How parathas can save your life

It's that time of your monthly financial cycle again, or it could be a perpetual state of being, when you are drinking at a bar and feel that the food is too expensive. Problem is that since the realization of hunger was a bit late in coming, and since Delhi is a city that is quite unfriendly to the light wallet once it is eleven pm, there are very few options. Of course you could drive to the Comesum at Nizamuddin Railway Station and have their quite alright food from their vast menu, but then you might as well have eaten the food at the bar because it is just as expensive. Aap Ki Khatir begins to wind up operations at eleven, and so does Al Bake in NFC - and thus cheaper options to the south of the city are scarce.

Now don't get me wrong. The following can apply just as easily to those that do not drink, but are still hungry at midnight, and don't feel like McD's or the strange hot dogs at the 24X7s.

At least in the souther regions of the city, the enterprise known only as the Moolchand Parathawallah is one of the better known domestic food brands. If you are approaching the Moolchand flyover from Central Delhi, do not take it, but move parallel to it. If you are coming from Okhla or Ashram, do not take the underpass at Moolchand, but take the left and move parallel to the flyover. Before the flyover ends, there is a prominent left turn. Take it and look for the crowd. It is unlikely that there is ever more than one crowd around there, but if there is, look for the one with thick black smoke coming out. The parathawallah does not have a permanent spot around here, and the location on a particular day will depend on the vagaries of ongoing Metro construction.

From chaps in BMWs and Mercs, to people who can never dream of private transport, the business has a vast and varied clientele.

They are clear that their strength is the humble paratha, and they don't deviate too far. Regardless of the extremely limited menu of aloo-pyaaz, mooli and egg parathas, satisfaction is guaranteed for the hungry - and not just because you may be light on funds. Within thirty minutes, a friend and I had not only devoured two each of the most delicious aloo-pyaaz (potato-onion) parathas, but had even been able to get more than ten egg parathas packed - a quietly efficient, albeit polluting, food service. And the accompanying chilli pickle and raita taste excellent as well.

At least six people are employed in the business, stationed at various points of the delivery chain for different parathas. All parathas go through the standard "burn" routine which comprises of a quick dip in oil followed by the fire treatment.

For the egg paratha, a single egg is broken on to a pre-burnt paratha and then heated again.

Visit the Moolchand parathawallah - at least once if you're careful about what you put into your mouth, if you're not you will certainly end up going there several times, fitting comfortably on your financial cycle.

Best shawarmas in Delhi

They are quite unlike the shawarmas you may have eaten elsewhere. To begin with, they are much smaller than the ones you will see in most other places. Also, there is a tendency to favour dollops of a mayonnaise-type-thing (just makhan for those that run the place). But the basic tenets are all there - soft, minced lamb, hacked off a skewer and served in a roll.

Welcome to Al-Bake, most certainly the makers of the most popular shawarmas in the capital, and for my money, the best.

New Friends Colony is not without its share of meaty and Muslim cuisine, but Al Bake stands out, and so does its shawarma - demand is so high that there is a brand new Al Bake, barely twenty metres from the old one. Bowing to the demand, Al Bake also sells shawarmas to go in a packet containing four hot ones, selling for hundred rupees. Very often, that is the prudent idea as seating is hard to find once the sun begins its slow descent.

College goers are proud of their shawarma records. I've heard someone brag about seventeen of them at one go. With the lightly spiced chutney to go along, that record cannot have lasted too long.

Very quick with their knives, Al Bake is also a textbook on efficiency. There are two highly skilled knivesmen who hack away at those hunks of meat, and then chop them much finer. In combination with the men who roll the shawarmas and the woman who does the accounts, it is a beautifully oiled machine.

But this efficiency does not come at the cost of taste, or friendly service.

Al Bake's not all about shawarmas. But please, the shawarmas first.

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.

