alternately used for a firm and relaxing massage that leaves my back finally painfree. There is a rose quartz facial that a friend raves about (beginning with a whole back massage because for your skin to be rejuvenated, it is essential for all stress and negativity to drain away; can’t argue with such logic). But the best bit is the sub-Delhi prices. Considering that both the products and the therapists are the same as at Ananda, these are a steal. The costliest treatment is all of Rs 2,500 as against the usual Rs 3,500 and upwards in Delhi.

The hotel looks and feels like a business destination but it is really a combination of the warmth of the service staff and technology that works for it: The lifts are superfast, zipping up to the 19^th floor, where I am staying, in just under a minute and the latest security systems — not to be seen at even the smartest Delhi hotel—are in place. For you to access your floor, for instance, you’d need to swipe your room key in the lift.

So far all what we’ve seen is the new Amritsar. But a round trip on a cycle rickshaw in the old city convinces me of tradition. For a princely sum of Rs 50 (round trip), I go rick-hopping from one foodie fix to another: At the impossibly narrow Katra Ahluwalia, adjacent Jalianwalla Bagh, a jalebi shop of no name sells the best in town. Faint-hearted tourists often get pointed towards Novelty at Lawrence Road for the best chaat (aloo tikkis are made with onions and black gram and with the potatoes shallow fried even before they are made into tikkis and fried again – no don’t watch calories here) and jalebis. But this is the it place.

Outside the temple, there are also shops selling badiyan (made from dried urad dal seasoned with a variety of things, including guava) and aloo papad, another traditional treat. I stop to pick up a bundle, and upon inspection, find the papads to be exactly what you’d buy in Benares. The shopkeeper, an Aggarwalji, whose family has been in the city for 200 years, offers a plausible explanation: women from UP traditionally settled in this town have been running this thriving home-business.

The rick puller keeps up a constant chat: The best milk barfi is to be found at the Longewala Mata Mandir near the Golden Temple, he tells me, and then takes me to Gyan Halwai, opposite DAV College, for lassi. When it arrives, the frothy concoction topped with cream, in big steel tumblers is intimidating. I can barely manage a quarter of a glass.

The walled city around the Golden Temple, the oldest part of Amritsar, is vegetarian. So, are some of the oldest dhabas here. Bharawan Dhaba (thus called because it was set up by two brothers) was established in 1912 by Jagannath Vij, well before the Partition exodus made eating out acceptable. According to Vij’s grandson, who now mans this destination, in the earlier days, people would get their atta and ghee and other ingredients and merely have these cooked here. Today, of course, this is a bustling enterprise. House speciality dal makhani is slow cooked in a copper vessel for an entire night. It’s a place for a whiff of nostalgia even if the setting has pastic-y table tops.

The other instutution is Kesar ka dhaba but I am still in a stupor before the rick takes me to Hindu College, next to which stands another Amritsari favourite: Ahuja Lassi. In the mornings, you can sample their famous kesar ki lassi—flavoured with saffron (saffron “threads” are ground and mixed with milk before the yoghurt is set) but even the usual non-flavoured glass is creamy and lip-smacking.

Having finally junked the rick, I head out to Lawrence Road for some non-vegetarian treats. The tawa meatwallah near Adarsh Talkies has shut down, Beera’s chicken (for tandori style eats) at Manjithia Road is still the best place for fowl, but Surjeet, mentioned in Lonely Planet and a favourite with Bollywood stars, is clearly thriving. Instead of the small fish shop that he started out with near the railway station, there is now a new “restaurant”, air-conditioned, where you can sample Surjeet Singh’s delicacies. We try the Amritsari fish (the Ista version is better), the totally fabulous mutton tikka (instead of the plain tandoori version, this one comes coated in a secret masala having been fried on a hot iron griddle as well after being over-roasted), first-rate tandoori chicken and soft, fluffy aloo kulchas. We are swelled and not just with Amritsari pride.

Back at Ista, next day is a relatively simple affair: Simple? Well, that’s not possible in this city. A lunch of chole kulche gets transformed to a gourmet meal thanks to what arrives at our table. Chickpeas in a curry that can only be attributed to another world — or to Amritsar’s terroir.

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Street food binging in Amritsar

Anoothi Vishal checks out three new suburban restaurants in two days

I don’t think much of Gurgaon restaurants that tend to be in soulless malls or in glass and steel office complexes hoping to tap into an essentially corporate clientele. If you drive by night, past its glittering towers, zipping on the expressway (except on either sides of the toll bridge where you’ll be crawling, if you are lucky), this satellite town will remind you of Shanghai or Dubai’s Sheikh Zayed Road. But despite the rise of the modern city from a collection of rustic villages, which we have all witnessed in the last couple of years, it is Delhi really, that baffling, conflicted, overcrowded, overextended metro, that is beautiful. Delhi has character, old tombs and forts that dot its landscape give it that. In Delhi, it is still possible to come across a patch of green, and leafy boulevards haven’t been done out of existence yet. And in Delhi, you will still find markets and restaurants with a certain charm, tucked away in unexpected nooks and corners, which anything in an antiseptic mall space cannot hope to compete with. Finally, Gurgaon is also 50 odd kilometers from my home in Delhi— so I don’t need other reasons for not wanting to visit it!

