China to Ludhiana

It was Vir Sanghvi who had coined the term Sino-Ludhianvi Cuisine. But, Butter Chicken had reached the nooks and corners of India much before Chow-Mien had meandered across to Punjab, I suspect.

Outside of Calcutta, “real Chinese” was available mainly in some of the 5 Stars – though not all. As a kid we used to hear stories about the Golden Dragon in Taj, Mumbai – which was the first to introduce Sichuan or Szechuan Cuisine (spelt as Shezwan – almost like Kashmiri Wazwan)  in India.  But, that was a distant dream. The closest, we humble Calcuttans managed to get was to The Ming Room on Park Street, which too allegedly served Szechuan Chinese. I remember going there for one of my earliest dates. Many years later – when I had the opportunity to visit China one discovered Sichuan food was nothing like what was palmed off in India and also not as hot as it was reputed to be. Food from other regions – Yunan for example was far more fiery (almost tongue numbing). Indian Shezwan – essentially used a lot of red-chilly powder or even chilli-paste (seldom the original Sichuan Peeper-corn) to make tangier for the desi-palate. In a way, I think this was the inspiration for Ludhianvi or Punjabi Chinese.

Strangely, of all places, Ranchi had small Chinese community and a couple of nice Chinese Restaurants near Doranda. We were told of them by by Ajit-Mama’s partner, Jimu-da (Dr P K Sur) of Allahabad – whose wife Binita-boudi was from Ranchi.  We went there on a road-trip from Calcutta to Daltongunj and still remember the Chop-Suey I had at a place also called Chung Wah. But, now those restaurants are extinct and the Ranchi Chinese people must have also moved elsewhere. On recent visits to Ranchi, I have tried looking in vain for true Hakka Chinese.

(Photo courtesy: Trip Advisor)

Dravidianisation of Chinese

My earliest recollection of a proper Chinese Meal outside of Calcutta was at Shinkow’s in Ooty. It was probably in 1973 or 74 and I was 13-14 then. Those days – people could still take long vacations. Like most Bengalis Abba too would try to club his annual leave with the Durga Puja holidays spilling over Kali-Puja / Diwali, which would give us a cool 4  -5 weeks break when we would go and camp in a place for a month. For these long holidays – we usually teamed up with my Aru-Mama’s family – as he and my Dad (both difficult people in their own way – but extremely methodical and stickler for order) got along famously. In Ooty, we were putting up at the house of A V Ananthakrishnan – a tycoon of the Shipping Industry of Madras and son in law of the legendary Sir C P Ramaswamy Iyer  –  a friend and business associate of Aru-Mama (Captain Ronnie Ghosh), who was in the merchant navy. Like good hosts, the Ananthakrishna’s drove down all the way from Chennai to settle us into the house and took us out for the first meal to Shinkow’s.

At Shinkow’s we were quite amused to find – one had to place the order by writing the item number from the menu card on a chit-pad (a practice which they still follow). We later discovered this was common in South India and Chicken 65 derived its name from being the 65^th item on the Menu at Buhari’s restaurant.

Inside Shinkow's and Roast Pork

Contrary to our impression of all “Madrasis” are vegetarian – the Ananthakrishnas weren’t. But, the Chilli Chicken that arrived, much to our surprise, was not brown in colour (as we had expected) but red – much like Chicken 65, I would say. One can possibly call that - the Dravidianisation of Chinese.

Shinkow’s still remain our favourite and a mandatory stop in every visit to Ooty-Coonoor, which has now become quite regular for us. But, now we gorge on the pork and beef more – both, especially the latter, not easy to find in most Chinese restaurants. Shinkow’s have a limited range of cooking style. Most items have the red “masala” – called by various names. But, we like it that way – as  for us that’s what characterizes Shinkow’s or Nilgiris Chinese.

Nelson Wang

After Calcutta – Bangalore emerged as major centre for Indian Chinese. This is partly because of the large Tibetan settlement there. In fact, there used to be a restaurant near the junction of Brigade Road and MG Road – which local legend had it was owned by a sister of the Dalai Lama. Doubt if there was any truth to that rumour – but they made a very good fried acrid chicken, the only other place I had it was Kunga in Old China-Town Calcutta (they also ran the Chinese kitchen at The Calcutta Swimming Club in the 70s). The great Nelson Wang – is also supposed to have briefly worked at a restaurant in Bangalore’s Church Street area before moving to Bombay to make history.