Soul Kadi

Though I prefer my fish the Goan way, practical constraints (the only sources of Goan food which do not involve me cooking are pesky relatives who just want me married off) force me to make friends with similar tastes - malvani and manglori. Manglori curries are spicy and thick, like a chutney, unlike the milky consistency of the Goan "Humon". In Mumbai, though sparsely dotted with Manglori "lunch homes", the Page 3 choice is Mahesh Lunch Home. I am given a few curious glances and even have an argument with a waiter who tried to convince me that I was not a single diner (seriously), but my order and apetite got a smile to the waiter's face.

Sol Kadi is on the beverages menu, and sol kadi it is. Interestingly I never grew up with the concept of sol kadi as a beverage. Ending a meal of hot, spicy fish curry rice with some sheeth-kadi (rice and solkadi) was a Goan Staple. It is kind of like our curd. One coconut is opened up in my house every day - half goes for the curry, 1/4th for sprinkling over vegetables and salad, and 1/4th would be scraped, ground with a little water, and its thick milk would be extracted for sol kadi. Sometimes, a few garlic cloves would be thrown into the mixie along with the coconut for a garlic flavour. Sometimes Ajwain would spice things up. Sometimes a hot green chili would be roasted on an open flame and thrown in for its rather unique taste. The milk would be emptied into a bowl where a few "solas", the fruit of the kokum tree, would soak in a few teaspoons of hot water, salt and sugar. If served as a leftover, the sol kadi would be tempered with mustard seeds and curry leaves. The Sol Kadi would be ladled out on the rice kept neatly aside for the purpose. As the Kadi was runny, as children we were taught to pile up our rice into a small mound and make a hole down the middle, kind of like a volcano, and pour the kadi down there. Then quickly, we were told to mix our rice in the kadi so that the kadi would be absorbed by the rice. Kadi should always be in excess though - good GSB women are taught to chastize guests for eating "sukhe sheeth" or dry rice i.e. rice with very little solkadi in it.

Sol kadi is meant to relax the digestive system, but in its new avtaar as an appetizer, it seeks to do the opposite. I sip the beer glass of Sol Kadi which is given to me - the Kadi is thick and creamy and at the outset I note that it has been made using freshly grated coconut. There's most certainly a garlicky presence and as I swallow my sip I note a spicy aftertaste. The Solas played their part well and more importantly made an early exit, ensuring just the right colour .

Shady Chinese

Shady Chinese is a term that some of us use disparagingly to refer to Indian corruptions of Chinese food. Pretend Chinese and Chindian are also terms used to refer to the genre. Spices and oils which the self-respecting Chinese cook (from South, North, Central, wherever) would never use, find their way into our plates and palates.

In Bangalore, the gobi manchurian is highly popular and you find it in all the darsinis that are otherwise restricted to pure South Indian specialties of the idli-vada-dosa-sambar variety. In Delhi too, in most nooks and just about every cranny, there is a man (usually) selling Singaporean noodles and hawking Hakka noodles. I have devoured these oily delights by the kilo, and are excellent with your evening poison.





Little Dragon is a small red-coloured stall/vehicle in Defence Colony. A range of soups that take their taste positions between the two extremes of sweet corn chicken and hot and sour chicken, and a similar array of oily noodles and rice. It is very cheap for a Defence Colony gaddi and offers you the options of half-plates and half-soups. They have a regular lunch crowd that congregates around it by one from offices located around Defence Colony.



Do you know of any Shady Chinese delights? Feel free to share your experiences.

Bhajiyas!

Bhajiyas, or Pakodas, are every one's favourite tea time snack. It consists of vegetables which are dipped in a batter of chana dal flour (besan), turmeric, cumin, red chili and coriander powder and deep fried. The choice of vegetables are varied - potatoes, green chilies, cauliflower florets, capsicum slices, whole leaves of spinach and sometimes a combination of two - like potato and spinach, cabbage and potato, and so on.

Onion Pakodas, or Kanda Bhajiyas, are certainly one of the more popular varieties. Onions are sliced finely, and sprinkled generously with besan, salt, red chili powder, roughly pounded coriander seeds and cumin seeds, and just enough water to make the batter cling to the slices of onion. When batches of the batter are dropped into the hot oil, the slices of onion 'blossom', and each layer separates while still remaining joined by the stem portion and the batter. The Bhajiyas are popularly known as 'Khekhda' or Crab Bhajiyas on account of their uncanny resemblance to the crustacean.