Last week, however, I made the journey two days in a row, braving the office hour rush and spending, each time, about 1.5 hours to reach ‘suburbia’. I was forced to undertake the treks because of three excellent restaurants that have come up in the town and which I wanted to desperately check out— never mind Delhi’s treasures.

Zambar

As a rule, I don’t like malls. The only exceptions are Select Citywalk in Saket and Ambience Mall in Guragon, with enough treasures and hooks to make your weekend there a success. Zambar, is the latest restaurant at Ambience, which is crowded enough with some interesting (and reasonably priced) eating out options. The name is a take on “sambhar”, the all pervasive south Indian dish, spelt the way many south Indians (at least when spoofed) pronounce sambhar. The restaurant serves food from the four south Indian states—Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, though the focus seems to be more on Tamil and Kerala cooking, what with the chef being from Kanyakumari.

You can look at Zambar as an upmarket version of the much-loved Swagath: Menu apart, the staff, chefs and service included, is all from the south but there is a wine list in place (liquor license awaited) and the prices are very much in keeping with the casual nature of the restaurant. The interiors, on the other hand, will leave you fairly impressed. When promoter Rohit Aggarwal had told me that one side of the restaurant was “in a boat shape”—ostensibly referencing the Kerala house boats—I was frankly skeptical about the indoor space being treated as such. But the effect is quite pretty. Regardless of being in a mall, there is a certain charm in “boarding” the boat and sitting on little benches and low tables. As you enter, you notice on a side board, a gleaming, gold-plated (?) dinner service. It is a hand crafted replica of traditional serving dishes and while this is merely a prop as yet, the restaurant may soon start serving lunch buffets out of this.

More importantly, the menu is compact and there is no attempt like at Swagath to muddle up things for popular consumption aka serve north Indian food in the same space. It’s a good idea to order a mixed snack platter— we ordered the seafood and non-veg platters, the latter primarily comprised mutton (and chicken 65, the most touristy street dish from down south) done in many traditional ways. While the veg menu includes the likes of paneer (definitely not south Indian, but I guess the restaurant has to look after commercial concerns) and baby corn, crispy fried in masalas, it is the coastal menu that I would most recommend: The provenance of kurkuri (crispy, the word is Hindi) prawns may be unknown, as that of “chilli” squid, that Indians would dig whether in a Chinese or Indian menu, but both these are quite delicious as is the king fish tawa fry. The only disappointment is the crab chettinad style— they take out the flesh and put masala in it—killing half the fun of eating the crustacean.

It is really the main course, where the menu shows strength—and research. I tried the Syrian-Christian pan fried duck, an Andhra chicken curry cooked with cashews, Nilgiri mutton and Tamil style prawn curry — four dishes from four states– and am happy to report that the curries were all distinctive.

All in all, don’t go expecting strict authenticity or tradition from Zambar. There is paneer aplenty and even bater (quail) to keep the north Indians happy. But the offerings are flavourful, different from each other, and you’ll come back happy. The best part of Zambar is that you get to sample a lot of Tamil cooking that otherwise gets lost in the Chettinad hype.

Ratings
Food: 3.5 (on 5)
Ambience: 4
Service: 4
Value for money: 4

Learning : Veechu parotta, is like a north Indian roomali roti, except is crisper and much more delicious. Try.

Zambar, Ambience Mall, Gurgaon
www.ambiencemalls.com

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Vapour

Located in the otherwise “dead” MGF Megacity mall, Vapour is quite a lovely place to relax with a drink and some good music in pubby environs. In Delhi, true pubs are conspicuous by their absence. In their place, what we have are “lounge bars”, more stylized and formal spaces (despite their easy-going categorization), which cost so much money that you wouldn’t go there merely for a drink after office or a casual evening out with friends.
Vapour, in Gurgaon, fills up precisely that slot. On the Friday evening when we visited, it was full of people—both men and women, comfortably dressed, who didn’t look as if they had spent hours getting ready for a casual glass of beer! The music was awesome. But it is really the beer why you will keep going back.
Vapour has a micro-brewery, a growing trend in India, where beer is brewed on premises. If you are interested, you can actually see the process and the staff is happy to educate you on the nitty-gritties. The beer tastes a lot smoother—and better—than the commercial, bottled stuff one has had in India always. And there are comfort snacks to munch on. Could you ask for more?

