Rule Britania

The second Parsi food institution I have been to in the past few months. The first was Kayani Bakery in Pune. For their Mawa Cakes and Shrewsbury Biscuits. Never have I seen such a line of punters waiting outside drawn shutters like that. And when the shutter opened, you know exactly where the term selling like hot cakes came from.

It would have been a bit of a let down if I didn't have to wait my turn to be fed at Britania. Remember watching an interview on TV with the gentleman who still sits at the joint, and supervises his son, who in turn supervises everything else. The name Britania, he said, was given to the place to drawn in the British folk back in the day. Typical Parsi.

It was a good feeding. But a mixed bag. Partly because not everything was up to standard and partly owing to the fact that I was so looking forward to this that no matter how good it had been I would have found something lacking. I was looking forward to the raspberry lemonade, central to any Parsi occasion, as much as I was everything else. Nearly drove right through a red light day dreaming about the stuff. It had been years since I last had my last raspberry lemonade at a Navjot. Over the years I had so romanticised the thing in my head when actually it tastes a bit like cough syrup. The human mind eh?!

The Sali Boti was interesting. It's not like your North Indian Curry. There is the Gujarati influence in there somewhere. The Sali, crispy fried potatoes on top, do add other dimension to the texture, but take away from the flavour, I thought. A little sweet, from the tomatoes. Watery. To be entirely honest this was the let down. Served stone cold, not enough meat. The sure sign of a place cutting corners. And it isn't cheap. I'd at least expect something mildly warm for that kind of money.



Sali Boti

The Mutton Cutlets were exactly what you'd expect.Well seasoned, wholesome and damn oily. A little more care to the oil temperature goes a long way when frying anything. If the oil temperature is right, what you fry doesn't soak copious amounts of oil. Contact with the well hot oil will seal the food immediately. More Sali. A meal in itself.


Mutton Cutlets

The Mutton Berry Pulao is a winner. Iranian I gather. The Berberis makes this dish. They add a certain sweetness and tartness. The caramelised onions, more sweetness. Still, not enough meat. To make up for the meat the Pulao had little meat balls made from the same stuff the cutlets were made of. Cutting corners again? Still worth a trip for the Pulao.

Mutton Berry Pulao

For dessert? My favourite! Sneak a peak into the fridge, on the right, as you enter. The Caramel Custards sell fast. Might have to order yours early. Now that I mention, the Caramel Custard has been my unicorn. The last two times I have ordered it, it's been sold out. Makes this one all the better. Try the Caramel Custard at Trishna, Kaala Ghoda. Great too.

Caramel Custard

The real prawn curry

I first ate such a prawn curry at a friend's place a few years ago. Was cooked by a Marathi women. Was the best Gomantak-type prawn curry I have every had. The prawn curries I make don't come close. For starters, I just couldn't figure out where that red colour came from, and how the gravy, though definitely water based, tasted so coconutty. I used to use coconut milk in my prawn curries. Still do. But the whole dish gets too heavy. I have experimented with different chillies for the colour, but no success.

The last time I had gone to my fish-waali I asked her how she cooked prawn curry at home and happy I am that I asked. This is very like what I had been trying to replicate. No matter how much I had tried on my own I would have never figured it out. The secret to the red colour is a chili used by the Marathi and Gomantak community called Kumti. In fact my fish-waali even pointed me to the shop where she buys her spices from. The recipe is amazingly simple. I am pretty sure it would be quite nice with whatever chili you have at hand. But this Kumti business makes a ton of a difference. While she was rattling the recipe to me in great detail I asked her if I needed to put something sour in it. Gomantak food uses kokum. Or tamarind or a little vinegar maybe. Absolute no, she said. Not for prawns. For fish? Ya, could do.

So here's what I call Macchi Waali's Prawn Curry.  I managed to get hold of about a kilo of really juicy Tiger Prawns. For this recipe I would strongly recommend keeping the shells and heads on. Gives the curry a bisque-esqe touch. Just get rid of the front of the heads and the sand sack. With a paring knife slit the back, through the shells, to get rid of the vein. What would I do without my paring knife?

