A Foodie’s Indian Journey

From nostalgic favorites of her
childhood to the proliferation of
choices in Delhi’s modern cuisine
scene, LAVINA MELWANI takes us
along on an appetizing trip.

Some people infiltrate a country to conquer it. My invasion was simply to—eat it!

To swallow it whole, the foods, the tastes, the spices—to make it a part of me.

I’ve been popping pieces of India into my mouth since childhood, and it’s an insatiable hunger for more and more. As a toddler, I remember sitting in our
Connaught Place home in Delhi, one of those buildings built by the British with storefronts below and homes above; there was a verandah and bedrooms out in front, a big open courtyard in the middle.

It was in this open courtyard that our plump cook named Shankar used to cook on a coal sigri and hand-feed us sabji of sweet Simla peas and potatoes with soft home-made rotis, and often, a treat of gajjar ka halwa, a rich orange caramelized sweet carrot concoction.

Those tastes linger after decades, as does the taste of Sindhi channa dabalroti simmered in a
golden gravy made from besan or chick pea flour and served over slices of white bread, with a topping of sliced onions and murmulas. This was served en masse to friends who barged into our home on Republic Day since the grand parade passed right below our apartment, and our spacious verandah was the ideal viewing gallery. On these sunlit days guests were served plates of channa dabalroti along with mounds of chikki (sweet peanut brittle), rewris (til or sesame
balls) and potato chips—munching ammunition for surviving the parade marathon.

Yes, food was always an intrinsic part of our outings, be it plates of alu tikkis and tamarind chutney sold at a small makeshift restaurant at the old sandstone fountains near India Gate in the 60’s, or ordering takeouts of spicy chole bhature and plump, syrupy gulab
jamuns at a roadside stall on Panchkuian Road after
our endless visits to the cranky old tailor who fashioned our outfits from fabric and our imagination.

(Left) A scene from Delhi’s street food.
(Photo: Lavina Melwani)

Then there were the visits to Old Delhi to visit Chandni Chowk, “the Moonlit Square,” a crowded, congested sweaty swirl of humanity and commerce where we would buy fabulously spun Bori samosas, unmatched wraps made only by the Bori Muslim
community. Old Delhi was also my father’s go-to destination for a special hundred percent pure pista mithai
which I craved as a child. It seems that at the age of
four, I was a finicky eater and would eat only this
dark green rich sweet and my dad would often drive
all the way to the old city to get it for me.

The chaat papri of Bengali Market was always a
much anticipated treat; pani puri, gol gappas, chane
bature, and samosas were just some of the must-haves,
not to mention a zillion different mithais. Sniffling
from the chilies and spices, we enjoyed an orgy of demolishing
several platters of street food.

Eating out at Embassy Restaurant was an occasional
Sunday treat, and all these delicacies were
signed and sealed with an aromatic paan which brought
an intoxicating finale to the binge of feasting. After
all, the restaurant has been around for six decades
with its curious blend of dishes. Where else would
you get Bomb de Moscova, Amritsari Macchi, Chicken
Strognoff and unmatchable chole bhature and chicken
chaat, all on the same table?

Times have indeed changed: the restaurant, which
sprouted up just after India’s independence and is
still under original ownership, actually has a website
with lovely black and white images of good old
Connaught Place. They write: “We have known many
of our patrons since they used to wear knickers and
came here, holding their elder’s hand, for a plate of
handmade ice cream.”

For our family, there were also weekly outings
to the clubs, a unique food culture introduced by the
British. Though we were not rich-rich, our families
were members of several clubs: the Chelmsford Club,
the Flying Club, the Delhi Golf Club, and the NSCI. At
each, there were unique signature dishes to be had,
such as the cheese toast or the roasted peanuts at
the Golf Club, or the shammi kebabs at the Flying Club.
Chelmsford Club meant playing on the swings while
parents played cards and then devouring chips and
grilled sandwiches.

It was a real touch of the Raj, but to us it was all
about tastes and bites. I recall that my friends and I
even had our dolls, a boy doll and a girl doll, get engaged
and then married, and had the wedding ceremony on
one of the club’s sofas with wedding eats for the handful
of kids who were the guests. We decided samosas
and fries and sandwiches were the ideal wedding feast
menu, topped with Coke. This was before the Internet,
so we basically had time on our hands and found creative
ways of making mundane life fun and adventurous—
and of course food was always a big part of it.

(Left) Daal Pakwan, a yummy and filling breakfast from her childhood
days was a special treat for weekends.

Then there were the special meals cooked at home
for special days: the daal pakwan breakfast, the Sindhi
kokies (a thick flatbread made from assorted ingredients)
at any time and for any excuse, and the famous
fried Sindhi mutton and the mutton biryani of our family,
studded with nuts and kismis and cooked by my
mom in the living room which housed her precious
electric stove and fridge—acquisitions which had pride
of place in the living room of that crazy Connaught
Place home which I often revisit
in my dreams.

