608656 Wed Apr 01 10:38:47 -0700 2009 0 44 South Asia 0 4557769 In this Food Trip w/Todd English travels to India to make delicious television shows. On the Todd Squad this go round: Commando, Johnny O, Matty Mahal and me. I’m viewing the last shimmering glimpse of sunset thru the foreground of my toes just as it dissolves into the far haze over the Andaman Sea and I’m trying to make up my mind between the Panter Punch or the Tom Kolin. Mr.Tam is playing the guitar and softly singing some gentle Thai country tune that I must move closer and still myself to hear. We’re thinking we should be working for Khun Tam ourselves, but he already has like six Thai guys working this seaside boite. They are longhair types with wispy Uncle Ho beards and badass temple tattoos all over. Sak Yant inked with bamboo needle and hammer in large traditional patterns that may take days to apply. The whole lot are smoking away on rough shag tobacco rolled in dry palm leaves that perfume the salty air. From behind a ragged curtain in a tiny shack, grilled prawns and pad kee maow which translate as ‘shit drunk noodles’ are produced along with Mekhong Whiskey and soda. The whiskey known as Sang Thip is illegal virtually everywhere else in the world and is rumored to have hallucinogenic properties. Here in the shade, steps from the surf we hang out… cold beer at a reasonable price, Thai cuisine al fresco and this time it really just doesn’t get any better than this. Beautiful. Coco nutty. Beautiful. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get in the Way Back Machine and set it for Old Delhi, about two weeks ago. Early gray and froze, me and my partner JohnnyO are hurtling down I-95 across the bleak winter landscape of New England toward JFK. On the way the morning repast of humus, newly minted pita and the Jerusalem mix w/curried deep fried taters like you get near the Mehane Yehuda. I’m finding it a hard habit to break since our last Food Trip to Israel only weeks in the rear view mirror. It’s thee perfect petit dejeuner brought to us by Commando who will join the squad again as we meet up with Matty Mahal and jump down the rabbit hole once more with our fearless leader a.k.a. The Great Giant Head. This time it’s Old Delhi and then KrungThep/City of Angels and finally we’ll all embrace the chaos and just say “Phuket”. Part 1: The Kababary Coast “It is written…” Guess who is late? Without him we are like a tandoori chicken with its great giant head cut off… and loving it. We arrive business class and by way of Brussels (nice lounge) on Jet Airways to Delhi around midnight. Met by our guide Karan we inquire of late night eats. My tongue has swelled up inside my mouth and I must have been having a tough time articulating “ beer”. Perhaps we might sort out a roadside Darhba of note? Along the wooded deserted boulevards, small fires consuming the detritus of that day fill the street lit air with a hazy fog. Sacred cows actually roam these streets like lost dogs. At least Pindi on Pandara Road is open for business. Parantha, Rogan Josh, Keema Mater, Butter Chicken. No beer. Lime and soda. That wonderful coconut chutney you don’t see and that mango pickle thing I wish you didn’t. Families are still filtering in at 1:30am. We five, satiated for the moment totter out onto the lane where a Paanwalla has set up on the curb. Acara nut, sugar, candied fruit, fennel seeds, cloves, cardamom saffron, lime paste, and a score of other ingredients of the Paan art are wrapped in a betel leaf and then chewed like a plug and ingested in short order. No spitting. Where’s the fun in that? This time without tobacco or mukwas as found in some paan, the flavors are like some chilled potpourri; rose water, coconut, bits, nibs. It is a popular old school digestive and palate cleanser here in Incredible India so we all put some between the cheek and gum. A note on the no beer thing. Lots of Muslims, so no booze in a lot of places. The places that do have it tend to serve it après dinner. Go figure. This spicy cuisine and beer go together like… pasta and Bolognese. Karan is a warrior class act from countryside several hours north of here. To caste and crew he is the cream of the Manala people and we are quick friends. Our fixer is regal and patient and a very good chap. All in all, a better man than I. Maybe someday I’ll visit him far from the city