K
ULIYA
K
I
C
HAAT
(Vegetable and fruit cups stuffed with Indian snack.)
Ingredients
Method
1. Clean and cut the cucumbers and pineapples into even cylinders (1.5-inches tall) and core out the centres to make buckets. Bottoms should remain sealed.
2. Half the tomatoes and core them out to make buckets as well.
3. Cut quarters of half an apple and then scoop out triangular pockets from the top side (the side with the skin).
4. Now store all these fruits and vegetable baskets in chilled water. Make at least 16 buckets in all.
5. Prepare the filling for these baskets by whisking hung yoghurt and sugar together. Add cumin powder, chilli powder, mint, salt, tamarind and green chutney to it.
6. Now, toss this yoghurt mixture with pomegranate kernels, sprouts and roasted peanuts. The filling is ready.
7. Stuff the chilled fruits/vegetables with this filling.
8. Now top them with
aloo sev,
lots of lemon juice and chaat masala. Quantities for these three are subjective to your taste.
9. Garnish with ginger julienne.
10. Serve chilled.
∼
As you can imagine, the rhythm of the river, the ebb and flow, slowed my general life speed down to 20 km per hour. I was feeling happy and content.
After collecting memories and blessings, I carried my culinary journey forward, into the streets of Varanasi. People of Varanasi are known for being proud of their local street food. Apparently, it all ‘originated’ here. There could be no better city in India for a foodie to excite his or her taste buds. But, be warned, this city is purely vegetarian; all your experiences will be ‘chicken free.’ The city as a whole avoids eating meat, because they believe ‘dead meat gives you dead thoughts.’ On one side are the banks and on the other are winding streets with unending options of snacks, sweets,
lassi
and flowers. My first stop was Jawahri Ki Kachori. It was not easy to find, though if you ask around, everyone knows and helps. The set-up was very similar to that of Mr. Bajpai’s in Lucknow. The cooks of the shop were sitting cross-legged on an elevated platform of the store, while patrons were waiting in line for the
kachoris,
which were actually a version of
puri,
served with
aloo sabzi
(potato curry). The interesting part was that there was a
pattal
for the
sabzi
and
puris
served separately on a leaf. An enthusiastic gentleman came forward to show me how to hold both the
puris
and
sabzi
with my left hand, while eating with my right hand.
I struck up a conversation with Sudhir, the gentleman who helped me figure my
kachoris
out. He told me that the shop was the oldest in Varanasi. It had been around for ages and that he visited the shop almost every week. These breads were stuffed with
dal.
Also, they were absolutely dry, versus being the usual oily
puris
that one eats with
sabzi,
which was one of their biggest USPs. The
sabzi
had three distinct flavours:
saunf
(fennel or aniseed),
kasoori methi
(dry fenugreek leaves), and
elaichi
(cardamom). Even better was the little surprise in the
sabzi;
the jackfruit
kofta
took me by surprise. It was delicious. Like Sudhir said, the
puri
had an
urad dal
(black gram) stuffing, making it a
kachori.
After shamelessly devouring four, I still felt hungry. My stomach was full but my heart was not content, something all of us have heard in the Hindi saying,
‘Peth bhar gaya, par neeyat nahi bhari.’
Luckily for me, it took all but one second for me to be distracted by the
kadhai
on my left. The
kadhai
was full of hot oil and it had a massive honeycomb-like
jalebi
inside it. The difference was that it was called
jaleba,
only because of its size. It was all of two kilograms, frying solo in the
kadhai.
These are made of fermented gram flour that is piped in concentric circles into hot oil. Once they become fluffy and crispy, they are soaked in sugar syrup
(chashni)
that has been flavoured with saffron and cardamom. Another surprising fact about the making of the
jaleba
is that they don’t weigh out the portion that they are going to fry. It is a free flow feeling that decides the size of the
jaleba.
They then break it up, into rough pieces and see it by the plate. For Rs. 15, I had one of the tastiest meals I had ever had.
As if by default, my next instinct was to drink
lassi.
My stomach had grown a few inches and my body struggled to make space for my next visit. I went looking for it and found Mr. Blue Lassi Wala. As a chef, I immediately was trying to decode the use of blue in the shop title. I was thinking it was grapes, or some fruit syrup, or even the colour. As soon as I reached the shop, I realised that the blue was to denote the colour of the shop, and not the colour of the drink. Mr. Vikas Yadav, the present owner of the shop, told me that his shop was the first in Varanasi. His grandfather, who was a TV actor, set this shop up 70 years ago.
He has been deemed one the best
lassi walas
in the country. The recipes haven’t changed, the shop hasn’t changed, and even the taste remains the same as it was initially. He had 70 different varieties of
lassi.
Vikas used all old school equipment to make his
lassi.
He used a brass urn in which he churned the liquid using a wooden spoon with a flat bottom that he rolled between his palms. He mashed the fruit into the
lassi
using this spoon. The ingredients were home-style thick yoghurt, sugar, two layers of fresh
malai.
He garnished his
lassi
with whatever fruit was mixed in it, with an addition of pistachios. Unlike a lot of shops in the city, this one had an adjacent area for seating. Watching him make
lassi,
sitting in a small area of the shop, was picture-worthy. You would be surprised how many foreigners were patrons of the shop. The ratio was almost 8:2; once inside, it was hard to understand whether I was in Varanasi or Venice. Let me also mention that you need a spoon to have your
lassi.
Once the first few dollops are ingested, you could start sipping on the thick
lassi.
It isn’t too sugary, but the sweetness comes from the fruit added. Once you start drinking it, you almost forget about the
jalebi.
