Pulkit didn’t wait for me to ask; he lined up all the varieties for me to taste. The plain one was the best. I asked him what was the secret behind the taste, to which he replied, ‘Blessings of Lord Krishna.’ I drank a whole glass of the saffron pistachio milk and I could not believe how creamy the milk was and how pure the saffron. It was like an instant energy shot in one tall glass.
The first floor was a food court where they served me a
thali.
The food was vegetarian, cooked without onion and garlic. It had an assortment of
dal,
vegetables,
paneer
and yoghurt. As a starter they served
dhokla,
a steamed gram flour cake and
pakoras. Puris
were served instead of
rotis
and the meal was more than substantial at a very reasonable cost. Pulkit made sure I had so much food that it could pull me through till dinner. It was one of those days where all I did was eat. Tomorrow would be dedicated to knowing about the religious leanings of Mathura.
D
AY
71
15 October / Mathura
I would like to believe that there are two ways of looking at religion: either with boring, objective eyes, or with an adventure and flair for story telling. My grandfather, a big Krishna devotee, was the reason I used to visit Mathura. I even went with him to a wedding once, where I (a fat 14-year-old) was dressed up as Lord Krishna, surrounded by girls who were much too pretty for me, dancing to the chants. I had saved that picture in my head for a very long time.
The Raas dance is part of the traditional story telling of Krishna. It is known as Raas Leela and
katha
(story telling form) is believed to have evolved from here.
Raas
means aesthetics and
leela
means storytelling. The dance originally has Krishna surrounded by
gopis
(women who herd cows) devoted to him. Today, extracts from the original Raas Leela are performed by dancers at temples. At one such temple I met a pandit who arranged a dance performance for me, which was enacted by the dancers while the panditji sang. The dancers had painted their skin in various colours and their dresses were adorned with peacock feathers. They danced and swayed to the chants and songs; after a while I felt serene. I had a moment with panditji where we talked about beliefs and the meaning of being devoted to Lord Krishna. The only way I felt like I could do my part was by cooking, even if it was just for my grandfather’s sake. I made his favourite,
Saffron
Pakwaan.
S
AFFRON
P
AKWAAN
(Traditional flatbread from Sindh, flavoured with saffron.)
Ingredients
Method
1. Soak the saffron in warm milk.
2. Sieve both, the whole wheat flour and all-purpose flour together.
3. Mix the flour with cumin seeds, carom seeds, asafoetida, crushed peppercorns and salt.
4. Rub the flour with
ghee,
just like we do for short crust. It’ll have a coarse breadcrumb-like texture now.
5. Add saffron milk with sufficient water to knead a semi-soft dough. Let it rest for 15-20 minutes.
6. Divide into small equal portions
(roti-
size dough balls).
7. Roll it out like
roti
s. With the help of a knife or a fork make tiny impressions on it. Please do not miss this important step.
8. Heat the oil for frying. Fry the
pakwaans
on medium flame until they are crisp and have a nice golden colour.
9. Serve the
pakwaans
with hot
dal
or a vegetable curry of your choice. Or you can eat them as it is.
∼
It might sound clichéd, but the air made my
pakwaan
richer, more flavourful and definitely delicious. The other reason I decided to make this
pakwaan
was that it was used as
prasad
in my house, as an offering to the Gods; a tradition started by my grandfather. When it was time to eat, we sat together on the floor and panditji said a small prayer before we began. I never pray before I eat and I almost reached out for the food before I caught myself. Panditji had an acquired taste. He tasted the food at the place where he performed his rituals, and only then did he decide where he would pray. After the first bite, he smiled and approved. He told me my grandfather would be very proud, and I remember, at that moment, my eyes did moisten up a bit. I spent the rest of the day walking along the banks and wandering in the streets. I recalled my earlier visits and the things I had done then. I added this visit to my bank of memories for Mathura, as I had done with my earlier visits.
D
AY
72
From the land of Krishna, I was now heading towards the hills and plains of Dehradun.
D
AY
73
17 October/ Dehradun
I had been in central India, on the plains, for a while. Throughout my journey, I had been reading Ruskin Bond and now as I headed to Doon Valley, the stories were almost coming to life. Dehradun lies on the foothills of the Himalayas, nestled between two of India’s mightiest rivers, the Ganga and the Yamuna. Located very close to Mussourie, Dehradun has inspired many artists, writers and poets into creativity. Of course, my interest lied in the culinary heritage of the area. As I walked the streets, I realised that since the British arrived in 1816, very little had changed. The corner shops still made jams, preserves and cheese, very much in the English style. My first stop was a cultural one. I went to Rio Resorts, where I met Mrs. Gosai who had arranged a cultural programme for me, followed by a Garhwali cooking lesson. She told me that she followed me on television and promised me that if I ever paid her a visit, she would teach me the lesser know techniques of the mountain cuisine.
Her company had been set up with the aim of preserving their culture and cuisine. She was a small portly lady and her sari was a bright red that stood out against the dull green hills. The group of ladies, who were about to perform their traditional dance were all housewives from the area, who had come together to form a society to preserve their dying culture. The dance revolved around Goddess Parvati and the song was sung in Garhwali, one of the 325 languages recognised in India. They wore a long skirt worn with a blouse and a
chunni
(a long scarf that women wear around their head and shoulders) draped over their heads. Around their necks they wore beautiful silver ornaments called
hansuli.