at his ancestral home. There in the foothills of the Himalayas where the Frontier cuisine is cooked over live fire and toasts are made over Mowa wine made from butter tree flowers. Shangri La lies in New New Delhi, out by the embassies and politicians compounds. It is a five star hotel and an armed camp with a formidable gate. Soldiers whose automatic weapons are chained to them conduct obligatory searches. Since the November ‘08 Mumbai attacks the whole place which normally runs like some Stalinist sub continental first n’third world model of efficiency is on double high alert. Did I mention that there is also no smoking anywhere in public? I am struck by this considering the entire country is smoldering. In the perfectly fine room there was a fruit plate and some nice chocolates set on rock sugar. Breakfast at the Shang is comprehensive. We are digging the morning dose of Dosas on demand, uttapam, and other Indian fare. We forget about coffee and learn to love the proper Masala Chai, a perfect blend of tea and aromatic spices and herbs. Videowalla am I. Landmarks but no permits put us in “fly under the radar mode”. Permits in India take about a lifetime to get and since our pre-pro is seat o’the pants we wing it. Red Fort, The Lotus Temple, Akshardham temple, street life, let’s chaat, Sihk and find. 1000 suspect handshakes at the gazillion dollar Patemple where it’s school field trip day for the masses. We are apparently fascinating foreigners. Decked out in schoolboy pants ourselves, and pigment-less we must appear as some unhonorable snowmen. Although I got a weird feeling it’s more like Jerry Lewis in France. Purell anyone? Bengali buffet lunch at Oh Calcutta. Prawn pulao, soft prawns in an aromatic rice garnished with raisins, chicken malai curry cooked in coconut milk, and an incredibly light but tasty daab chingri. For fish dishes (flown in from Kolkatta) - smoked hilsa fish and a steamed boneless hilsa in a mustard sauce – both worked. As far as apps - crabmeat and shrimp steamed in a banana leaf – winner. Big safe nap back at the Shang. We scope Bengali Sweets for a shoot the next day. We chaat up the locals some more and visit a big old time Krishna tent event. I think I felt the spirit upon me there that evening or perhaps it was a pickpocket. Carnivore’s Note: The Hindus hold sacred the cow. The Muslims, they shun Mr. Pig so in India sheep and goats are scared. Chickens are toast. Recommended by our Delhi fixers and Indian friends at home, dinner is at Punjabi by Nature on three modern floors in an outdoor “mall” of upscale stores with a cinema complex. A one legged beggar owns a patch of real estate out front. Insert rupees here. Extreme Indias. Beer by the pitcha before dinner only (we break this custom.), Gol Golppas which are chaat vodka shots in golf ball shaped crisp panni poori cups…tamarind, mint and straight vodka flavored… shoot and crunch. According to our hosts, goat is always Mutton. Raan e Punjab like Mataa (Mother) used to make, Kababs (surprise), a rack of jhengi champ, dhal makni, masala okra, Lachedar parantha, gulab jamun to finish. Overall this was my very favorite meal in Delhi. Chai. Pass the cream. Safe at the Shang. Mr. Matty gets Delhi belly and is down. I’m not gonna lie to you. Sunny Northern Injia is teaming, simmering and exhilarating. I want to take a hundred portraits, anticipate a thousand actions and capture this rich quality of light and color, this heat and melodic cacophony of Old Delhi. Rickshaw and barrow, donkey cart and wandering cow and always, relentless urchins are in our face. Impromptu cricket pitches and stick swinging policemen. Sidewalk acrobats, fakirs (and their mothers) and contortionists compliment the type casteng. Dickens would be quite at home. I see that Commando is grabbing rich images on his still camera. He has a shot of one woman where the eyes are piercing, the rich tone of her weathered face glows as shafts of light rake the frame from one side. I really miss being able to take stills on these trips. I frame close ups of carefully arranged lemons and green chilies in egg and dart patterns I am told ward off bad luck. The stolen frozen moment is a different perception. The video however is a moving experience and I engage scores of people who interact with the lens and me. One nut brittle street vendor pops a piece in my mouth. “Dan