Ingredients (for the Thai noodles)
3 tbsp sesame
(til)
oil
1 tbsp crushed red chilli flakes
200 gm noodles
1 tbsp ginger-garlic
(adrak-lasun)
paste
3 spring onions, finely sliced
1 tbsp crushed peanuts
(moongphali),
optional
1 cup shredded carrots
(gajar),
coriander
(dhania patta),
capsicum
(shimla mirch),
cabbage
(patta gobhi)
2 tbsp low-sodium soya sauce 1 tbsp rice vinegar
1 tbsp honey
(shahad)
½ cup torn basil
(tulsi)
leaves
Method (for the Thai noodles)
1. In a pan, heat sesame oil and red chilli flakes on low heat for 10-15 minutes. Pour the oil through a strainer and discard the pepper flakes.
2. In a pot of boiling salted water, cook the noodles according to the package directions. Drain the noodles and set aside.
3. Heat the sesame oil in a large frying pan or wok, add ginger-garlic paste, spring onions and peanuts and toss well. Now, add all the vegetables and sauté for a minute. Add soya sauce, vinegar and honey. Give a gentle mix and add boiled noodles.
4. Toss the noodles till it coats the sauce and finish with torn basil leaves. Filling is ready. (You can even serve it like a dish right away).
Ingredients (for the Kathi
Roll)
2 cups refined flour
(maida)
4 eggs
Oil for frying
Salt to taste
Pepper to taste
Method (for the Kathi
Roll)
1. Knead the flour with sufficient amount of water and some salt. Divide the dough into equal balls for a
parantha.
2. Make round layered
paranthas
with it. Basically, once you roll the dough ball like a
roti,
spread some oil over it. Then, first fold it like a paper fan and then roll it from one end to another (like a carpet) and tuck in the loose end at the centre of the circle. Flatten it out again as a
roti.
You’ll see several layers in it.
3. On the side, beat the eggs with little salt and pepper.
4. Now, on a hot griddle half cook the
parantha
from both sides with a little oil. Remove it.
5. Heat half tablespoon oil in a frying pan or on the same griddle and add one beaten egg to it, spread as the same diameter as the
parantha.
6. Carefully place the half-cooked parantha over the half fried omelette and allow it to cook for two more minutes; turn around the
parantha
and cook the other side for one minute.
Kathi
roll
parantha
is now ready.
7. Add a generous amount of Thai noodle filling to this
parantha.
8. Roll the
parantha
and cover half of it with an aluminum foil or kitchen paper and tuck the paper well so that the roll doesn’t open up.
9. Serve hot.
∼
That was enough food, in one day, for a sick person. I decided not to push any more boundaries and went back to the hotel to rest and re-energise myself for the next day’s events.
D
AY
87
31 October / Kolkata
Now that we had experienced the street food of Kolkata, this day was about the traditional meals of the city. For a traditional Bengali
thali
I visited Kewpie’s; here I met Rakhi, the owner. This was a small restaurant on a corner street with an entrance under a flower creeper. Rakhi had given up her career in Bombay to open this restaurant in Kolkata. A lot like how Mum’s Kitchen came into being in Goa. This was actually Rakhi’s old house that had been converted into a restaurant.
Before we began eating, Rakhi agreed to share her great-grand-aunt’s recipe of mustard cauliflower, called
Monoma,
named after her aunt. Cauliflower had gained a new respect in my eyes. Though the dish was a bit laborious to prepare, it was done so lovingly by Rakhi.
M
ONOMA
(Cauliflower cooked in a mustard flavoured gravy.)
Ingredients
Method
1. Rub the cauliflower florets with little salt and turmeric powder and keep it aside for 20 minutes at least.
2. Soak both the mustard seeds in one-fourth cup hot water for 10 minutes; then blend them to a fine paste with a bit of salt.
3. Whisk the yoghurt, gram flour, sugar and salt together, so that the yoghurt doesn’t split when it is put in a hot pan.
4. In another bowl, mix together turmeric, red chilli powder, ginger-garlic paste with a little water.
5. Heat half the mustard oil in a pan, fry cauliflower florets until they’re almost cooked and have a nice golden brown colour.
6. Heat the rest of the mustard oil in a pan; let it reach a smoking point. Reduce the flame to medium. Now add
panch phoron.
When the spices start to crackle, add ginger-garlic-spice mix and green chillies and sauté for two minutes.
7. On low flame add the yoghurt mix. Cook this with spices for three to four minutes until it thickens.
8. Add mustard paste, mix nicely and cook for two minutes.
9. Add fried cauliflower florets into this paste.
10. Add half cup of warm water and sprinkle chopped coriander leaves. Cover the pan and let it simmer for five minutes. Check the seasoning and as the gravy coats the cauliflower, take it off the heat and serve it with hot rice.
∼
Rakhi explained that a traditional Bengali lunch started with bitter flavours, and ended, like all others, with sweets. One of the popular bitter dishes was called
shukto
made with a spice called
radhuni.
It had a mix of vegetables like sweet potato, drumsticks, brinjal and beans, and had a creamy texture. This was followed by lentils. It was a
chana dal
(split Bengal gram) preparation called
cholar dal.
The
dal
had cashew nuts, and the special
panch phoran
spices. The
dal
was made with
ghee
and was finished with coconut; two things that really made the
dal
stand out.
Panch phoran
has five primary spices: fenugreek
(methi)
seeds, fennel
(saunf)
seeds, cumin
(jeera)
seeds, onion
(kalonji)
seeds, and mustard
(sarson)
seeds. The vegetable that was served after the
dal
was
baingun bhaja,
which was basically fried brinjals. Similarly, other vegetables could be made into a
bhaja
depending on the season. They were fried and then coated with spices. If the meal was a non-vegetarian one, the meat followed. Here, it was usually fish. I ate prawn
malai
curry, paired with chutney and
papad,
and lastly, the dessert. Usually all this was eaten with rice, or
lucchis
(extremely light
puris).
