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/

Fried masala fish - Mumbai Style

You get into the rut of working and before you know it, you've actually managed to survive, just barely, an entire working week eating just chlorophyll and gluten. But thanks to a little glad somewhere deep within the subconscious mind, before I go into cardiac arrest from food boredom, my being starts displaying unmissable symptoms. Day 2 brings on periodic bouts of dismay, followed by that "it's going to be okay soon" feeling. On day 3 the hopeful feeling is been replaced by an "it's the end of the world" sort of thing and the dismay gives way to an aggressive cynicism towards everything. Day 3 is a bad one. There is an anger. But not a destructive anger. It's a "I am so angry that I think a little cry might help" kind of anger. A pitiable state. Day 4 is hilarious. At least it seems that way now. You are going mad and you know it. Yet can't do anything about it. I start seeing life in butcher charts. It's incredibly bizarre. The drive home becomes a little hazardous, stray cows, a cause of distraction. I start playing this game in my head where I rate stray bovine, out of 10, on the basis of muscle distribution, rump cover, rib extension and carcass quality. I'll smile to myself when I think I've spotted a winner. An imaginary blue ribbon awarding ceremony follows. The crowd cheers. The winning specimen bows it's head in humility as a result of this massive honour bestowed upon it. All the other cows moo as the Chosen One is led away by men in hair nets and white aprons, all to the sound of a 12 inch blades making repeated swift contacts with steels. I know ... I told you it's mad! This is followed by a restless night and a feeling of certain doom in event that the sad state of affairs is not dealt with.

This Wednesday was day 4. I hadn't cooked fish in while and I went to buy just that after work. I bought this fish that I always see at the market, but never buy. It's local name is Bakra Macchi. Literally translating to Goat Fish. Goatfish is also a name given to a group of Mullet but I am not sure if that's where the name comes from. If you know your fish, out with it. Even more local names are very welcome.

A basic masala fish is quick, easy and delish. Most regular fish eating families in India would have their own versions. Coriander seeds, coconut, chili, turmeric, mustard seeds, ginger and garlic would feature in most them. Here's a version that I reverse engineered from what I ate in Mumbai over one home-cooked Sunday lunch. The masala used to marinade the fish would also make a decent base for a curry. Just cook it with some water and coconut milk and you have yourself a simple curry to throw some fish chunks or prawns into.

Any white sea fish would do for this. Scaled and gutted, leave the fish whole. Make the customary cuts both sides of the body.


Bakra Macchi

For the masala, whizz in a grinder:

• roasted coriander seeds
• roasted grated coconut
• roasted mustard seeds
• red chili power
• turmeric
• juice of one lime
• ginger
• garlic
• a little bit of vinegar
• salt

Coriander seeds will make the base for the paste so be a little generous. The coconut will take away some heat so don't be shy with the chili. Grind all the dry ingredients first and set aide. Then whizz the wet ones before mixing both together and give it all one last spin. Add water to get a spreadable consistency.

Seasoning a marinade can be tricky. Just remember - season boldly. The marinade has to compensate for the lack of salt in the fish. I read in one cookbook, don't remember which one now, that you can season your marinade about 7% more than what you think is normal to account for the meat. I think 8% works better.

  

Let the fish marinade for some time. Three quarters of an hour should do it. Before shallow frying in a pan coat the fish in semolina (rava). And there you have it.

The messy art of Hot Potting

21st March 2011, Dinner.

Frogs in a Pot

After a traditional Hunan lunch, mild flavours, quite skillful in preparation, it was an adventurous Schewan dinner. I first ate Hot Pot in Edinburgh and it became a pretty frequent ritual. A few of us would go there and order copious amounts of meat with two different broths. A Schezwan one for the one's that didn't mind shedding a tear over dinner and a mild chicken one for the men. Don't mind weeping like a girl now and then.

The pot came with a crimson red broth, with sprouts and millions of little Schezwan Peppers. And had frog feet sticking out (no frogs in Scotland). Frog is a Schezwan favourite and I quite like frog myself. It's a very tender meat, sweet and delicate. The frogs are not like the colourful critters you see on National Geographic, photographed against the foliage in a rainforest. These Bull Frogs are farmed and are the size of a quail. I wanted to dig right in but Hot Potting is a patience-testing indulgence.

Bull Frogs

The cooked frogs, and other meats, were eaten with a sesame sauce. Superbly nutty. And perfect to balance the eye-popping heat. You eat all of the frog, bones and all. Only the larger bones get spat out.

After the frogs, thin slices of lamb went in. The pot was topped up with chicken stick now and again. When the water in the pot evaporates the spice gets really concentrated and you can feel any meat coming out of it burning its way into your stomach.