ya vad.” Sikhs wash their feet before entering a temple guarded by a mustachioed giant wielding a great truncheon thing. I stop to buy a Sikh bracelet and some charms on a string. You can never have enough juju. Just sayin’. The great giant head and the exquisite sari adorned Anu Vivek (aka Miss India) meet the Maharajah at the Taj (Hotel) and dine on upscale elevations of Mughlai cuisine at Restaurant Varq . This worked out awesome since Buhkara at the Marya Sheraton and The Spice Route at the Imperial reneged last minute. The table talk is about the slum dog billionaire story of Jet Airways chairman Naresh Goyal who was supposed to meet us but was detoured to Davos, Switzerland to the world economic summit. I’m quite sure he would not have carried off the sari as well as Anu. Menu highlights at Varq which means Gold Leaf in Hindi include Varqi Crab, an appetizer of crabmeat in phyllo pastry topped with a tandoori prawn, Makai ka shorba, a corn broth poured over popcorn, Martabaan, meat curry with red pickled chilies served in a traditional ceramic pickle jar, Kadi patte ke scallops, three plump scallops flavored with curry-leaf and served on tomato salsa, Sunheri Nalli, a robust New Zealand lamb shank on a bed of kofti biryani, Masala Sea Bass served on sautéed spinach and mushroom, bread selections, such as the Tomato and Mozzarella Kulcha and Olive Naan, Tamarind and sugarcane sorbets to cleanse the palate between courses, Masala tea crème brulee. Next day in Delhi… …Let’s Chaat. (from the Wickedpedia) “Chaat is plate of savoury snacks, typically served at road-side tracks from stalls or carts in Pakistan, India and the rest of South Asia. (Think Chex mix with yogurt, bark, twigs, gunpowder, calcium, niacin, tamarind sauce, black salt). The word derives from Hindi cāṭ (tasting, a delicacy), from cāṭnā (to lick), from Prakrit caṭṭei (to devour with relish, eat noisily)[1]. The chaat variants are all based on fried dough, with various other ingredients. The original chaat is a mixture of potato pieces, crispy fried bread, gram bean and spices, but other popular variants included Aloo Tikkis (garnished with onion, coriander, hot spices and a dash of curd), bhel puri, dahi puri, panipuri, dahi vada, papdi chaat, and sev puri. There are common elements among these variants including dahi, or yogurt; chopped onions and coriander; sev (small dried yellow noodles); and chaat masala. This is a masala, or spice mix, typically consisting of amchoor (dried mango powder), cumin, black salt, coriander, dried ginger, salt, black pepper, and red pepper. The ingredients are combined and served on a small metal plate or a banana leaf, dried and formed into a bowl.” Bengali Sweets does chaat right. Karan and Chef dig in and experience the snack genre that includes crunchy bits, raita, coconut, pomegranate, whatever and etc, thingamabob, and the chaat makers signature tamarind sauce. A whiff of sulfur smelling black masala salt makes it a complete treat. No guest Chef Chintan Upadhyay from Jet Airways this morning as his flight is delayed probably due to the hazy invisibility cloak the Delhis prefer to wear. Pressing on we encounter a snake charmer as we change from odiferous van to au natural rickshaw. Snake charming is totally forbidden in India today. Our Chef hates snakes it turns out although I am mesmerized and get like within a foot of the hooded hissing striking cobra. I bet they defang it or detox it or something. Right? The Chef always fancied himself in a rickshaw but found driving it with Anu and the driver in back overrated. The Paan Bizarre is full of the paan parts and paan purveyors. Everywhere are bales of the betel leaf, tobacco, jars, sacks, zip lock bags, liquids, neat little piles of the items that go in the paan plug. The paan wallas hands move faster than the eye as he smears and adds pinchs of the magic. As he periodically breathes his mouth opens slightly to reveal red teeth and gums from the betel nut and asrtingents he prefers in his own brand of paan. The Great Giant paan chewer gets one with everything including tobacco. From the look on the great giant face I’m guessing spitty outy this time. We’ll just check that right off the life list. Chowdni Chowk is just got too many people trying to exist in the very same space at once. Johnny O and I curiously ascend an ancient tenement to a roof