Porn in the Gully

Food Porn, I believe, is the new  “in” term. Quite appropriate too – because much of what is dished out in the form of “food blogs” these days is so crass it could easily pass of as Porn.  Real Food writing is supposed to evoke the taste buds of the reader through words and titillate the palate by description of the experience (somewhat like what Music or Art critics do) – rather than photos uploaded from smart-phones with smart-alec captions.

Most people who like to call themselves Foodies actually know trifle little about food. Gourmets and Food Connoisseurs are a vanishing breed – not surprisingly, because ‘fine dining’ is a dying cult.

With fewer people cooking at home and domestic  chefs  (bawarchis and khansamas) nearly extinct  - people have to look outside  for great dining experiences.  But, even that is difficult find in a world taken over by  fast food revolution. What today passes off as  “specialty restaurants”  are rip-offs  and “nouvelle cuisine ” is a con-art.

Therefore, other than in Europe (essentially France), Tokyo, New York, San Francisco and, perhaps – arguably, London and Singapore  - the best places to eat are actually in the streets and hole-in-the-wall eateries. And, which can be a better place to go on a culinary expedition than in the by-lanes of Lucknow.

Tucked inside the serpentine gully encircling Awadh Gymkhana Club in Quaiserbagh is Sakhawat.  In my book , by definition, any food joint in Lucknow that has a web-site is at once to be disqualified, as it can't be authentic. Blatant self-seeking publicity is against the grain of the city’s Nawabi culture. So, as soon as Tunde Miyan’s decided to open outlets in Malls and extend franchises to other cities, they immediately got knocked off my list.  But, I am willing to make a concession for Sakhawat’s , as yet – even though they have a web site (http://www.sakhawatrestaurant.com/ - warning terrible navigation) and the present co-owner Mukhtar Ali has a visiting card listing their credentials , which he hands out on asking.

Mukhtar Ali’s great-grandfather  - Nazim Ali - was a chef for a Brigadier of the British Army and had also cooked for several Nawabs’. In 1911, his son, Wahid Ali opened a small dhaba near a mazhar opposite the Awadh Gymkhana Club.  He later obtained the contract for running the canteen of the club, which he ran for 36 years till his death in 1960. Later, following differences with the Club Management – his son, Haji Sakhawat Ali, started the present day Sakhawat Restaurant.

Mukhtar Ali

Nazim Ali and Wahid Ali were highly decorated. But the subsequent generation too are accomplished as you will find listed on the site. But, what - to my mind – really sets Sakhawat apart is their Institute ( or Training Centre) of Awadhi Cuisine – which, if run well, can be a great service towards preserving the royal tradition of Awadhi Food .

Sakhawat’s has a repertoire of over 100 dishes – many of which they make only on order or for private catering. But, they have daily specials on the Menu, like the Mutton Champ and Boti we had on Thursday evening.

Wahid Ali's Decorations

Recent Awards & Recognitions

The Kebabs of Lucknow are characterized by their softness – “melts in the mouth” quality - unlike the more challenging, tougher and sinewy Barbecues of the North West Frontier that traveled to India via Peshawar. That's because most Awadhi Kebabs are “cooked” on Tawas or pans rather than roasted in the Tandoor. Even those – like the Kakori – which are skewered over fire – are mashed and tenderized to perfection. North Indian Kebabs use very little condiments other than ginger-garlic paste, dried red-chillies and yoghurt for marinade – but subtle spices like saffron and garam-masala make a quiet entry as  east towards Lucknow.  As the preparations rise up  the evolution ladder the more exotic nutmeg, mace, shah jeera and shah marich find their way  into recipes. The Boti Kebab  at Sakhawat was sautéed  with juliennes of ginger  and black pepper – which gives it a zing which is pleasant and not sharp on the tongue.  The champ, in contrast,  had a touch of elaichi and cinnamon.

Kebab Paratha being made

Even the texture of the breads turns more sensuous.  They are no longer the challenging ‘break me if you can’ variety of Karari Tandoori Rotis or Naan – but have a more inviting ‘bite me with love’ quality  of the  nubile Shirmal or the more sinful paratha. All this might lend credence to the theory  of the Lucknowi Nawabs having poor dental health.  However, at Sakhawat’s they make an interesting  variant of kebab - paratha by pounding the dough on an up-turned Kadai lightly brushed with oil. It’s a thin flat bread slightly burnt in the middle – crispy but only just so  to scoop up the masala of the kebab from the plate to linger on the taste.