For the base paste (for about a kilo of prawns this size, or 2 kilos of normal ones):

• 4 heaped tbsp Kumti chili powder. You get two types I am told. Spicy and not so spicy. Go with the not so spicy.
• one clove of garlic
• 2 inches of ginger
• 4.5 tbsp coriander powder
• 1 tsp turmeric
• 1 tbsp garam masala
• juice from a couple of limes

Grind it all with a bit of water if needed.

Also grind 150 gms of fried browned onions and 100 gms of fried brown dried coconut kernel.

In the same oil you fry the onions and coconut in, fry the paste. When the paste is cooked through, throw in the prawns and turn them around in the masala. Don't bash the crap out of them. Once coated, put in the ground mixture of onions and coconut. Stir about. Once coated again put in just enough hot water to cover the prawns. Season to taste. Let simmer till prawns cook through. Adjust water and salt, and you are done.

I think this best goes with an unpolished rice. It's got a wholer, more rustic taste.

Ode to the Rogan Josh

Rogan Josh is to Indian cuisine, what Fish and Chips is to Britain, or a Pizza is to the Naples. An embodiment of sorts. However, the popularity of any dish is often the beginning of the end. An end of what made the dish so great in the first place. You'll know what I am talking about if you've eaten a portion of Fish and Chips at a Turkish joint, at some unearthly hour, in the UK. Frozen fries, not chips, and soggy batter don't do the institution any justice. Same with the Pizza. Any Nepolitano would cringe at the thought of anything on a Pizza other than Plum Tomato sauce, some Mozzarella and Basil. The Rogan Josh is no different.

You can find a Rogan Josh on most meat serving restaurants' menus - if not all. And any meat dish on that menu, with a brown gravy, can pass off as a Rogan Josh. A dish that has been around for as long as Indian Cuisine itself has fallen victim to, not time, but it's popularity. The problem lies in what people have come to expect from a Rogan Josh - a basic mutton curry with a brown gravy. Just as people have come to expect a bread base with a tomato sauce, cheese and whatever else you want on it as a Pizza. Bloody ruined! Gone to the dogs.

Rogan Josh, in the UK - and I mention this here because I may have heard this dish mentioned more times in my 5 years spent there than I have in all the years spent India - has fallen prey to the 'scale of blokiness' that ranges from the 'pussy' Korma to the hairy chested 'Vindaloo'. A very clever marketing tool used by 'Indo-British' restaurants, no doubt, but not very good for the traditional, timeless, Indian curry.

I cooked what I think was pretty close to the authentic recipe a few years ago. It was by a women called Mrs. Balbir Singh, a heavy weight of India cooking in the 1960s and 70s. I can't find the recipe now and the book has become a collectors' item since it went out of print. But yours truly has managed to procure a second hand one from the UK - with a little help of course. The other recipe that I think is pretty authentic is in a cookbook called "Cooking Delights of the Maharajas" by Digvijaya Singh, The Maharaja of Sailana. This book I have. My bible of sorts. Will be pitting Mrs. Singh against Mr. Singh once the book is received from London.

Until then a little lesson in food history. The Rogan Josh was brought to India by Timur in the 1400s. Timur, a high-roller in his times, rolled with his expert cooks on his conquests - the Wazas. The Wazas were the Gods of the kitchen. Wazwan cuisine would make any opulent meal of today seem like a take-away. There were more than 30 courses back in the day. But just as the recipes have changed, so has the theatre of it all. The Kashmiri Pandits make their version strictly without onions and garlic and use asafoetida and fennel instead. I buy into the idea of there being no onion in a proper Rogan Jogh. Both Mr. and Mrs. Singh agree. Wikipedia has some interesting theories on where the name comes from, but I wouldn't take their word for it, especially because they list blogs (very much like the one you are reading) as sources. Fools.

