On the Spice Trail… in Gujarat
In late 2006, early 2007 I wrote 2 articles for a magazine called Incredible India. It’s been a while since they were published. So, here’s the second one, read on (and remember, it was written years ago!)…
Gujarati Cuisine has been aptly termed as ‘the Haute Cuisine of Vegetarianism’ by the famous Indian British cookbook writer Madhur Jaffrey. The Gujaratis are proud of their Khandavis, melt in the mouth gram flour rolls; Theplas, flat bread; chaas, buttermilk; Amrakhand, sweetened yoghurt with mango pulp(!); the famous Khakra, crispy triangular snack and Moothias, vegetarian kababs… the list is endless!
It was on a beautiful October morning that I set out towards the Metro station. I was out to explore the city for some serious Gujarati fare! Google had been shockingly unyielding of any results for restaurants specialising in Gujarati cuisine in Delhi! I was in shock and couldn’t believe that the capital could have a lack of options for food lovers! I clutched on to my contingency – a passing mention of a quaint little restaurant in Karol Bagh, Suruchi*.
All I remembered of Gujarati cuisine was from dinners at a family friend’s house in Mumbai. The food was delightful despite being strictly vegetarian! The finely chopped vegetables were cooked in a variety of aromatic spices, and the desserts were to die for! Gujaratis love to cook and labour over each preparation – the result is a gourmet’s dream come true!
So, with soaring expectations I entered one of the very few Rajasthani & Gujarati restaurants in the capital – Suruchi. The staff is as sweet as the Gujarati daal and as entertaining and engaging as the spicy chilli-garlic chutney with papad! It is evident that Gujaratis love fine-dining, and strongly believe in the age old adage – ‘Variety is the Spice of Life’. Despite bread and main course dishes in their diet, they necessarily need some side dish in their everyday meal – different types of kachumber (better known as salad), pickles, chutneys, buttermilk and not to forget, their meal is incomplete without a sweet dish.
The meal is predominantly vegetarian – barring the coastal region – and has more options than you can imagine! They use the simplest of ingredients and transform an ordinary everyday meal into a thali full of mouth watering delicacies. It is interesting to note the use of jaggery in Gujarati cuisine, many people wrongly assume that the Gujaratis have a sweet tooth and use jaggery in the main course without distinguishing between the desserts and snacks. It is true that each dish complements the other and accounts for an entire meal to be consumed together and not in stages; but adding jaggery to dishes was done to balance the extremely salty taste of the water and with time it became a habit!
The sumptuous meal at Suruchi consisted of the usual daal and kadhi and also a surprisingly delightful preparation of bitter gourd; very finely sliced cabbage tempered with asafoetida and mustard seeds, and a tangy channa curry and potatoes in a tomato and tamarind base. I was amazed at the exquisite flavours and textures; the unusual blending of sweet with savoury into a harmonious whole. The grand spread of Gujarati cuisine can be glimpsed and savoured in the very popular “Gujarati Thali” - a large silver platter consisting of innumerable bowls full of shaak (vegetable curries), daals (lentil based gravies), a variety of breads, savories – crispy, spicy fried farsaans, sweetmeats and an amazing range of sweet and sour chutneys and pickles. The entire meal achieves a delicate balance of sweet and sour, salty and spicy, crispy and soft, low fat and deep-fried! Gujarat is also known as the land of milk and butter, hence an extensive use of yoghurt and buttermilk is seen in Gujarati dishes.
Apart from the thali, there is a wide array of Gujarati cuisine which is prepared uniquely and consumed with a lot of relish – the staple dish of Gujarati cuisine is the khichdi (a simple lentil and rice mixture) – usually chawal and mung daal – eaten with kadhi (a sweet and sour curry made with yogurt using bay leaves, ginger, chilies and finely chopped vegetables). Main dishes are based on steamed vegetables and daals that are added to a vaghaar, which is a mixture of spices cooked in hot oil and adjusted to the digestive qualities of the main ingredient. Salt, sugar, lemon, lime, and tomato are used frequently to prevent dehydration in an area where temperatures reach 50 degree Celsius under the shade! The cuisine changes with the seasonal availability of vegetables and in some families, the spices also change depending on the season. Garam Masala and its constituent spices are used less in summer. Some of the well-known Gujarati delicacies are Paunk (a savoury snack which is a combination of various roasted cereals); Undhiyoon (a speciality of potatoes, sweet potatoes, brinjals and broad beans baked in an earthenware pot in a mud oven), khamam dhokla (a steamed sweet and salty cake made from chickpea flour), shrikhand (a dessert made from yoghurt spiced with saffron, nuts, cardamom and dry fruit) and doodh pak (a dessert of thick sweetened milk with dry fruit and nuts).