I tried the pomegranate
lassi
and the banana chocolate, after which I could not do anything else. It was a lovely day: I cooked, I ate, I ate, and I ate. Now it was time for a nap and to digest whatever I had stuffed myself with since the morning.
D
AY
81
25 October / Varanasi
Not only a food haven, Varanasi is also known for its art and artisans. I found one such artist, who once was a Japanese chef, and now played the didgeridoo (a 5000-year-old instrument) in a small shop. People called him Mithu, but his actual name was Mithun. He believed that the didgeridoo was like a mobile phone that allowed you to connect with your ancestors. It was made of recycled materials like matchsticks and trash wood. He spoke at length about life, music and art. He seemed a bit divorced from reality, but nonetheless, he was spiritual, kind and genuine. One of the prime reasons he came from Japan was to find peace and play his didgeridoo!
He took me to the
ghat
to play his music and get me to try playing the instrument. The way to play it was by vibrating your lips to the sounds—di-ji-ri-du—with your lips pressed against the mouth of the instrument. I shut my eyes and listened to the music. If one paid attention, one could differentiate each note and feel the unique sounds emanating from the instrument. For me this experience was special because, usually, I am very good at motivating myself and chasing my dreams. When I met Mithun, I saw a man who was a cook and who felt like there was a void in his life. Unperturbed, he gave up that life to start another filled with music. No fear, no regrets, only positivity. One might question about how he earned a decent living? The answer is that he also ran a small restaurant on the side to make money that would fund his musical hobby. Perhaps, someday I will be able to be so successful and so content with my life that I will be able to leave the culinary world for the guitar, something that I have always wanted to play. Perhaps. I ate lunch with him, a simple meal that we had prepared and exchanged notes about cooking.
In Varanasi, whether it is breakfast, lunch or dinner, all meals end with the
paan.
When it concerns the city and its
paan
, the stereotypical connection for every Indian is Amitabh Bachchan and the famous song picturised on him, ‘Khaike Paan Benares Wala.’ I decided to listen to this gem of a song while completing the rest of the journey.This song of the eighties is still immensely popular because of the common-man connect with the pleasure of eating
paan.
To learn more about the Varanasi
paan
culture, I went and visited Keshav Paan Bhandaar in an area called Lanka. The reason for their success is credited to the purity of all their ingredients, which are sourced locally. I met Mr. Chaurasia, the owner of the shop. He explained that the
paan
leaves were not from Varanasi; instead, they came from Magadh, a region in Bihar. The best leaf was called
magai
that came from Gaya in Bihar. That region is not only popular for the leaves, but also for the
gulkand
that is an essential part of the
paan.
The
magai paan
leaves were soft, and I could feel their warmth as I bit into the stuffed leaf. It also melted in the mouth immediately. The relationship between Varanasi and
paan
came from the fact that Bholenath (Lord Shiva) resided here. Bholenath had a liking for two things:
bhaang
and
paan.
Both were consumed here as an offering to the God.
If you want to know how a
magai paan
is made, then here’s what you need to do. First, you take the
magai paan
leaf and spread
kathechu,
also called
catechu,
a paste made from acacia extract, rich in iron and calcium. Then
chuna
(edible limestone paste) is applied. Next comes the cardamom, and then a special
paan masala
called Shankar Shambhu, a type of sweet betel nut. Next comes my favourite ingredient,
gulkand,
followed by a sweet chutney, which is usually fruit flavoured. Last is the menthol; only a pinch is added because of its strength. Well, this is how Mr. Chaurasia prepared my
paan.
The actual magic was how he folded it into a neat little green pyramid. It took him a millisecond to neatly stuff all the ingredients into place, fold the leaf, and present it to me. Me, being the dramatic foodie that I am, asked for the
paan
to be fed to me, as a gesture of goodwill.
As I began to chew on the
paan,
the leaf softly gave way to the juices of the stuffing. The
paan
was fresh; the bitterness of the leaf balanced the sweetness of the
gulkand.
The fresh effect of menthol was definitely the first flavour that hit me.
After Surat, Varanasi had been a very rewarding experience. The people had been humble, welcoming and very knowledgeable about food. I spent the rest of the day wandering the streets, talking to some locals, cherishing the last few moments in the holy city. Before you ask, I didn’t watch the sun set.
D
AY
82
Travelling from the holy city of Varanasi to Maner, Patna.
D
AY
83
27 October / Maner, Patna
After Uttar Pradesh, I was supposed to drive straight to Kolkata. I decided to drive through Bihar, briefly. From Varanasi, it was a journey of 750 km to Kolkata, via Patna. Luckily for me, Patna was en route, where I eventually stopped to taste a few delicacies.
Patna, the capital of Bihar, was the first stop on my journey to Kolkata. I was surprised to know that the history of Patna dated back to 600 B.C. In ancient India, Patna was a place where higher knowledge was imparted to young students. No wonder, even today, some of the brightest minds come from here. Just before I entered Patna, about 20 km west of the city, I stopped at a small town called Maner, a famous tourist destination because of the mausoleums and the
dargahs
(the tomb or shrine of a Muslim saint). There is yet another reason why foodies would have heard of Maner; Maner
ke laddu
was as popular as the Agra
ka petha,
and the Mathura
ke pede.
Maner Sweets was situated at the entrance to the city. The
motichur laddu
was special here. One of the reasons the
laddus
here got popular was thanks to yesteryear actor Shatrugan Sinha. In one of his movies, he asks someone if they had tried the Maner
ke laddu.
It helped that Shatrugan Sinha was from the area as well. The other reason is that the crew of Aamir Khan’s popular television show,
Satyamev Jayate,
stopped here to try the
laddus.
Hence, I had to stop and try.