If happy occasions involved
food so did sad ones. There was
the season of shraddas, meals
commemorating the departed,
when carloads of uncles, aunts,
and cousins would descend on
the home for prayers and feeding
the pujari the delicious treats the
ancestors had loved. Then we,
too, would feast on the wonderful
food: Sindhi curry and
rice, saibhaji (spinach cooked
with seven different vegetables),
pakoras and samosas, daibhallas,
and of course, all topped by syrupy
gulab jamun and jalebis. The
relatives of the extended family
would also bring their contributions
or special dishes and it
would be an endless talkathon
and eatathon. The kids would
gather together and play while
the older folk gossiped and
sometimes even sacrilegiously
played rummy when the rituals
ended. And, of course, cupsful
of hot chai to make the gossip
more delicious.

With so many uncles and
aunts around, someone or the
other was always having a hawan
or a katha and this once again
meant feasting after the fasting.
All before the era of Facebook
and Twitter, these were real relationships
with real people, old
grand-aunts to whom you had
to bow down and from whom
you received all-embracing hugs and blessings. It was
family you were bound to by invisible bonds—but over
the years people died, some disappeared, and others
just got disconnected and drifted apart. The memory of
those meals and those connections still lingers.

And so it was that when a trip to India came up this
year, I thought I’d retrace my steps and see how much
of the past still existed. Even though I had moved out,
did the familial universe still exist, were those dishes
still a part of the foodie universe in India? Had new
dishes taken over and were there new bits and pieces
of India to digest and swallow?

The very first morning in Delhi at my sister’s home,
it was as if nothing had changed; we had Sindhi kokies
for breakfast, flatbreads made from wheat flour
and embedded with chopped onions, green chilies,
kothmir (cilantro), and tomatoes.
This was kneaded with oil and
water to make the most delicious
flatbreads, served with
dry potato sabji, yogurt, and papad.
It was hard to stop at one,
and it brought back memories
of mothers and grandmothers,
and loved aunts, all of whom
had on occasion served us this
must-have breakfast.

My sister, who’s had some
wonderful cooks over the years,
was able to serve us some of the
traditional family recipes of fried
meat, mutton biryani and even
something called Junglee Mutton.
As the families have grown
with daughters married into
different households from different
regions of India, new
recipes have entered into the
repertoire, as well as Western
dishes which have become so
popular in affluent India. It’s not
surprising to have a Vietnamese
curry one night and a Thai soup
the next, while pizza and pastas
are almost a part of the usual
food at home. Another sister-in-
law who grew up in Indonesia
treated us to a full meal of
gado-gado, noodles, nasi goring
and other treats, all hundred
percent vegetarian since she is
a Sai follower.

Perhaps the greatest treats
were the ones which were
served at home, day in and day
out by the home cook. Chillas
made out of mung daal and served with guar and achari
aloos. It was a divine meal and it was impossible to
stop at one or two chillas. These crepes, somewhat like
dosas, were unique in their flavor and tasted delicious
with green dhania and chili chutney.

Since everyone in my family circle is a passionate
foodie and has access to great cooks, there was a lot of
animated food exchange going on between the families,
especially in the area of vegetarian food. Dahi ki
sabzi is one of those unique tastes I had never experienced;
the dish has thick, Greek-style yogurt as the
main ingredient with added condiments like tomato,
chilies, and dhania along with turmeric. What a rich
taste and the ultimate when served with hot tande ka
rotis. Another unusual dish was tawe wale chawal, almost
like a vegetarian biryani, using grams or lentils as
the carbs/protein with its rich biryani flavoring.

In India, if money is not a concern, then just about anything is possible, with a buzzing world of five star hotels with the most elegant restaurants. One of the memorable ones I visited was OTW, On the Waterfront, in the opulent Lodhi Hotel in Delhi (part of the acclaimed Aman Resorts). A gem-like restaurant with Pan Asian influences, it is set in a glass pavilion on a reflecting pool—a great experience.

Eating out was indeed an eye-opener: while many of the old places were still there, such as the Delhi Golf Club, the NSCI, and the Gymkhana Club with their signature treats, and the CCI Club, the Radio Club in Mumbai, I also went to a new restaurant called Delhi Club House, which is a take on famous old clubs like Calcutta’s Tollygunge Club and the Royal Bombay Yacht Club with their signature dishes. The menu includes cheese Bombay toastie (Presidency Club), vegetable momos (Gorkha Rifles Mess), Eggs Kejriwal (Willingdon Sports Club), and Railway Mutton Curry and Saffron Onion Rice (Railway Club). The Delhi Club House has introduced a lot of new signature dishes which were fun to try, such as air-fried paani poori and crispy spinach and yogurt chaat. Our table groaned under a feast from all parts of India, thanks to my nephew’s hospitality.

Eating out in this upscale India is serious business, a full-time job—there are just so many restaurants, you are dizzy with the choices. A new one seems to open every week and I was not able to keep up with this deluge of restaurants. I did visit one which actually has its roots in New York: Masala House, which belongs to the Anand family. In New York, Gaurav Anand and his wife Shagun have three popular restaurants, Moti
Mahal, Awadh, and Bhatti Grill, and their first venture with his brother Saurabh and wife Tina is Masala
House in Sundar Nagar.

