One week of attachment with the
army in the remotest corners of the country meant that we were having the same
food day in and day out. The food was very much like the army itself- uniform
in dimension and taste, highly disciplined in nature and not the type that
would express itself too much. Though the food did not rate high on the
gustatory index, it kept us going in the biting climate and inhospitable
terrains. But very soon, monotony had started to creep in.
As soon as we landed in Nagaon, a
relatively small district in Assam, I decided to lay my hands on Assamese
cuisine. I had a found an able ally in Rahul who was always game for trying out
new food. We traversed through a labyrinth of narrow lanes and culverts, till
we chanced upon a joint that looked good from the outside. Turned out that it
was good from the inside too.
The Assamese Cuisine is
epitomized by its Thali with rice as the base, where there is a myriad of
dishes in different flavours, shapes, sizes and colours. My taste buds leapt in
excitement as they were initiated into this culinary kaleidoscope.
The entrée was a very unassuming
dish called the Khaar. It looks extremely dull and one can easily miss it
amongst the various dishes. Made from raw papaya, pulses and taro which is
filtered through dried banana leaves, the light brown paste is as bland as a
dish can get with a slightly bitter tinge.
The Aloo Pitika was quite
comparable to the mainstream dishes. It is amazing that a vegetable that was
introduced to the country by the Portuguese as late as the 17th century has
today become a mainstay of almost all cuisines. The dish is basically mashed
potatoes garnished with onion, coriander, and salt. A very simple and effective
item, it is good to taste in between the strongly flavoured dishes.
Leaving out the usual suspects of
chicken and mutton, we decided to go for Duck meat with bamboo shoot. The meat
had a rubbery texture that left a granular feel on the tongue. This Assamese
delicacy, cooked with a mixture of spices, has a slightly acerbic flavour
leaving a bitter aftertaste. The smell of duck meat coupled with bamboo and
ginger gave out quite a heady smell.
The signature dish was the Fish
Tenga– the tenga being one of the styles of preparing the food. It is essentially
a fried fish that is let to soak in a watery curry that resembles a mixture of
dal and rasam giving quite a tangy taste. The sour taste comes from the
tomatoes and lemons.
The Aari Bhapat Dia was a visual
delight. It was an extremely soft pasty fish steamed on a banana leaf that had
a gentle coating of green mustard chutney. As we dug our teeth into it, the
fish melted away, leaving a pungent taste in the mouth.
By the time, we finished the
payox for dessert, we knew that we had explored one of the many hidden
treasures of the North-eastern region.
*
While in Assam, we had to search
for restaurants, we faced the problem of plenty in Kolkata. Spoilt for choice
in a city known for its diverse cuisines, we decided in the end to go for the
fabled Arsalan Biriyani.
The good thing about Biriyani is
that no matter the style of cooking, they invariably turn out to be good. The
Kolkata one was no different either. The Kolkata biriyani, inspired from the
Awadhi style is said to have originated in the kitchens of the Nawab- Wajid Ali
Shah.
After managing to find a seat for
ourselves in the crowded restaurant, we were literally served with a huge
mountain of hot piping rice. Cooked for nearly three hours over a low flame and
a seasoning og rosewater and strands of saffron lent an aroma that permeated
throughout the room tickling our olfactory senses- a true epicurean’s delight.
As I dug inside the layers of
biriyani searching for the delectable chunks of succulent mutton, I was
surprised to find a huge piece of potato. How the humble potato ended up has an
interesting story to itself. When the British dethroned the Nawab, who was a connoisseur
of the fine arts, but a military commander of little repute, he took his
bawarchis and khansamas along with him. Unable to find meat which had overnight
become a luxurious commodity, the cooks started to add potatoes to the biriyani
and since then, it has become an indispensable component lending a unique taste
to the biryani.