Ratings

Beer: 4 (on 5)
Ambience: 4
Service: 3.5

Vapour, 2nd floor, MGF Mega City mall, Gurgaon
Mobile number: 9810690973,9582555614.
Tel number: 0124-4222313

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Infusion

Contemporarised Indian is gathering steam as more and more new restaurants go out of their way to serve up, not traditional Indian food, but Westernised Indian food. Infusion, most obscurely located in a new office block, is another such example.
The menu includes pleasing entrees such as French herb infused chicken tikka, scallops in tandoori masala et al— using the same tried and tested techniques that stylist Indian restaurants abroad used to much success. But while it would make sense to use western ingredients in Indian cooking abroad, do we really need to do that in India? That is a question you may as well ask.
Nevertheless, the dining experience is pleasing. Maincourse comes individually plated and there is a bread basket (with naans et al) kept as accompaniments (with butter), which seems somewhat incongruous. I had a lovely lobster in a coconutty sauce, while my daughter had fish in a green coriander one. But while, these are quite interesting, the problem with infusion is that none of the dishes really stand out.

Rating
Food: 3
Ambience: 3
Service: 3
Contact : Infusion
Phone : 124-4223301/02/03
Address : Building 10A, DLF Cyber City, Gurgaon – 122002
Website : http://www.infusionkitchen.com

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Dining in Gurgaon

After a hectic week of cooking in a professional kitchen, I finally took a break with, what else, but Indian Chinese…

By Anoothi Vishal

It may not have the mandatory red lanterns synonymous with Indian-Chinese restaurants of yore. But it does have red, runway-type, floor bulbs in the loo lighting up the throne! Make no mistake, Nelson Wang, celebrity restaurateur, father of the manchurian and other pop dishes that have long defined Indian-Chinese, sticks to the tried and tested, scaling up the formula of dishing out his own concoctions guaranteed to curry favour with the Indian palate. And curry favour they do.

But first the restaurant: The new China Garden at Hotel Ashok is by far Wang’s most prestigious project. Conceptualised as a luxury space, it will awe a first-time visitor with its sheer scale, spread, as it is, over an indoor area of 7,000 sq feet. Another 7,000 sq feet are to be added by October this year, as an outdoor garden, no mean feat considering that this is prime real estate. So, if location is a major criterion for a restaurant’s commercial success, China Garden has certainly got it right.

But such mammoth space is a double-edged sword. While the interiors — Feng Shui compliant— complete with a towering 12.5 feet high statue of the Buddha imported from China, two large water channels with the mandatory koi fish and 22-carat gold leaf covered pillars and walls, give you a sense of grandeur, the restaurant’s huge seating capacity of almost 200 people also means that the team running it will have to work that much harder to keep it occupied. Even in Delhi, that enjoys both huge reserves of wealth and its display, this is going to be challenging.

Does China Garden get its food right? The answer is an unhesitating “yes”, that is if you go expecting Wang’s signature recipes and not necessarily the simple styles of authenticated Cantonese or other regional Chinese bites. (Recipes from other parts of South-East Asia are included too.) The garlicy soy sauce on our table sets the tone for the entire meal. It is delicious and exactly what Dilli customers may want. Crispy duck strips in pancakes also stand out but beware, the main course can get seriously hot. Don’t go looking for understatements.

There are almost 300 of Wang’s creations on the menu, so there is dollops of nostalgia on offer for all those who may have eaten at his establishments in Mumbai and Delhi. And who hasn’t? But I found the most interesting part of the menu —well, it is a separate menu in itself—to be a section devoted to the Chinese clientele. When it gets introduced “soon”, this is going to be a much more “authentic” offering in terms of seasoning, cooking and ingredients. The names of the dishes are going to be printed in Chinese alongside English. But what is remarkable is that Wang doesn’t hesitate to experiment even here: Chinese style chicken and other meats are to be cooked with seasonal Indian veggies, including parval and gourd!

As his mission, Wang states that he now wants to establish satellite kitchens and research and create other distinct recipes. Clearly, whether or not you agree with his genre of food, that is his calling.
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Ratings
Food: 3 (on 5)
Ambience: 4
Service: 3

Address:
China Garden
Ashok Hotel,
50B, Diplomatic Enclave,
Chanakyapuri, New.Delhi-110021

What to order: Old China Garden favourites, had with dollops of garlic soy sauce

What not to: Despite a huge wine library, house wine by the glass seems to limited to Sula. With such robust bites anyway, stick to Jasmine tea.

Meal for two: Rs 2,500 (without taxes)

Copyright 2009 India - Food & Travel Guide

Scaling up China Garden