For dessert I had
mishti doi;
made with yoghurt that was sweetened with jaggery.
I knew I was in for a treat and my decision to skip breakfast was a great one. One of the new ingredients I discovered during my meal was
gondhoraj.
It is a type of lime particular to this region of Bengal. Called
gondhoraj,
that literally means aroma king, it is served with the meal, and enhances the flavour of food. It was nice of her to invite me for a meal, and learning about the food of her family couldn’t have been easier, all thanks to the elaborate
thali.
After lunch I travelled around the city, on the tram, looked at the old buildings, and wandered around absorbing in as much of Kolkata as I could. My last stop was K.C. Das; a temple for dessert lovers. I was told that this was the place where
rasgulla
was invented in 1868. It was made of
chenna,
or in simple language, fresh cottage cheese. This Indian dessert not only filled your stomach, but also quenched your thirst. It was soft, springy and filled with sugar syrup. Hats off to the person who invented this dish, because the technique is very difficult to imitate. I must admit, I am not a fan of tinned
rasgullas.
The
rasmalai
was to die for, or rather, to live for. The quality of the saffron used was top notch, and the
malai
just melted in my mouth. The milk was creamy and pure. My recommendation would be to go straight for the
rasmalai
when you visit this shop in Kolkata.
On this sweet note, I closed my visit to Kolkata and was glad that I no longer had fever. This was also the day I found out that I would be a part of the
Limca Book of Records
for being the first chef to travel 100 days by road, in search of good food.
My chef trainer would usually joke and tell me, ‘You need to marinate yourself long enough before you hit the tandoor.’ He would usually use this quote to teach me how important timing was and that success only tasted better when you have invested enough time, money and hard work in it.
The same joke would be applied to my acting skills. After a rigorous 40-day training in voice exercises and mirror rehearsals, I got my act straight. Under the guidance and supervision of my director, I began to befriend the camera. Slowly, my earlier barriers, in articulating thoughts in front of the camera, disappeared. Words, actions and expressions began to fall in sync.
The best part about this creative exercise was I stopped pretending to portray a certain image for the camera. I returned to being myself, it was all me and my audience could see me just the way I am.
D
AY
88
AND
89
1–2 November / Siliguri to Gangtok
I was on the road for the longest stretch this time as my next destination was Sikkim in Northeast India, very far from Kolkata. The Northeast is geographically, culturally and socially a very special part of India. Squeezed between Nepal and Bangladesh are the seven sisters: Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, and Tripura; and together with the Himalayan state of Sikkim make up the exquisitely beautiful Northeast. I was making my way towards Sikkim and then aimed to go to Assam, to sample the culture and cuisine there.
The main connection to the Northeast is Siliguri, at the tip of West Bengal. Siliguri has an airport and is a convenient place to land and continue onwards to the east. The airport has a very famous restaurant where we stopped for lunch to eat fish cutlets with mustard chilli sauce. The road led us from New Jalpaiguri to the Tista river valley. This was the landmark or the fork in the road, which led to Darjeeling, Gangtok or Kalimpong. We took the road to Gangtok, which was up and around the hills and through the valley. On the way up, I stopped at the Tista Bazaar where I ate fresh, steamy delicious momos with a cup of tea. They were very particular about serving the local chilli paste with the momos. The momos were quite big and stuffed generously with cabbage and chicken. I washed down my meal with hot tea and a small
narangi
(orange) for dessert. I felt delighted to be there.
Back on the road, we reached a junction with a board that said, ‘Welcome to Sikkim.’ There was a checkpoint for verifying the IDs, unlike any other city in the country. We were headed towards Gangtok, to begin our journey of the Northeast as well as to end our journey of India.
D
AY
90
3 November / Gangtok
Sikkim is heavily influenced by the neighbouring Nepal and China. The people are an indigenous mix of tribes that thrive in the heartland of the Himalayas and mostly follow Buddhism or Hinduism. The most popular tribes are the Lepcha, the Sikkimese and Nepalese. I feel that one of the best ways to explore a culture is by attending a wedding and taking part in the ceremonies. Most of us have been to a Hindu, Muslim or even a Christian wedding, but attending a wedding in Sikkim is a rare affair. I had the pleasure of being invited to a
khim gyapa,
a Bhutia wedding. One of the main communities of Sikkim, the Bhutias are a matriarchal society. So, while I was at the residence of the bride, the groom arrived laden with gifts for the girl’s family. The boy’s family was greeted with silk scarves called
kharas.
Two kilograms of pork, a bottle of wine and cookies made of rice powder called
zhedro
were presented to the bride. I realised how food was such an important catalyst for cultures to express emotions, celebrate special occasions and also exchanged as gestures of welcome.
I was given the ritual butter tea similar to the one that I had had in Ladakh. Along with butter rice,
deshi
(fried pastries) and
khapse
(local biscuits), it marked the beginning of the celebrations. The wedding ceremony was conducted by the Lama monks who recited the chants. Once this was over, there was breakfast that included
gyatho,
which is a popular Sikkimese dish made from long egg noodles. The mincemeat of your choice was added with whatever vegetables you wanted to have. The noodles were prepared fresh using flour; the process was long and particular to each family.
Thukpa
is the poorer version of
gyatho,
which is richer with more variations. The cherry on the cake was the chilli (that looked like a cherry itself), that was served with the
gyatho.
It was called
dalley.
The paste of this chilli was added on top of the
gyatho,
and the oldest lady of the house told me that anybody who visits them needed to be well fed. That, I found, was the general feeling across India: Guests were God.