With Mumbai temperatures dropping to 6 degrees last month, on a nippy Monday morning I warmed up with a plate of Khekhda Bhajiyas and Special Chai at Madhavashram, located right behind the Girgaum Court, Opposite Harkishandas Hospital. The spartan eatery serves up some of Mumbai's best hot crisy pakodas along with other Mumbai tea time favourites, all day long.

An ode to the Artisans of Meat

To add a personal anecdote to John's propaganda below.

A friend from Bombay (you forgot to give him credit John) introduced John and me to Aap ki Khatir. He was stopping by in Delhi on work, and had only a night left for fun and frolic before he boarded his flight back to Bombay.

And he said Let me show you a good time. And we scoffed inwardly, and smiled outwardly. To humour him.

We drove around the Dargah area and stopped a little before the Oberoi flyover. And a rare Delhi downpour greeted us. It may have been a farishtah for most of the despondent populace, but it spelt doom for the promise of street food adventure.

Aap ki Khatir- a hole in the wall and a tandoor on the sidewalk was wrapping itself up in tarpauline. When they spotted us. The ones in cars, who had already ordered, had salvaged their meal, but not sidewalkers like us.

In our Khatir, an English-speaking man in crotch-hugging jeans stepped up and offered us shelter in the Aap ki Khatir hole, that was crammed with furniture. He took our order and egged on his tarpauline artisans of meat. Our Bombay friend squared his shoulders in arrogance and ordered more Kakori. And Mal and Oriya gluttony embarked on a grand song-n-dance. My bong palate, content to play twelfth-man, watched this meat-in-the-rain ritual in sheer disbelief.

Sweet-talking the English-speaking lad helped squeeze last plates of kabab and paratha from the Artisans of Meat. The rains had held off by then. The gluttons burped in euphoria over Coke. We packed some and headed home. The Mumbaiyya had won this round.

Aap Ki Kathir, you beauty.

I realized yesterday, while gnawing on a bone, that I had not done justice to the outstanding food experience that is Aap Ki Kathir. Previously, I had referred to that softest of kababs, the kakori kabab, that is the Aap Ki Kathir specialty. But that is not to say that nothing else is outstanding.

The place looks like this, but that does not mean they have prices to match. A plate of two kakoris will set you back eighty rupees and a fantastic plate of mutton burra costs hundred rupees. These are not standard 'stand up' rate. They know they are on to something special, and they charge accordingly.

The place gets surrounded by cars at seven, and gaps open up between them intermittently as satisfied regulars come and go.

Someone will come to your car and collect your order, but for a better experience, I suggest you
stand near the grill and eat. Surround yourself with the aromas of this place and you will find it impossible to stop eating. Also, to watch the kakori take shape is also a gastronomic exercise without parallel. There is a tray that is packed with moist, minced, spiced meat, which is almost like a paste. How they mince it so fine, is a question that is often asked of them, but seldom divulged, except in the vaguest of terms. Anyway, one of them assured me that papayas and curd are involved. The 'paste' is then spread over the skewers, grilled and served with good green mint chutney.

But as I mentioned when I started this post, Aap Ki Kathir is not just about the kakori. The burra for instance, is almost as good an experience as Karim. They don't even mind taking your plate back after you've eaten a morsel and softening 'em up a bit more. It is as fulfilling an experience as you can buy with a hundred rupees.

Hell, even the rumali rotis are of a grade that is rare. I find it absurd to go on about the humble rumali when the meat and everything else is of such high quality, but it does show genuine attention to the complete satisfaction of a customer.

There are other items as well, that are extremely tasty, but cannot be mentioned in the same sentence as the kakori. The lachha paratha is extremely oily and very tasty, to have with the extremely oily and tasty chicken korma. The biriyani is not great as far as biriyanis go, but the experience can be significantly improved with some spicy gravy. The dal makhni is not to bad either, but then, of all the places in Delhi, why go to Aap Ki Kathir to have dal?