Prakas Kulfi House -Aminabad

Like any honest "only meat" restaurant, Sakhawat doesn't serve any sweets. So, we had to adjourn to another part of the town to indulge our sugar craving.  Prakash in the old quarters of Aminabad – is a basic, no non-sense Kulfi-wala. The best part is – they make only one variety of Kulfi – take it or leave it – knocked out of old-style metal dabbas .  No weird variants of colour and flavours that’s become the bane of  so many, once traditional, dessert counters.

No not exactly a Nawabi end to an evening of food adventure – I succumbed to the Kulfi as someone had told me – the frozen condensed milk helps to settle a heavy greasy meal. Be that as it may, it was a nice wrap up of a professionally unproductive but gastronomically rewarding day.

Reflections on a roll

Exploring Bihar – many parts of it that I had never seenbefore – has been, perhaps, the most interesting experience of my current job till date. It’s been like re-discovering the Indian heartland. Those who consider Bihar backward –haven’t probably visited interior West Bengal. Masked in fudged statistics of agricultural growth and claims of more equitable income redistribution by land reforms – the Communists masterfully kept the state wrapped in a poverty net for over 30years.

Travelling through not only the districts but even the shanty suburbs of Calcutta – one feels depressed to see how living standards far from moving up has indeed slipped back. Sights in the less affluent parts on the fringes of the big city – narrow lanes with cyclerickshaws bellowing their air-horns and road side vendors selling fish and vegetables in the light of kerosene lamps , hand-carts of tele-bhaja sellers and hawkers of Phuchka dispensed in the most unhygienic standards, neon-lit local sweet-meat shops – seem almost implanted from rural mofussils of the 50s and 60s of yore. Time has stood still here for more than half a decade easily – notwithstanding the mindless and aesthetically appalling concretization all around.

Political agnostics

True West Bengal doesnot have the baggage of social inequities and not beset by the cast fissures ofBihar and UP – though a religious fault-line is soon developing with both the current and previous ruling parties trying to create a separate vote-bank of the growing minority, who were traditionally politically agnostic. That has in fact further diverted the attention of the political class from real issues of development.

In comparison, remote Siwan in the Western Bihar (birthplace of Dr Rajendra Prasad) – though not one of the most developed constituencies of the state - appears more civilized than an average district town in West Bengal. A look at the District’s official website http://siwan.bih.nic.in/ gives some indication of

the greater engagement of the administration - a sense of ownership - in governance. For me, however, a simple index of development is the cement consumption in the area – which was large enough for us to spin-off Siwan as a separate Sales Area cutting off its umbilical code with Chapra, to which it was earlier attached.

the power of 3 and Didi

It’s probably thanks to the 3 Railway Ministers Bihar had invery close succession – Nitish, Paswan and Laloo – the Siwan station is visibly neat and tidy –where one wouldn’t mind waiting if the train’s late in arriving. But, I was more impressed by the train itself – on which I traveled to Lucknow from there. The AC1^st coupe on the Vaishali Express is one of the cleanest I have bee non in a long time. The attendants were courteous and helpful. During the 6 hours journey – the sweeper came at least

thrice offering to clean the cabin - something that’s becoming a rarity these days. I can’t say this any longer of trains emanating from Howrah or Sealdah (Calcutta) these days. In any case Bengalis, are never known for their service orientation. But, now with their “Didi” (succeeded by her chella) at the helm – theyhave total immunity from all work ethics.

We all lament that, train journeys are not the same anymore. But, for a change I quite enjoyed this one – whistling past the cow-belt country, watching the prosperous fields soak in the mellow sun of the fading summer, while gorging on a packed lunch of dry mutton curry and parathas.

The train reached Lucknow on the dot of time and was alloted berth at the old station of “chota line” – the terminal for the meter gauge service that has since been closed. Though not as imposing as the main “Char Bagh” station – it’s still charming. The best part is – presumably, under Maywati’s programme for social upliftment of the backward classes – all Coolies have been provided with hand-carts, no doubt making their lives much easier as also it lightens the conscience of passengers who dump their load on these poor porters.

Viva Taj

I used to be a regular at The Taj in Lucknow – in the late 90s when it had just opened. Even then it was one of my favourite hotels – and morethan anything else I remembered it for its very good Awadhi restaurant –Oudhiyana – which could any day give the ITC’s Dum-Pukht a run for its money. I have always wondered why the Taj hasn’t carried Awadhi cuisine to their restaurants in other cities. – when they do such a fine job of it in Lucknow.