Sasame Sauce with Lamb

Hot Pot Frog

 

Hot Pot Shrimp and Shrimp Balls and the Frog Graveyard

The lamb was followed by shrimp, shrimp balls, a green leaf which I couldn't identify a 100% (think it was from the spinach family) and tofu. The tofu was unbelievable. The best I've ever had. Probably made on the premises. Oh yes, and a flat potato noodle. Looked like a really wide glass noodle, almost an inch wide. Tasted fantastic when soaked in that sesame sauce.
Like life in China on the whole, there are rules that must be followed while Hot Potting. A separate pair of chopsticks are reserved for the pot. Don't think this would be the case if you were eating at home with family. And there are certain things that don't go into the pot together. Don't ask me why. Maybe to do with cooking times. But I have a hunch it's to do with some cultural significance. Like 'no tofu and that green leaf together in pot', as I was told.

I was a little disappointed to see that the shrimp and the shrimp balls were frozen. But the place was packed with locals and if it's good enough for them, it damn well is good enough for me.

Tried asking for a fork for someone with us and no one knew what the hell I was on about. Proper Chinese then. Everything was finished off with some Chinese White Wine. 60% volume. Wine my ass!

Dog Don't Eat

Dog Don't Eat

21st March 2011, Lunch.

After having spent the morning, and the early part of the afternoon, walking among sheds at an industrial estate, a good lunch was needed. I wanted to eat what Chinese eat for lunch on a Monday afternoon. We drove to downtown Tainjin and reached what I am told is national icon serving food of the Hunan province. Dog Don't Eat is an impressive looking place. Surrounded by modern development, the place still lives up to the stereo-typical idea of a Chinese food joint. A small entrance (relatively, the place is 5 stories big), gold and red, and the un-missable slanted roof. The name apparently comes from a person called Dog (obviously lost in translation), who was not liked very much by the Chinese. Or something to that effect.

Normally I would jump at the menu and would want to order at least 2 things from each page. But no! I am unlikely to pick the stuff a local would pick. So the ordering was outsourced.

We started with some boiled soya pods, peanuts and some other bean. Boiled in really salty water. After I had piled up the peeled pods my host tells me that this other bean doesn't need to be peeled. Tells me after I have spent 10 minutes doing exactly that. The empty pods taste nice too. All this peeling was accompanied by a green salad tossed in what seemed like some peanut oil, soya sauce and sesame seeds. Good stuff. All with a steady stream of green tea.

To start

This was followed by a kind of thick soup made from a small variety of rice (I am told). I think it may have been wheat though. Was served at room temperature and was bland. Could do with lashings of Blue Dragon Sweet Chilli sauce. Only joking.The soya sauce tasted different to any I have had before. My host tells me that north of Tainjin the soya sauce gets saltier, gets sweeter when you go south and is sour in Tainjin. It tasted like soya sauce with vinegar mixed in it. And I learnt that it is acceptable to sip soya sauce out of the little dish. I drank a little too much and felt a little sick during the drive back to work.

Cereal Soup and a pretty superb Soya Sauce

Then came the steamed dumplings. Not exactly dumplings actually. These things were called Pow Zzah in these parts. Pronounced that way. Very difficult for me to spell a word that to me is more sound than word. The casings were fluffy. Made from fine wheat flour and were fermented, I think. Couldn't confirm that - tried but the language barrier again.

Pow - Zzah!

Little Parcels of Goodness

The Heart of China

Dear Great Leader of the People's Republic of China,

Nihao!

Much though I wanted to write to you earlier, I was unable to owing to the fact that you have had to restrict access to websites that have the potential to mobilise public opinion. I, like you, am also of the belief that free-will is unnecessary and over-rated.

I was in Beijing for half the day and I felt compelled to visit 'The Heart of China'. So what if it's nowhere near the middle of the country? I must say, downtown Beijing is a beautiful place. The old city gates are truly magnificent. I, however, think that 'palace gates' is probably a better way of describing them since in their day only the Emperor and his sycophants and posse stayed in the 'city'. Nonetheless a slight linguistic cock-up doesn't belittle the grandeur of the structures.

The 2nd gate

The main gate

Having admired the gates, and having wondered how the bloody hell the you still keep them looking like they were built yesterday, I went into Tiananmain square. And what a square it is. An epitome of order. A showcase of discipine. I felt a sudden urge to start marching with my heels digging deep and my chin tucked in. It was noting like what I expected. There were no bullet hole ridden walls from the time you were forced to use live fire to control angry students. Students can be very dangerous. I know. I was a student once. In my country, and most others, a site of such mischief would be preserved as a reminder of where the country had lost it's way. What a waste of time. Your clean-up job though is worth commending.