Masala House, set on three floors, brings authentic Indian tastes with a twist along with modern plating and flavors uniquely its own. Some of the signature dishes are mawey ki seekh, Silbatta ki Shami and Nalli ka Rampuri Korma. One of my new favorites is the beet
tikkis with an audacious mixing of East and West
ingredients. After all, where would you find mayonaise and peanut butter in such a traditional dish? These kinds of surprise mergers make eating at Masala
House an adventure.

Even middle class India is on a big eating out
journey. There are small restaurants everywhere, and many, like Haldirams, provide good food at a good price. These tasty delights are street food in a sanitized
atmosphere, handled with gloves, and chutneys
made with bottled water, so no risk of Delhi belly here! On my visit to the Haldirams in the city it was packed, with hardly a free table.

Swagath in the Defence Colony Market has the most marvelous dosas and South Indian food and a big screen TV to enjoy the cricket games when cricket fever hits. The restaurant, which has 7 chain eateries, serves Mangalorean, Malvani, Goan, Chettinad, Gomantak,
and Andhra cuisine. If you thought South Indian food
is all vegetarian, you get to see the full gamut of nonveg
delicacies from the South: Chettinad crabs, lobsters,
as well as pepper mutton, Chettinad prawn
biryani, and chicken Hydrabadi curry with its classic
gravy of cashew nuts and coconut paste.

If America has brought Burger King to India, an enterprising
trio of foodies have come up with—Burger
Singh! Only the name is similar because as the young
entrepreneurs who started this say, these are craft
burgers with a sense of humor and a definite Indian
touch. And seriously,
who can resist United
States of Punjab Mutton
Burger or Juicy
Lucy Kaur Burger?
The vegetarian burger
eaters also have a diverse
menu starting
with Nani’s Rajma
Burger and others,
encompassing chick
peas, paneer, and vegetarian keema, too. It’s a fun place
with some seriously good fries.

Vegetarians are in the majority in India, so are
treated special. Even Chinese and Thai food has a
strong vegetarian component to the menu. Restaurants
are so aware of the veggie consumers’ needs that
the menu for Berco’s, a Chinese and Thai restaurant in
Delhi, clearly states “All dishes can be made without
onions and garlic. Just let us know!”—an ideal situation
for the many Jain consumers who do not indulge
in these root vegetables.

The mall culture provides lots of restaurants: the
brand names from America are all there from Subway
to Dominos to—yes, even TGIF! But Indian restaurateurs
have taken the casual dining segment and really
run with it, providing their own ethnic eateries with
margaritas and mocktails, and every Western and Eastern
concoction known to man. You see whole families
eating exactly what they want. Variety is perhaps the
reason for the popularity of the “eating out” concept.

In the Ambience
Mall, DLF Promenade,
as well as DLF Place
in Saket, is Café Delhi
Heights. India seems
to be catering more
and more to the urban
young; even the
drink mats here have
amusing little oneliners:
‘meter nahi
chalta!’ with a silhouette of a phut-phati, or the infamous
‘jaanta nahi mera baap kaun hai?! (Don’t you know
who my father is?)’ Ah, Delhi, with its pandering and
family hierarchies!

Fads and trends are popular. Another popular
eating out place is called Social: its interiors are like a
huge college campus with old typewriters, office desks,
a clutter of books, and electric table fans. A young
crowd seems to patronize it, people in their 20’s with
knapsacks on their backs. The food, from noodles to
burgers, is also casual and fun.

(Left) The famous Sindhi koki, the kind that the author packed for her
journey back to New York. “I smile blissfully and eat my bits and
pieces of real India even as I sit in New York!” she says. (Photo
source: http://cuminandcardamom.blogspot.com/)

During my 45-day stay in India, I probably ate every
possible kind of meal, from gourmet to street food to
home-cooked comfort food. And as I left India to come
back home to New York, I did what I do every trip: ask
Raju, the family cook, to whip up three dozen Sindhi
kokies for me. These legendary flatbreads traveled back
to New York with me, cuddled in foil wrap, along with
delicious home-made Mangalorean pickles from my
sister-in-law. Since my Sindhi niece has just married
into an Anglo-Indian family with its roots in Mangalore,
my food pickings have amplified! I also brought back
a gigantic packet of plump Indian “cranberries” (karondas), which
I dunk into my morning cereal, starting the day with a
touch of India.

Back in New York, I save my kokies like a miser in
the freezer for a ‘Missing India’ day. Then I pull one
out, heat it on the tawa as Raju would and enjoy it with
yogurt, papad, and pickle. I smile blissfully and eat my
bits and pieces of real India even as I sit in New York!

Lavina Melwani is a journalist who writes for several
international publications. She blogs at Lassi with Lavina,
http://www.lassiwithlavina.com. Follow @lavinamelwani.