C R Park holes-in-the-wall

I had only heard the popular folk tales about holes in the wall in CR Park, which serve Authentic Bong Food. Since I am packing up from Delhi soon, the Delhi Nostalgia trips had to include a visit t one such how-in-the-wall. This one is opposite CR Park Market No. 2 and is called Ma Taara.

Maa Taara is a large canteenesque hall in a basement. With Mashimas, Boudis, Poltus,Tutukis, Dilli arty kids looking for subaltern food, Cal artsies looking to simulate Ghar ka Khana. The specials on the day are mapped in bold bengali letters at the back. It is presumed you know the script when you walk in. The menu shows up names of myriad fresh-water fish other than rui, ilish (hilsa), chingri (prawn). You will be familiar with the full range only if you have been brought up in a predominantly fish-eating family. Which I am. So I knew the jargon. And felt very jingo and in-the-loop, especially in the company of my Cosmopolitan Bong friend, who knew nothing.

We went there once last week, and had tried Tangra Maach and Muri ghonto. With alu bhaja (potato chips basically). The main courses were greasy and spicy. Ghar ki yaad aane wali types.
We returned to prove our loyalties, last night. And ate prawn malaikaari.

The food evoked a particularly Bong relaxed afterburp sensation. Like the cares of the world became more trivial.

It's also easy on the pocket. If a no-frills eating place is your thing, and you yearn for fish sometimes, go there. Preferably, take a Bong along. I am wondering if I should go tonight as well.

A Shark Tale: Or Mahesh Lunch Home Part II

After the sol Kadi, I placed me order for lunch. Gassi, or the Manglori style curry, is thick pasted coconut, with turmeric, red chilies and tamarind, onion and ginger. You can order your gassi with the fish of your choice. My waiter was taken aback with my choice of fish - shark.

I'm not aware of which shark breed is used in Indian cooking. I've seen the shark in the market, and its small and nothing like the Steven Spielberg movies. Shark is a fish with a very strong flavour and almost a meat like quality about it. In Goa, we don't use shark in our everyday fish curry, but rather, we make a xacuti like preparation from it. Interestingly, its referred to as "Morieche mutton" (shark mutton). Shark is also dried and used in dried fish curries, which is what is popular in the monsoon months when fresh fish are hard to come by.

The Shark is fresh, and is soft and slides off the bone easily to melt in my mouth. The Gravy was alive with spices. Unfortunately, the two of them didn't really match. The Shark had been cooked separately and dunked into the standard gassi, which did not have anything fishy about it.

I focused on the shark and occasionally dabbed my appam in the curry. The Appam arrived at my table soft and a little deflated. In case Appams aren't your scene, you can have your gassi with rice, or a neer dosa.

Of Canteen Adventures

The walk through the woods of Planet JNU invariably means that one inhales in whatever measure some amount of Bong Commie lethargy viruses. The infection completes as one walks into the Commie canteen behind the main Library. This is a shed (literally) embellished with posters decrying war in Iraq, reservation for Backward Classes, sex education in schools, farmers' suicides and triumph of totalitarians. My integrity remains almost untarnished when I say some posters actually read thus: we decry/condemn/lament next line bullet reservation bullet sex education in schools bullet war in Iraq.

One goes in and stands in the queue feeling awkward about one's alienness in the space which has obviously nourished (quite literally) a political rainbow. I ask what's available and quick. Coyly. While few others shout out their favourites from behind. I settle for another's favourite- fish curry rice. Eighteen bucks. I am told.

I shiver in glee for a bit, while the old man pulls out change and directs me to a large window where I am expected to pick up my order. The swift hands from inside the treasurehouse hand out the grub to me and point towards a self-service pickle container.

The spicy, slightly-tomato-sour gravy and copious amounts of rice trigger orgasmic jolts within my Bengali constitution. And the thought of all of it costing eighteen rupees. Two Bihari-accented men with whom I am sharing a table (for it is jampacked) discuss what strings to pull to secure some University job for one of their brethren. Hot, urbane women with armpit bags and anorexic cellphones giggle over pakoras and coffee. Lone small-town chubby PhD girl elbow-licks sambar and looks out wistfully. I burp volubly.


Cut to Delhi School of Economics, North Campus, similar winter afternoon, equivalent DU, Hindi-heartland lethargy virus.

This is an open-air canteen. Run by a Mallu, tucked in at the counter. Chicken rice for forty bucks- little cocky for a canteen, but nonetheless worth a try. This is the hip crowd's den and probably more cosmopolitan than the rest of DU. Lots of Bongs gloating over econometrics and furtively glancing at the unattainable sashays in the vicinity. Some public school bubblegum accents floating discussing imminent exams. A bad-tempered cook serves us hot chicken curry rice. Again the quantities defy market economics. My colleague and I are immediately manouevered into meat conversation. Bong and Manglorean home-food-nostalgia is exchanged over viscous, spicy gravy and chicken leg.

A sorry excuse for coffee follows. This is where the Mallu's Delhi acculturation speaks out loud.

Pictures from a Goan Kitchen

I snuck up on my mom making lunch, and this is what I found:

An assortment of fried fish - the flat slices are Kingfish, Visvon or Surmai. The others are pieces of Kalli, a fih available in Mumbai as well - very bony but flavourful. The The Spice Paste used is deceptively simple - tumeric and chilli powder in equal quantities, and salt. After marinating the fish, they are dusted with Semolina and shallow fried.

Clams, or thisra, are one of the more popular shellfish in Goa. Here, they have been prepared with lightly fried onion, green chilli, freshly grated coconut and tamarind in sukke, which literally means "dry". The bigger brothers of the

clams, like mussels (shinanyo) and oysters (kalva) are also rava fried.

And the staple - fish curry rice, or sheeth humon. The base of a curry is coconut, ground to a paste with turmeric, pepppercorns, tamarind and chilli. Chopped onions are either fried or boiled till translucent, and then the paste is allowed to boil with the fish. This is prawn curry. Prawns in curry always come with sidekicks - raw mangoes, okra, starfruit - depending on the reason. Here, mom used drumsticks. Smaller prawns are supposed to lend a greater flavour to the curry.