Museum to the right of the square

Gate to the Forbidden City, guarded by Mr. Mao

I then walked towards the gate of the Forbidden City. And behold! A picture of the greatest of all Great Leaders - Chairman Mao. I didn't have the pleasure of knowing him in person but I am quite certain he would want nothing to do with the American-style hot dog cart that parks steps from his memorial. I also witnessed the great audio-visual display in the middle of the square that was screening one of your many, superbly directed, propaganda films. I couldn't stay and watch the entire feature but understand the screening was about Xianjin, the Muslim, oil and gas rich province, that you are so selflessly trying to incorporate into your great land. On that note, whatever happened to the plan to integrate Tibet into China by offering free lifetime food to Tibetan women who married Chinese men? Any luck? I rear my own chickens and goats and do see how forced breeding can be used for a greater social good.

Ankle deep in propoganda

Knee deep in propoganda

Chest deep in propoganda

Nose deep in propoganda

After feasting my eyes, my stomach needed some attention. Leaving the old city, I went into the market just opposite. Not too far in, number 30 to the right, was where I had heard I could get the best Peking Duck. Do you prefer Beijing Duck? Not only that, I was ecstatic to hear that this was the place where the icon of the East was actually invented. Then, I was very disappointed to find out that there were no seats, and would not be for a while. I had lost all hope of sampling the fatty goodness when mass commercialisation came to the rescue. It is a great idea to have a fast-food version of the traditional sit down restaurant under the same roof. You've even put an outlet at the airport so people can take pre-cooked ducks home with them? You clever fox.

The place where Peking Duck was invented

Enterance to the place where Peking Duck was invented

Street on which there is an enterance to the place where Peking Duck was invented

I was happy with the size of the portion, which is a rare occurrence. I ate 2. The duck was moist, as I had expected. I am pretty sure it wasn't much different from the one served in the restaurant - minus the table-side carving of course. The skin was not as crispy as it should be but good enough for a fast-food joint. I hope I can enjoy the duck the traditional way, and not on a plastic plate, next time. Have you tried roasting the duck with any wood other than apple and pear? I reckon cherry or orange would go well too. No?

I washed down the Duck Pancakes with some Duck Bone Soup. I saw Duck Webs in Mustard on the menu. Maybe next time. I had a additional plate of condiments on the side - with cucumber, pickled walnuts and jasmine buds and some green beans. This was the best fast-food meal I have ever had. Even better than  the time I ate a kebab in a London kebab shop, with a sozzled friend, a portion of Chips and Cheese, a dozen pickled jalapenos  and a chilled bottle of Mumm.

Peking Duck

Peking Duck on plastic plate

More plastic plates



Duck Bone Soup

Anyway, as I was leaving I asked if the place I had just eaten at was still run by the founding family. What I was told was that the place has been state run for years now! Genius. Next time could I please have my Hoisin Sauce container filled to the brim? Thank you.

Yours faithfully,
Vikram Singh

Where is meat made?

meat   [meet] –noun

1. the flesh of animals as used for food.

Meat eaters fall under two categories. One; those that eat animals. And two; those that, for some reason beyond my comprehension, seem to forget where meat actually comes from. The latter I despise - more than vegetarians. Most people who eat meat seem to forget, or choose to forget, that a steak mooed not too long ago. I took a few Americans to dinner in Germany last September. Situated on the Main, this boat club served up some of the best food I've ever eaten. Local oysters, fresh fish, some German classics like the Schweinshaxe, the works. I went for the Calf's Liver with Mash, Roasted Apples and Gravy. A couple of my guests, Baked Seabass with Lemon and Rosemary. What my dear friends from The United World of America did not realise that the Seabass was not going to come out of a tin. They stared at their plates, as the fish stared back, not knowing how to start on the damn thing.

There was this show on British television called Kill it, Cook it, Eat it, where some specimens from the British public watched their meat go from pasture to pot. I am not proposing a soap-esque drama like that. I am proposing something much more radical!

If you eat meat and have never killed your food - shot it, slaughtered it, or clubbed it across the head, if you like eating baby seals - then give it a shot. If you still keep to your eating ways, which I hope you would, you will appreciate your meat a lot more. If you gag at the thought of having another bite of meat then good riddance, and if you carry on eating meat believing it came from the 'shop' you are the worst of the lot. Ignorant and damned.

I have been rearing my own animals for food for a few years now. Chickens to be precise. I rather that my food live well. While it lives that is. I don't think an overcrowded cage, where chickens wallow in their own shit, is much fun. But that's what most meat eaters settle for. Me included - most of the times. But if I can rear my food, I do. It normally leads to better ingredients to cook with, a longer association and a deeper involvement with your grub and, well, a certain satisfaction. Not to mention better food. And that's what it's all about.

I am currently in the process of building such an association with a couple of goats. Haven't named them - I don't name my food.

Breakfast of champions?

“Breakfast is the only meal of the day that I tend to view with the same kind of traditionalized reverence that most people associate with Lunch and Dinner. I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon; anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas or at home — and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed — breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be properly observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon, or corned beef hash with diced chiles, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of Key lime pie, two margaritas, and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert… Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next twenty-four hours and at least one source of good music… All of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked.”

- Hunter S. Thompson

courtesy: Dr. Green