Politics, and Piyush

I was in Shivaji Park for a meeting when my friend Jal, a pucca Parsi, surprised me by asking me if I would have lunch at Prakash,which he explained was a spartan vegetarian eatery in the heart of Shivaji Park. He wasn't sure if I'd like the food or not, but I was always eager to experiement.

His partner, Kishore, who grew up in Shivaji Park, rattled off a history of Prakash while we looked for parking in the bye lanes of the vicinity. Prakash actually has quite a controversial history, it was rumoured that the proprietors, hardcore Maharashtrian Chitpavan Brahmins, distributed pedas upon the assasination of Mahatma Gandhi at the hands of one of their caste brethren. The restaurant was torched in the ensuing riots. Quite like the pheonix, it rose from the ashes, the food compensating for the radical ideology of the patrons. As we entered the joint, I noticed that it was much like the typical Marathi "Khanaval" or eatery - sunmica benches and tables where you sat where you could and relaxing after lunch wasn't an option.

We started off with what he recommended - the sabudana wada. Sabudana is a typical "fast food" item in Maharashtra - not competing with burgers and fries, but one of the few permissible food items during a fast. Sabudana is the vernacular for the starch extracted from the Sago Palm which and made into the commercial product of sago pearls. There are two popular ways of making Sabudana during fasts - one is the khichadi, which is steaming the pearls after tempering them with mustard, curry leaves, groundnut powder and chillies. The other, is the wada, which like all wadas are deep fried. Mashed potato acts as the binding agent. Unlike the usual sabudana wada, which is flat and brown and crisp, this wada was round, almost white, not very oily and soft on the inside. Served with a lightly spiced coconut based chutney, it was good enough to make me want to fast more often.

It didn't take us long to debate over the main course - the menu is short and we were squished between enough patrons to peek at what they were eating and decide what looked good. One of our companions, Kishore, immediately said that he was having the "usal" which is any preparation made out of sprouts. He was referring to the "dalimbichi usal" which was a gravy, again coconut milk based, made out of sprouted field beans. They are also called "vaal". They have a slightly bitter taste, which is what makes them stand apart rather than jar on the senses. The gravy was creamy and the beans were just cooked right, just like home. I half expected them to be soggy from having been made many many hours ago. Though the beans were bitter, the gravy was sweet and eating it was pure fantasy for those with the acquired taste. We also ordered a batata bhaji which is a potato preparation without a gravy - tempering chopped potatoes with mustard, cumin, green chillies, curry leaves and garnishing it with freshly grated coconut and corriander, with a lemon wedge to suit your tastebuds. Enjoyable, but standard.

(Below: clockwise from top: dalimbi usal, batatachi bhaji and pooris made of 100% whole wheat flour)

To wash it down, we didn't have the option of cold drinks, but Kishore insisted that I try the Piyush, which he told me was a kind of Maharashtrian Lassi. Piyush is yoghurt based, like a lot of Indian drinks. The yellow tinge comes from the use of saffron, and the drink was cold and its sweetness and the flavours of jaiphal (nutmeg) and elaichi (cardamom) were a brilliant end to this meal. For dessert I had actually opted for Dudhi Halva which was slightly disappointing.

In conclusion - if you are in Mumbai and if you want to do the whole foodie binge, write Prakash in bold and make sure you get to Gokhale Road and have a meal there.

Don't let ideology stand in the way of fine cuisine!

At home in a five star?

Difficult to explain how I landed up at the Taj Mahal's Masala Kraft for lunch one day, but it was sheer lethargy that got me to agree with my companion and the waiter to opt for the vegetarian "Maharashtrian Tiffin" for a working lunch. I'm not Maharashtrian, but I've lived in the state for long enough to know what the food should taste like. So there we went.

I noticed the aesthetically done set up while I munched the complimentary papad assortment. Some time later, our meal was brought, little bowls hanging from a tree of sorts, and set up very painstakingly in front of us.

(Counterclockwise from bottom: rotis, varan, Bharili vangi, mix vegetably curry, batatachi bhaji)

The meal began with farsan (not in pic), which was actually part Gujarati - a piece each of dhokla (steamed cakes made with chickpea flour and tempered with mustard), aloowadi (layers of colocassia/arbi leaves alternated with a chickpea flour and spice paste, steamed, sliced and tempered) , Idada (similar to the dhokla, but white in colour, and made of urad dal), and kothimbir wadi (a cutlet made from chickpea flour, lots of spices and lots of corriander/kothimbir), which was the best of the lot.

The main course looked pretty small, but I was pretty full by the end of it. The Batatachi bhaji was simple, very similar to that which is found in maharashtrian households all over, and served usually with pooris. It's a simple enough dish to make - boiled potatoes tempered with turmeric powder and mustard seeds, and garnished with fresh coconut and corriander.

The mix vegetable curry (they had a name for it which is irrelevant) was quite odd, there was nothing maharashtrian about it, in fact, it tasted like a sour paneer butter masala with extra vegetables in it. Perhaps in another thali it would have been appealing (then again, maybe not), in a Maharashtrian tiffin, it was just an outsider. I could imagine a lot of Shiv Sainiks getting very upset about this inclusion.

The bharili vangi, one of my favourite dishes and made in several different ways all over Maharashtra, is a dish of little eggplants/brinjals which are slit till the stem and stuffed with a spice paste of corriander, cloves, chilli, and grated coconut or groundnut, and simmered in the same gravy. My companion, Lax, caught the goof up even though he's not an insider on Maharashtrian cuisine:

"Isn't there too much groundnut in this?"

Oh dear, yes. It tasted like an entire jar of Skippy's Chunky Peanut Butter had been emptied into the spice paste. I cringed.

My biggest grudge however was the bread accompaniment - we were served tandoori rotis, as opposed to the other options of a Maharashtrian meal - bhakris (rotis made of bajra/millet or jowar/sorghum flours), vade (pooris made of rice flour), or even poli (tava chapatis).

I ended my meal with the varan, which is toor dal cooked with very basic seasoning - cumin and asafoetida, and rice, and I was happy - the varan, topped with a teaspoon of ghee, was just the way it should be. A special mention also to the matka dahi which Lax insisted on.

For dessert, we were given the modak: a dumpling made from maida, which is filled with either chana dal or coconut and jaggery. The dumpling is then deep fried, or steamed. The modak came doused with ghee, but I was pained to find that the modak making had been obviously outsourced to the neighbouring chinese restaurant - the covering was thick and reminiscent of a steamed bun dim-sum. The coconut-jaggery stuffing was a little too dry. Lord Ganesha would not have been pleased at the Chef's interpretation of his favourite sweet dish.

At Rs. 1,100 plus taxes, it was certainly not worth it, except for learning that five star restaurants can really bungle up dishes which, ironically, a lot of staff members, and possibly the chef himself, must be eating at home every single day. I know a lot of people will ask me why the hell I went to a Taj Indian restaurant and not to the Chinese ones, which are much more preferred. Isn't there a reason why 5 star Indian cuisine, with the exception of maybe ITC's Bukhara, is looked down upon? Who exactly are we catering to?