Even though the state of Gujarat has absorbed many outside influences down the ages, the cuisine has remained much the same. Every region’s cuisine evolves on the basis of available local ingredients and the climatic conditions. A very healthy and heavy meal popular in the villages near Saurashtra during the cold winters consists of thick Rotis called Bhakhri – Bajra flour, garlic chutney, onion and lots of buttermilk. It is a good source of heat which suits the villagers working on their fields in the harsh winters. Similary, sweets were prepared with ingredients like local sugar cane, jaggery, milk, almonds, and pistachios. These were originally served at weddings and family occasions as an instant energy booster for relations travelling long distances to attend the functions.
I could go on and on about Gujarati cuisine, but the sad truth is that this cuisine travelled in odd, half-hearted ways outside the state. The dhoklas, khandvi, assorted farsaans are well known and liked; the chutneys and pickles are sought after and the shrikhand has been marketed well by Amul! But the country has not sampled the main course dishes, the deliciously thin rotis and the apparently endless varieties of khichdi. The kachumbers (salads) are simple but extraordinary; Gujarati cooking has a taste for sesame seeds and peanuts (used to add crunch and protein), which is quite similar to Thai food. While the Thais argue that Gujarati traders travelling to Thailand and Malaysia borrowed the idea from them; historians have a different interpretation. Either way, I’m not complaining. They have converted a Punjabi-Daal Makhani & Butter Chicken lover into a shaak-enthusiast! For a taste of some authentic Gujarati cuisine, I suggest a visit to Suruchi*, at Karol Bagh.
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*Suruchi
15 A / 56, W.E.A., Karol Bagh,
Opp. Roopak Stores, Ajmal Khan Road,
New Delhi: – 110005
Phone#: +91-11- 42503514 / 16 / 17 / 18
of weekends with friends…
Delhi is my muse, it is my inspiration, it is my love. Delhi, over the years, has also changed to being the home I cannot leave, the city that makes me want to eradicate many, many of its inhabitants and my nemesis. It matters, it thrives, it lives, it dreams with very realistic expectations, it is aggressive and loud and in-your-face. It is over-populated, over-polluted, the greenest capital, the grittiest capital, the shiniest capital with an underbelly to die for! It makes me proud, it makes me cringe, it makes me want to run away, it beckons me if I’m gone for too long. It’s the trees, the roads, the buildings, the people and the food. It makes me run, it makes me run back. Delhi is my first love. Delhi is my last love. You, my love, fall somewhere in between. You, my friend, will always know how I feel.
A long weekend passes by far too quickly for anyone’s liking. So, we fill it up with as much as we can possible manage to make the memories and stories suffice. We consumed afternoon martinis and beer, complete with a Bengali lunch at my Bong baby’s place. We lounged at The Golf Bar at Maurya. We oggled at the teams and organizers, whoever we could oggle at. Heh. We consumed beers and cigarettes and laughed at nothing in particular. We drove to India Gate and gazed in wonder and pride. We walked around the greens and stuffed our faced with bright pink cotton candy! This was followed by a Bioscope show(!), really horrendous Bioscope complete with blaring Bollywood numbers. We then blew soap bubbles with a newer version of the cheap contraption from our childhood and giggled like tiny, happy children! Of course one of us, as usual, wanted to get the technique right! Another one got soap in his mouth and last but not the least, she managed to create bubble hives that were truly disgusting! I like my usual self, tried to boss everyone around, unsuccessfully!
Eating ice cream at India Gate is something every Delhite should do; it is fabulous! You walk around this spectacular monument, on a gorgeous full moon night and eat your favourite ice cream. It’s almost perfect.
We then headed off to Cafe Morrison and tried to headbang, tried to read people, tried to not stare at some people, tried not to laugh too loudly at some..! The drink was Bacardi and Limca. The music ranged from Psycho DJ to not the usual stuff which was so the usual stuff to complete and utter madness. I cannot explain it. Let me try… no I cannot. But it’s Morrison and we always meet people we adore and hear songs we scream the lyrics to… as I said, it’s Morrison! Of course we didn’t end the night there. We were out for the night. We ate and we drank some more… All in all, it was a good Saturday. So, what did you do this weekend?