Anyway in my attempt to uncover more about the Rogan Josh, I have come across numerous recipes. Some interesting, others not so interesting. But one thing is for certain - it would be a tall order for anyone to make the claim that they have the original recipe. However, Wazwan cuisine is not just about the food. It's about the processes which lead to the food being prepared, and consumed for that matter. So I can tell you with a certain confidence that the brown stuff you get in most restaurants in not a Rogan Josh.

Watch this space for a recipe that probably is.

The Grill of the Punjab

There's something about the title 'food consultant' that doesn't quite sound right. Gives and impression that someone's career didn't go as planned. Now I don't know who bestowed this title upon Jiggs Kalra but I think food consultant kind of works for him. I get an impression he could fry a pakora with as much finesse as with which he could put together a complex curry. Sure he doesn't cook himself at his restaurants; but consultants are implementers, at least that's what they tell themselves, not doers. There is a difference. Punjab Grill is probably the most talked about Indian Restaurant in Mumbai. Don't think I've visited the city without someone mentioning the place. It's probably old news to be honest, but where do we village dwellers get to prance around in the big city on a Sunday afternoon.

Have a look at the menu and there is no shoo-sha whatsoever. No mention of reductions and emulsions and coulis - stuff that gets squirted onto plates from plastic bottles. But fine-dining nonetheless. Its was great to see a whole load of Punjabi dishes (undivided Punjab that is) that none of us had heard of, and there were 3 Punjabis out of 5. Probably recipes brought back to life after having died a death at the hands of the convenience culture. This the time of 50 horsepower grinders and appliances that only a physicist can understand. I like to think that the good, old-fashioned menu was all prepared using good, old-fashioned cooking techniques. But if not, no bother.

The meat platter to start came highly recommend. A quick look and a sniff, as the waiter dished it out, and a repeat was ordered. Ordering a platter is like target practice with a machine gun. You're bound to be happy with something on a plate of 5-6 different things. Tell you what, I loved the lot. Obviously a lot of care had been given to timing. All the meats were just right. Not always the case at an India restaurant. If the mutton is tender, then the chicken can knock your teeth out. But at PG, all superb. The Amritsari Fish, only second best to Jai Jawan on Linking Road. And it was great to see chops that looked like they came from a very well fed, and slaughter-ready animal. Cuts of meat don't always make sense here. Sorry about the lack of photographic evidence.

I saw a Shorba (just Punjabi for soup. Same in Turkish I think.) that looked too good to miss. Wouldn't normally have one when it 40 degrees outside. But this one was worth the irrational behaviour. Creamy and fragrant. Meaty, of course. Spices so well blended and balanced that it was pretty brain cramping trying to pick out the flavours. A sweet woody flavour from cumin and coriander (I think). And surprisingly light for a soup made from, basically animal fat and cream. A must try if you like lamb.


Paya da Shorba

For the main course I agreed to go with Murg Makhani (Butter Chicken) and Daal Makhani (Butter Daal). Think I regret that now. The Doon School conditions your mind to order exactly that when you don't want to be making decisions.  Both were good. Sorry I can't do either of them justice here with lyrical praise. Butter Chicken and Daal Makhani will always be benchmarked against Prezzi's, and it's difficult when you are up against the best. So 'good' is praise enough. The Rotis could have been better. The Rasmalai was horrendous. Too sweet, and hard. No good.


I'll have the usual please

And then the thing we had all been waiting for - the Paan Shot. A great idea I think. And the only bit of shoo-sha. But needed to cut through all the butter that had been consumed. Cutting butter with cream? Again, I would have liked it a little less sweet. Tasted like there was some synthetic syrup in there somewhere. Maybe just too much sugar.

All in all a great place. Worth the money then? Maybe, if we'd ordered differently.

Punjab Grill by Jiggs Kalra - http://punjabgrill.in/