The defining feature of the
Biriyani is its subtlety. Right from its pale yellow colour, mellowed spices,
mild fragrance and the unassuming potato, everything underplays itself. As
opposed to the southern Biriyanis that aggressively scream from the rooftop. If
eating the Hyderabadi biriyani is akin to heavy metal, then the Kolkata one is
a classic symphony.
*
The Odisha cuisine, much like the
state itself, does not feature prominently in the mainstream Indian cuisine.
This made me all the more eager to try their dishes.
I was quite apprehensive because
we were going to a place (Kalahandi) that had hardly any restaurants worth of
mention. But we were quite fortunate to have a cook in the circuit house who
more than compensated for the lack of restaurants.
During the first few days, the
cook had prepared the standard roti, dal and aloo because he was (as he said to
us later) apprehensive whether we would like their local dishes or not.
Deciding to take matters in our
hands, we told him that we wanted a taste of the local cuisine. The usually
emotionless face had suddenly turned bright and there was a perceptible
happiness that radiated in his entire face. From then on, we were treated to
delicacies every day that threatened to extend our stomachs beyond proportions.
Odisha’s unique geographical
position- juxtaposed between the north and the south- has led to an amusing mix
of combinations. For instance, Idli is taken for breakfast but not with the
usual accompaniments of Sambhar or Chutney, instead it is the Channa masala of
the north.
Since we stayed in Kalahandi,
which was closer to Andhra Pradesh, the dishes were influenced by the Andhra
flavours but retained its own unique Odia identity. As a result, there was a
more liberal use of curry leaves and tamarind.
Dalma, the mother of all Odian
dishes, is the staple food of the common man. The Odia version of the dal,
where it is mixed with whatever vegetables one can get, it becomes the go-to
dish with the rice. The wholesome dish is not only nutritious but also
inexpensive. It is seasoned by the use of chilli powder and crushed dried
chillies that lends spicy taste. So much was the former charismatic president
APJ enamoured by this humble dish that he made it a constant feature of the
President’s menu.
There was a red chutney made from
tomatoes, which was sweet and sour at the same time creating a tangy flavour.
This side dish, especially when taken along with dalma and rice, gave a unique
taste.
The pièce de résistance was the
Chhena Podo which is the signature sweet dish of the state. Literally
translating into burnt cheese in Odia, it is prepared from cottage cheese,
sugar and nuts which is baked for hours before burning it ever so slightly at
the end. The sweet was an unassuming cream coloured small square shaped dish,
that had a burnt brown base. To me, it felt like the desi version of the cheese
cake.
As I dug my teeth into the layers
of cottage cheese, the sugar starts flowing into the tongue and as the sweet
melted inside my mouth trickling down the throat, I could feel the hard-earned
gains of early morning PT melting away.
*
The last leg of the tour was in
Andhra Pradesh where the food is known for its fiery, hot, and spicy taste.
Which is logical given the fact that it is the leading producer of red chillies
in the country. Right from the large serving of dishes to the astronomical
levels of spices, everything was superlative in the Andhra cuisine. Keeping
with the trend, we decided to go for the unlimited Andhra meals.
The waiter started off by serving
a huge mound of steaming white rice on our plate. We started with Parippu Podi
(powered lentils garnishes with dried chillies and spices), sprinkling it over
the rice and mixing it with generous portions of ghee that prepared our
stomachs for the rest of the dishes.
The main course was the Chepa
Pulusu, an excellent fish curry with a characteristically sour flavour derived
from tomatoes and tamarind. The fish, devoid of any thorns, so soft that it
caressed the tongue while chewing on it. There was then the renowned Gongura
chutney that really set our tongues on fire. Sweat started pouring down our
faces as we gorged upon this pickle-chutney made from Ambadi leaves.
By the time we had completed our
meal, tears started to trickle down our cheeks. Tears of satisfaction.
*
For most part of the tour, we
were pampered like royalty and where we were not, we did the honours to
ourselves. The journey ended not just with contented stomachs but also
contented hearts. After all, food is not just for the stomach but also for the
soul.