PS. Watch Gulaal (again, if you’ve already seen it, it’s even better the second/ third time).
An engagement, a trip to the hills III
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- Sigh.
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- We begin.
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- We saw…
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- Bollywood-esque!
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- The well trodden path?
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- Hide ‘n’ seek!
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- The hunter.
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- The hunter slides..!
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- Lady bug meets wild strawberry…
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- Fairy creatures beckon…
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- “Shiv Mandir”
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- Scary “Shiv Mandir”
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- Where we peeped and saw bongs!
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- ?! “Near the “Shiv Mandir”
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- The view.
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- Me. Resting…
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- Fruit! Apricots, methinks!
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- Plums!
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- Our loot!
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- The tent!
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- View from the bed! Hehe!
Here, click to read part I and II.
The black Swift carried us to Kufri, which by the way, is a place with no soul. It has been plundered and colonised by the tourism industry. It’s overcrowded, it’s dirty, it’s full of ridiculously dressed north Indians who simply want a cooler climate with the same snacks, the same facilities and the same stench. Everything is for sale in Kufri. Everything. To them, we were hopeless, aimless souls who wanted to go to Chail, where “nothing happens”. We were heading for ‘em luxury tents in a village called Alampur near Chail. We somehow left Kufri behind, despite all its attempts to hold us back: traffic jams, fights with idiotic rude cab drivers, oh! even a Yak spotting! But we carried on, undeterred, we HAD to get out!
Fairy creatures guided us, they made it rain for us. The world was far far away and we were driving on a beautiful narrow, curving road through a pine forest. The sun couldn’t touch us, the air was intoxicating and washed over us in soft waves, we were staring in awe and amazement. The road to Chail was a pathway to surreal yet haunting gorgeousness.
The drive ended, we parked and sent our luggage off to our tent! The plan was to get away from people: the hordes of tourists who had found this little paradise. So, after a steaming cup of tea, some directions and discussions, we headed off for a trek in the hills. I did so in my floaters and socks! Impromptu trips are so much fun! We walked, people… we did. We walked right into a dance practice for a cultural function! We had inadvertently walked in on a group of teenagers practicing a group dance for a mela, where they were to perform a folk number the very next day. A cassette player played forgotten tunes, the boys stood in one row and the girls in another. They danced, we watched and applauded, tried to click photographs with our camera phones, wished them luck and walked on.
The path was welcoming and well trodden, it beckoned us, inviting us to sing songs, to listen to stories; stories of visitors before us, tales of dusty footsteps that created the narrow path over the years. The golden sun played hide ‘n’ seek, disappearing when needed, re-appearing when we least expected. I winked at the gorgeous sun and forgot meaningful warnings, ‘Careful, the recently shed leaves might be slippery’ and I sulked and crawled in faulty footwear.
That’s when we saw him, a not-so-tall, lanky fellow; we peered and tried to focus on what was hoisted on his thin shoulder and exclaimed, “Is that a rifle?”; “Oh my God! He’s carrying a rifle!”; “Is he going to shoot the monkeys!”. While we tried to follow him, he sprinted on the slippery slope, rifle in one hand, a tree branch in the other, he slid from one slope to the other shouting orders at his pet langoor! Guiding him, egging him to attack other monkeys. We stared, rooted to our spots, for we were shocked and curious! We had to know what he, the hunter, was up to. This mowgli meets bounty hunter kept us spell bound, he was guiding his watch-monkey (dog?!) to guide the wild monkeys away from plantations and gardens. He slithered away with a few yells and we, the city walkers, could do nothing. Not even click a decent photograph.
Fairy creatures guided us with wild strawberries, lady bugs and rambling roses – promising us spectacular views. We crossed barriers meant to dissuade leopards and tigers from entering tiny pastures and villages. We could see Shiva’s silhouette against the burning sun, we could see the trishul soaring high above. We could feel a chill creeping on us, it was not an ordinary temple, not a place of worship. It was built for sacrifices and fire and smoke. Three concentric circles contained two over-fed calves that stared and dodged us. The Shiv Mandir was fearful, negative and nothing like any other building I’ve seen before. It celebrated and revered the Destroyer, not the merciful Lord.
