Eatopia

The husband and I, like self respecting “bongs”, have a discerning palate and take the art of gastronomy rather seriously. Weekends are dedicated mostly to the onerous task of deciding where to eat what. We love trying out new eateries and have opinions galore on who serves the best crab in town, which restaurant has the best Teppanyaki , who does the best Goshtaba. Eating-out guides are meant for the uninformed – after all, who knows better than the Rays!!

Dare an unsuspecting maître de suggest salmon to the husband, I know exactly what the unsuspecting fellow has in store for him. The poor fellow is asked to furnish the credentials of the long dead fish. And before he can mumble an unconvincing reply he will be dismissed with a “I’ve had the best, don’t try to pass off farmed stuff as the real thing”. We display rare candor in giving “honest” feedback at the end of a meal. So honest that we often have the manager scurrying up to us with a worried frown on his face. And yes, I have been woken up from my afternoon siestas only to have to explain patiently on the phone why we thought that the enchiladas were not up to the mark.

Travelling is another passion of ours (one more blog topic??). Trying out local cuisines more often than not takes top priority in our itinerary. After all we need fodder for feedbacks.

While planning a trip to Bangkok some years ago, we were quite enthused about trying out authentic Thai cuisine. On landing, we set off on a trail to sample the famed Thai curries. We came across Sushi , we saw bubbling cauldrons of soup in which you could dunk ingredients of your choice, we saw even more sushi, but mysteriously we saw very little Thai cuisine on most of the menus. Of course there was the famed street food of Bangkok that we could have dug into for that authentic taste. But suspicious looking creatures floating in oil or propped on sticks was not exactly our idea of culinary heaven. We eventually did have a few memorable Thai meals. The curries were sweet, subtle and bursting with flavors. The ingredients including the vegetables were the freshest – a far cry from what gets passed off as Thai cuisine in the many restaurants dotting Delhi. And now we have hearty contempt for the red/yellow/green curry variety and can turn up our nose in the air and proclaim “This is not authentic!!!” After all, we can now claim to know our “Nam Pla” from “Nam Phrik”

Any Chinese restaurant worth its ajinomoto in the capital will have Singapore Noodles listed in its menu. But has anybody tried this dish in its country of origin?? We tried and couldn’t. We did try the famed laksa, curry puffs, fish ball soup and even dosa, but Singapore Noodles remained elusive. Perhaps this dish is a figment of some chef’s fertile imagination.

Butter chicken obsessed Delhi has little tolerance for Continental food. In a buffet spread, the continental section will usually have the mandatory “Fish fillet in lemon butter sauce” “Vegetable au gratin” and “Chicken in some insipid sauce”. If the chef is feeling a tad adventurous then Hungarian Goulash makes a reluctant appearance. These dishes are relegated to a forlorn corner, bubbling away in isolation. The husband though makes a beeline for it, he has a hearty contempt for the over-spiced Indian dishes and that are usually served in restaurants.

On our first whistle stop tour of the Continent four years ago, we didn’t get too many opportunities to compare notes. We had to mostly stick to stoic Indian fare thanks to SOTC, our tour operator. By the time we reached Engelberg in Switzerland we had gotten rather desperate. So we decided to sneak out on our own to try some local specialties. After a long walk through picturesque locales we sauntered into this quaint looking restaurant near a waterfall. Since the menu was listed in German and Swiss, we had to play dumb charades to convey our order. Health conscious me ordered a poached fish. After an impatient 30 minutes and a stomach that growled embarrassingly, our order finally arrived. The beaming owner placed my order before me with a flourish. And what do I see? This whole ugly looking fish, lying mermaid style, staring accusingly at me. I let out a horrified scream, a scream that transcended all language barriers. My fish was promptly whisked off my table by the apologetic lady and reappeared filleted, edible, and was actually rather nice. After that I religiously stuck to the staple dal chawal fare with an occasional khakra thrown in, courtesy our Gujarati friends.

This year, we rediscovered fish in different avatars on our visit to Amsterdam and Copenhagen. Raw Red Herring apparently is a much loved Dutch specialty, but try as we might we just couldn’t get ourselves to sample it. The proper way to have the herring is to pick the fish up by the tail, between your forefinger and thumb, put your head back and let it slide into your mouth gradually. Good herring apparently is soft, melts in your mouth, and tastes slightly salty. Yuck . It reinforced my conviction that raw is an assault to Indian sensibilities. We are used to over fried veggies and meats smothered in spices.

Can’t say the same for the husband though. He happily devours undercooked, under spiced meats of all kinds, paired with snooty wines. I think he owes it to a childhood trauma. As a toddler growing up in freezing Glasgow, rumor has it that he guzzled the entire collection of miniature liqueurs at a friendly neighbor’s place one evening. He has carried on this ability to traumatize people around him since then while remaining singularly nonchalant himself.

In the recent past though, the Indian palate has turned global. Delhi is buzzing with new Turkish, Moroccan, Lebanese, Korean joints. The more remote the cuisine, the more appealing. And authentic is the new catch phrase. So, who knows in future the herring may just make a startling debut in the city’s fine dining circles. And we may chance upon an appreciative Mrs Gulati from Pandara Road sinking her fangs into raw fish in unbridled ecstasy.

Novel exotic fare may tantalize our taste buds and make for good drawing room conversation but does it really lift our spirits? Most of my cherished food memories are simple meals had from humble joints. Piping hot mungore with steaming chai in a ramshackle stall to the sounds of rain in Panchmarhi, bread pakora dripping with tamarind chutney from the school canteen, fresh-from-the-tandoor roti with a simple dal from a roadside dhaba. And most of you would agree that nothing beats the taste of a simple home cooked vegetarian meal made with love and care.

Just like the world weary traveler who sleeps a restful sleep only at home.