Photo Courtesy: Samil Malhotra

Chinese Tadke-walla

The origin of “Punjabi Chinese” was, I believe, from Nirula’s in Connaught Place (also credited with invention of the Indian “Espresso” Coffee, which - milky and sweet – made frothy and ‘mouth scalding’ hot by injection of steam from a pressure jet -  is nothing like the Italian Espresso ). I first went to the Nirula’s Chinese Room in early 70s. We were on a family holiday in Delhi – when Mesho-babu (Amma’s elder cousin’s husband) was visiting on work from Calcutta and staying there. I was too young to understand – the shades of difference between Calcutta and Delhi Chinese. It was only much later did I realize – Nirula’s had started a whole new sub genre of Indian Chinese.  

That leaves the stories of the 2 Last Emperors of Chinese in India Baba Ling and Nelson Wang - but they deserve more than a chapter.

Baba Ling

Recipe: Cheat-Sheet - Sweet & Sour Vegetable:

• Mixed Veggies (anything goes) :   carrot, rench beans broccoli or cauliflower florets, button mushrooms (the more adventurous can try ribbed gourd or very tender bitter gourd too);
•  1 medium bell pepper - red, green or yellow, chopped or cut into 1 inch square and finely chopped celery;
• i medium onion quartered and layers separated;
• 2/3 garlic cloves, ½ inch ginger;
• While Vinegar (Or apple Cider); Dark Soya Sauce; Tomato Ketch-up;
• Blanch Veggies and set aside in cold water to preserve colour (keep the veg stock for later use)
• lightly fry the onion, garlic and ginger;
• add the blanched vegetables; 
• pour the sauce ingredients (soy, vinegar, ketchup - to taste) - add tea-spoon of sugar, salt and a pinch of pepper (can cheat with ready-made chilly-garlic sauce/paste or Tabasco);
• Mix 2 heaped tsp of corn-flour in half a cup of water; mix and stir (don't let lumps form);
• add some more vegetable stock if you need more sauce;
• a pinch of aji-no-moto (MSG) always helps :)
• 
  

For a change

The Bengalis called it “change” for short – meaning a change of weather and place. They’d say - “change e jacchi” – literally, going for a change (sic) - “Ektu jal, hawaa badal korey aashi”. So, in winters they’d move base to what was colloquially referred to as the “West” (Paschim) – small towns of Bihar (now Jharkahnd) - Deoghar, Madhupur, Hazaribagh, Ranchi – sometime even as far as Banaras. In summers – it would be to the sea-side of Puri or Gopalpur (Ganjam, Orissa) or to the hills in Darjeeling and Kalimpong. It was bit like the old colonial concept of shifting capital for summers or winters – or the European custom of heading out to the Riviera or the Alps. The self styled “aristocrats” had their summer or winter homes at those places. Others would rent a house or have long-stay arrangements at hotels ( the more “well-to-do” in places like the BNR in Puri or The Windamere in Darjeeling). Though we were nowhere as privileged – going on long vacations was still very much the norm even in ordinary middle-class homes.


So, I don’t remember ever going on a holiday that was less than - at least - a fortnight (something we can't even imagine in today's work-life)। Usually – my father would take leave in the period intervening between Durga Puja and Kali-Puja (Diwali). Quite often, we would travel to Allahabad – where my mother’s younger sister and her favourite cousin lived – and from there head-out in a larger group in another direction. Thus, we toured the Kumaon Hill circuit of Nainital-Ranikhet-Almora, the golden triangle of Agra-Jaipur-Delhi and, on another occasion, parts of Madhya Pradesh covering Khajuraho-Jabalpore.