I started recalling all the stories I’d heard of him, had he ever been merciful? Was this really what he stood for? Scared sacrificial beings, chillums, bongs and firewood? In order to love him, to submit to him, do they really need the opium, the bhang and the hash? Does it make it easier to kill? To celebrate destruction? While we tried to lighten the mood, by calling the temple, “Psycho Mandir”, a huge bone spotted near the temple didn’t really help! We were silent, contemplative and trying very hard to get away when we saw, a congregation of monkeys! Apparently, they meet, rather collect to celebrate births and mourn deaths (for their sake, I hope it was a birth). Now we had to rush and get away from the monkeys and psycho mandirs!
While the fairies giggled at our flight, we decided to rest. We sat on milestones and tiny boulders and stared at the azure skies bowing in greeting to the tall Himalayas. We saw the valleys celebrate the rains in joy and we saw the lush green preening, adorning it all. We sat in silence and stared. The silence in the hills is warm, comforting and palpable. The silence keeps a million secrets, hides many stories and tales, tucks them away in the many layers, trails and paths that make the hills. It is this silence that makes you breathe, lets you forget and compels you to smile. It makes you wonder, makes you step out of a cosy tent and huddle around a bonfire to hear whispers of unfinished, ever evolving stories. It makes you notice the trees pregnant with lush fruit. It was the silence that made us nibble on almost ripe apricots and plums, in the golden hue of candle light, and think of nothing but the twinkling of many, many stars strewn across the utterly dark skies.
An engagement, a trip to the hills I
The hills speak a different language… they sing beautiful tunes and they dance in terrifying abandon. It pours hail stones and gorgeous sweet rain. The sun shines bright and doesn’t care for your delicate city skin. Everywhere I look, I find something new to witness, to stare at, to think of. The deodars, the fir, the pine take over my senses and I wish to bottle it all up and bring it back to the safer plains. The quiet is astounding… the surroundings surreal… the hills, a possible second home?
The hills beckoned us with promises of cool breeze, gorgeous weather and beauty fit for the fairies… We left behind my beloved Delhi without looking back… it was 47 degrees Celsius! We reached Shimla after an 8 hour drive with just one stop (!) for breakfast. After hugs and introductions, we were offered beers or shots or whatever suited our fancy. There was drinking and snacking… and drinking! We congratulated Senior Cheems – he was after all engaged, at the young age of… errr… 27 (?) to his childhood sweetheart. He was also the reason behind this road trip. They all talk of how lucky this guy is to have landed Bhabhi Cheems – an absolutely gorgeous bride-to-be whose energy and love for life leaves me surprisingly positive. Well, he is definitely stupendously lucky and she, too. I wish them all the happiness! Here’s a Rhododendron Wine toast to the lovely couple. Oh! and a big thank you hug to the groom’s family for welcoming us, taking such good care of us and feeding us!
We were fed and fed and fed… with shaadi food - Shimla’s best butter chicken, spiciest mutton curry, buttered naans et al, hotel tea time snacks and most importantly very delicious traditional himachali fare. They cooked fern stems in fresh yoghurt and told us it’s called, lungru, the asparagus of the hills (!). There was daal, there was mandra, and this and that… with lots of love and lots more ghee! We indulged in mitha! Tiny gulab jamuns in a sugar syrup sprinkled with melon seeds, to be devoured with rice! The food was accompanied with an endless supply of alcohol! Beer in the afternoons, wine in the evenings, vodka or whisky at night. Cocktails if you feel like it! We could not wipe the silly grins off our faces…! We witnessed the dholki – the song and dance! We let mehndi adorn our hands while the boys provided snacks and drinks… We even stood solemnly while the pandit chanted… This was so much fun and so Bollywood-esque that we posed for photographs too! We were exhausted but so relaxed… travelling on was next on the agenda… travelling on in the hills…
The hills are a perfect setting for silence and neverending conversations. They preen while you stare and write odes to their beauty. They bask in the sun and your attention… They let you breathe and slurp that chai… they let you sit with friends and enjoy the most perfect afternoon beer and the most glorious cigarette. They whisper to you and assure you that you are not alone. They even merge in the scenic background when you are giggling with ‘em friends… I miss you ‘em hills!