The area was rugged and mountainous, none the less, the flora and fauna that grew here, were suitable for the cuisine. The ladies had intricate knowledge about wild edible plants and their usage in the making of the food.
The two popular cuisines of Uttaranchal were from the Garhwal region and the Kumaon region with lot of commonalities between them. The principles of fresh, local, organic and nutritional food have existed here throughout time. What I loved here was the generous amount of
ghee
used in the food. Being a cold area, the
ghee
provided the warmth that the winter chill took away. As we stood outside and cooked, I waited desperately for the food and some of that warmth. They ate thick
rotis
stuffed with
dals,
leafy greens and vegetables. Mrs. Gosai took time to tell me about a little grey seed, called
jhangora,
which they use to make a
kheer.
Apparently, this seed has the power to dispel the supernatural. It also has medicinal properties and provides a lot of energy to the person who eats it.
Jhangora
is a type of millet that grows in the region. She told me I was still a growing boy and I should eat this millet to be strong. She also showed me how to make a
Moong Dal Pakora,
made during an auspicious occasion or a festival and also the
jhangoora kheer.
This had to be my lucky day. The culture and cuisine here were new to me and Mrs. Gosai taught me well. I spent a long day enjoying the scenery, the weather and the food.
M
OONG
D
AL
P
AKORA
(Fritters made from grounded pulses.)
Ingredients
Method
1. Coarsely grind the soaked skinless split green gram with salt, dry mango powder, turmeric, red chilli powder, and asafoetida.
2. Add caraway seeds, green chillies and chopped coriander to this and mix well.
3. Heat sufficient oil in a wok.
4. Grease your palms and shape the mixture with your fingertips to even-sized
vadas.
Slide them into the oil, a few at a time, and deep fry till golden and crisp. Drain on absorbent paper. Serve hot with green chutney.
D
AY
74
18 October/ Dehradun
It was a completely different experience waking up in Dehradun than waking up anywhere else. The weather was perfect, the slight chill in the air made me cling to my quilt for few moments longer. The view from my window was more than just scenic. It was like a misty picture postcard from the middle of the mountains. I had my ritual cup of tea and my morning rusk. I dunked the rusk in the tea and waited for it to soften slightly before I got my morning dose of stimulants. That brought me to the bakery culture in Dehradun. Ellora’s is the most fitting example of the baking tradition in the city. It was right opposite a very popular school on Rajpur road. Although, you don’t need the address since everyone knows exactly where it is, just ask anyone for directions if lost. The bakery bestsellers are stick jaws, plum cakes and rusks. Mr. Gulati met me at the bakery and allowed me to question him incessantly about all the desserts and the history behind them.
Their plum cake recipe was 200 years old; that explained why this bakery had been around for so long. As we chatted, we exchanged stories about food and life, and he happened to mention that Chef Sanjeev Kapoor was a friend and still ordered from Ellora. I also met Mr. Gulati’s son, Dhrone, who showed me around the kitchens, and told me that the family had not let go of the old methods of baking, whether it was the machinery or the utensils. Standing outside the bakery, judging by the smell of bread wafting through the air, one wouldn’t think that the ovens were over 35 years old. It reminded me of my trip to Italy and the time where I was hanging around a bakery with a wood-fired oven. The walls were made of brick, that wasn’t painted over, and the smell made me want to eat everything I laid my eyes upon. The oven at Ellora could bake 100 loaves of bread at a time. The long-handled pizza peel was a large, long fat spoon like tool that was used to shuffle the many loaves of the bread in the oven. The bakers wore thick gloves, while old-school ceiling fans cooled the rest of the bakery.
I went to the next floor to see the old plum cake recipe come together. Of course when I tasted, it fulfilled the rich, crumply and moist requirements of a good cake. Mr. Gulati said that the fruit is macerated in alcoholic syrup for six months and the cake, if well kept, lasts for almost a year. The rusk was actually what I was looking for. I chanced upon a fresh batch and grabbed a few for my tour around Ellora. Just the fact that they tasted like cardamom with the sweetness of crisp buttery toast made my visit worthwhile. My last experiment was with stick jaws. Incredibly sweet, the buttery toffee stuck to each tooth in my mouth and kept me occupied for a good 10 minutes. I bought some cake for the rest of the trip and headed off down the road. I had decided that this day would be dedicated to the British cuisine and culture, and what was left of it in India.
I made my way from Dehradun to Mussourie, a mere 40 km by road, and an hour and a half by one’s watch. Mussourie is called the queen of the hills. The British influence here is evident, especially on the architecture and the food. I had been here for a few summer holidays, like every other kid from Delhi. Mussourie has always been very popular for the entertainment on the Mall Road and the cable car rides. This was my first trip where I was going to make an effort to fish out all the little store-owners who made cheese, jam and peanut butter. Right up until the sixties, the British lived here, and consequently left behind a lot of their eating habits with the locals. I found a place called Sister’s Bazaar, where I went into one Prakash Store to sample all of these Brit traditions that had survived over time in a little hill station in India. Of course, I wasn’t surprised that everything was remarkably delicious. The owner offered me a small space to cook, near the store. I couldn’t resist the offer to use the peanut butter and jam. I made cookies. I just had to. It was nice to literally taste a piece of Mussourie’s history. I overdid it and ate the cinnamon roll sandwiches, muffins, butter cookies and peanut butter biscuits too. It dawned on me that I had eaten much more than I should have. I stayed in Mussourie and rested until the sugar wore off.