Went back to The Taj – now re-christened Vivanta, their new mid-priced brand - again after nearly 14 years. The value of address has been greatly enhanced by Maywati’s beautification drive ofthe Gomti embankment – where it was earlier a solitary structure. Its design very naturally blends into the red sand-stone architecture that now adorns the stretch alongside the river. The refurbished rooms are very smart and the service has become crisper.

I used to be earlier somewhat critical of the Vivanta . I thought it was a forced make-over to make a brand differentiation. But, now I think they are getting their act together and I am beginning to like it. Recently we stayed at the Vivanta Malabar in Cochin and loved the place. The attitude of the staff, I find are more friendly and helpful in keeping with the old Taj culture and not uppity and synthetic as in their flagship luxury properties like the (Taj) Mahal on Mansingh Road in Delhi.

But the best part of the experience was Oudhiyana – which,mercifully, have been retained in its pristine glory – without trying to go for a facelift or relaunch. Apart from the excellent Kakori and Galauti – Chef Sharma turned out a brilliant Gosht Nahari for us – which he admitted is not simmered overnight, as the traditional masters would do – but slow cooked over an hour in a special mutton stock.

However, must admit eating in front of a huge portrait of Wajid Ali Shah and the Nawab looking straight onto the plate – did induce a tiny of guilt, which had to be overcome with a generous gulp of a deep rich Sula Dindori Shiraz.

Finally I was left wondering, if only Wajid Ali could haveavailed of Bariatric surgery a la Nitin Gadkari – we probably would have a few more signature entrees of Oudhiyana.

Opium in a Handbag

Reached the end of the “River” and what a beautiful and rewarding journey it was. It’s arguably Amitav Ghosh’finest novel yet and I ungrudgingly take back all the criticisms and reservations heaped on him in my earlier blogs (Click here to read). Though billed as the second part of the trilogy – the narrative sails on its own and the threads linking it with the Ibis (Sea of Poppies) are at best tenuous. Here, the historical backdrop – is not like

a cloak sitting heavily on the story, but - acquires a life of its own as Ghosh, the master of minutiae, paints the canvas with every little detail of a Chinese scroll painting. Unlike some of his previous works – Ghosh doesn’t challenge or intimidate his readers – instead transports them to a charming old world, as if after a few draughts of that magical smoke. The historical details – such as Bahram’s chance encounter with Napoleon - yes, as in Bonaparte – in St Helena does not distract. And, the parallel tale of Paulette and Fitcher Penrose on the Red Ruth

– in search of the elusive Chinese Camellia is beautifully woven into the main plot – probably leaving a

trail to be picked up in the final part of the trilogy. A must read for everyone – even if one had missed The Sea of Poppies.

Handbag as a fashion statement

But, the book I am enjoying immensely is the Political Biography of Mayawati by the journalist Ajoy Bose. I had resisted it for a long time – probably because of my innate prejudice for the subject. But, on my couple of recent trips to Lucknow – I couldn’t help but being impressed by transformation she has wrought to the city. At the risk of being scoffed at by my more evolved friends – I have no qualms in admitting, I found grandeur, vision and aesthetic taste in what had been described as grotesque display of megalomania. Undoubtedly very deep and astute thi

nking has gone behind creation of these monuments of Dalit iconism.

Any future regime thinking of destroying them – would have to do so at their own peril and no naming any number of roads, bridges, airports, educational institutions, hospitals or other centres after members of one ‘family’ - can outdo these gigantic feats of architecture. In any case, it is better than the stadium I believe Mulayam Singh had built in his constituency – which is now a public cattle grazing ground.

It would be fashionable to argue that the humongous amounts of monies spent to build t

hese structures could have been better utilized on power plants and infrastructure projects that would have benefited the people and contributed to the development of the state. But, while roads, bridges and power

projects can be built even through private investments or PPPs – social re-engineering can only be done by the state and it is difficult to put a price tag on the costs of social change. Bose’ book gives a terrific insight to the psyche of Mayawati and, her late mentor, Kanshiram and the movement they created that could well be a turning point of Indian history.

My only worry is – after 400 years when future generations of archaeologists excavate the ruins of the Maya Age of Modern India and unearth the great Behenjis statues – they might mistake her handbags to be the fashion statement of our times.