top five stories above. Atop this old school skyscraper is roof life and it goes on as far as the eye can see. Here are little hovels and villages, microcosms up high. Below a frothing tide of people and the noise of the street. As we turn to leave JohnnyO goes down hard as his feet go out from under him in some primordial roof ooze and he is anointed. The roof people immerge from their places and clean him up and we rupee them. Purell!? The Spice Market here is a scene from an older world much. It is a maze of alleys and stalls where the dense foot traffic of people and spice never slows. The air is impregnated with aromatic dust and the particulates have this world wheezing and hacking. Tiny men with turban heads and gauze masked faces haul impossible bundles and pull and heave on gigs and carts. India needs a lot of flavor and here are tons upon tons. Chilies, cinnamon, turmeric and more. Just visiting, Anu and the Chef dance thru, he dressed like Johnny Cash and she still in the fairy tale sari; propriety and the spice of life. Our rickshaw driver is nearly killed several times. In his zeal to please he diverts from our rickshaw caravan often going the wrong way, taking expired shortcuts, getting a flat and generally pissing all of Chowdni Chowk right off. The dealio in Dehli; mean as a stick, conform, lay low, older than dirt, you don’t know where that’s been, don’t touch…anything. My Indian friends back in the States all said if you have only one meal in Delhi make it the original Moti Mahal. Over a billion sold since Independence in 1947, Moti Mahal is proud and not to be confused with Moti Mahal Deluxe. It’s a sort of Ray’s Pizza thing. As the hazy night shades Delhi again the sound of mandolin, wood flute, sitar and squeeze box and the eerie off key nasal female vocals of old but not forgotten ghazal love songs are cranking out from a beerless garden of Kababs. (The choice of songs was a mix of the best of the patrician and the plebian — Himesh Reshammaiya tunes belted out with as much relish as Ghalib’s qalaam). Just sayin’. Chintan and the Great Giant Head invade the Moti Mahal kitchen and marinate and ruminate and tandoorize a menagerie of halal meats. The Chefs work the Tandoor and soon breads and kababs were flying out like there was no tomorrow. Really. We ordered everything. Paneer Shashlik, Bharwaan Aloo and Makhani Daal for the veg. The Reshami Kabaab, Burra Kabaab, Rogan Josh, Butter Chicken, and Tandoori Chicken all marinated to perfection in yogurt, garlic, and a tad too much lemon, red dye #4, and secret spices. Kalmi Kabaab and the Khasta Roti were note worthy. Beer was not part of this excellent experience. Across the take your life in your own hands crossing this street Road, we find the best Paan so far. Wrapped in edible silver leaf in the classical style, some of the stuff inside is chilled. In between the cheek and gum it is startling cold, sweet, and floral. Beautiful and yes…nutty. Dan ya vad paan man. High Chai w/Anu still in sari at the Shang. Swanky. Ohka veg market w/Chef Chintan. At Ohka a vast bounty of fresh produce and a sea of humanity both inside and outside the covered market beckons the eye and ear. Tractor tire size spirals of red carrots and fenugreek and countless other ingredients are styled perfectly. Again I note the green chilies and lemons organized for luck. Most of the market smiles and beckons the camera. Everyone is ready for their close up. A cow wanders thru. I am nearly run over constantly. Ate at the Jet Air commissary and saw how Indian cuisine is designed to fly for efficiency of weight and preparation on board.(kababs, cotton candy) Cook at the Shangri La (stuffed quail, tandoori lobster), Family backyard cookout dinner in New Delhi (more kababary). Commando gets the Delhi Belly and wills himself well in just hours. Tomorrow in Thailand he will be eating on camera. The squad has carried a lot of water here in India and deserves praise. The business class lounge in the Delhi Airport was crowded . There was however beer. YOU may talk o’ gin an’ beer When you’re quartered safe out ‘ere, …Now in Injia’s sunny clime, Where I used to spend my time A-servin’ of ‘Er Majesty the Queen, Of all them black-faced crew The finest man I knew Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din. Rudyard Kipling Wed Apr 01 10:38:47 -0700 2009 92239 EATTV