These were not very organized or planned trips। Travelling in 2 or 3 jalopie-loads (squeezing in 6, sometimes 7 or 8 including children into the old Ambassadors and land-masters), it was like picnic on the road with its fair share of misadventures. Practically every second night we would have to find a new place to camp or pitch a virtual tent at a Circuit Houses, Forest / Dak Bunglows, PWD Rest-houses or the Guest House of a Government Undertaking – greasing the palms of the chowkidar or seeking the benefaction of the junior local officials – or at times make way into the Holiday Home of a company. Sometimes, we were lucky to be able to make use the house of someone distantly known through a relative or friend.

Deem-er Dalna and Dak Banglow Chicken Curry

Rarely did we have a cook accompanying us – so it was usually the women who had to swing into action no sooner had the luggage been dumped into the rooms. While the rice and dal (part of the dry ration and provisions that were carried) was put to boil – couple of the men would scurry to the market for vegetables (and, on a good day, country chicken - otherwise it was mostly eggs for “deem-er dalna” click here for recipe) and their evening’s quota of whiskey (Aristocrat and Black Knight being the preferred brands of those days) . Breakfast would almost always be of bread, boiled eggs and the mandatory banana for the kids. Lunch on the road would naturally have to be in Dhabas – but in towns we would get to ‘splurge’ at a ‘family restaurant’ ( the high points being Kwality’s or Jone Hing in Lucknow, the Niros or LMB in Jaipur – even tho’ the last mentioned was purely vegetarian – and the likes of them) or in the cafeteria of a Tourist Lodge. (For recipe of Dak Bunglow Chicken Curry Click here)


the original 'time-share'

But, there was also a second format of holidays that we followed. Every other year, we would choose just a single destination to go and drop anchor for a month or so. The choice of place would, per necessity, depend on the availability of someone’s house who was willing to let it out to us (usually for free – the ‘token’ reciprocation would be in the form of a dinner invitation at home on our return) . Coming to think of it – this was, perhaps, the older form of ‘time-share’ holidays.

Normally – 2 families (presumably, like minded and compatible) would travel together (3 were a crowd and too many variables to accommodate), as apart from providing the ‘social’ critical mass not only did the holiday economics worked out better as the ‘overheads’ could be split – but also the logistics due to the comfort of numbers. Besides, traveling in a group broke the monotony of long train journeys– often extending beyond 2 nights (tho’ air-fares must have been a fraction of what the ‘low cost airlines’ of today charge, it was not an option even for the most affluent).

On reaching the final station of rest, we would go about setting up a temporary home almost like new immigrants. Life would quickly fall in to a routine – be it the long walks in the mornings to the market at other end of town or the gentle trudge in the evenings to the Military Farm Dairy to get cream for the strawberries. We would very soon be on familiar terms with not just the local grocer and baker – but, at times, even the best tailor of the place from whom – for some inexplicable reason – my uncle decided to order a suit and had to make umpteen rounds to get the fit exactly right. In the process, the rest of us too – including the ladies - had some piece of winter clothing stitched from him. On the weekly trips for encashing Travellers’ Cheques ( as there were no Credit Cards or ATMs then) – the Bank Manager – would not only give us sight-seeing tips but also, occasionally, share little nuggets of gossip about celebrities who would come for escapades to some tranquil hide-outs in the vicinity. . Before long, it would be time to leave and we would go about bidding farewell with a promise to come back soon – which, at least for then, were meant genuinely.

Charing Cross in T Nagar

One such holiday – we had enjoyed a lot was in Ooty circa 1973. Took my father there – at the end of our trip to Wellington, Coonoor, earlier this month - after a gap of nearly 37 years. It wasn’t such a good idea – because, within 3 months of my Mother’s passing away, it only brought back for him a flood of old memories. We drove down Havelock Road to see the house where we had stayed (that belonged to a leading stevedore of Madras). It was now in shambles and a slum had sprung up around it. Shinkows – which, I believe, is not a patch of its old self - was shut for renovation. Among the old shops only Chellaram’s had retained some of its old character – Mohan’s was now like any other touristy shop at a hill station. Charing Cross could easily pass off as a junction in T Nagar, Chennai. Everything else – not surprisingly – had changed beyond recognition with the exception of a few tucked away secrets like the King’s Cliff. What we could manage for him was a panoramic photograph of Ooty shot in the 70s from Elk Hill mounted on the wall of the reception at the Ooty Club – which itself had stood still in time.