Gaffes at a Mumbai Irani café and Dal ghotala
In the
guerrilla war of the bulge you never know when your diet will be ambushed.
There are traps and lairs everywhere and you are ensnared when you are most
unprepared.
Two Saturdays
ago, on a morning that appeared magically cholesterol free, our diets were
accosted once again.
It was a
beautiful day in June and for once, instead of food, we had music on our minds.
We were
reverently visiting Furtado’s - the iconic historical music store opposite the
Metro cinema in the Dhobi Talao area of South Mumbai.
When we
stepped out of the melody steeped environs to meet friends in Navy Nagar for
lunch then - we were brimming with music. So satiated was I with my musical
encounter that I almost said I didn’t think I could eat lunch.
Fortunately
for me however, I swallowed my words just in time.
As we turned
the corner a nondescript board made its appearance. And it read ‘Kayani’
Kayani?
Kayani!!! Mumbai’s famous hundred year old Irani café – Kayani!!!
I could hear
some music again.
The Pianos
at Furtados?
No. This was a familiar rumble and it was moving
away from me.
It was
coming from under the green T-shirt on the tall man striding away from me. A
man I had thought was my dieting ally until a few seconds ago.
I stared
disgustedly at the receding green T-shirt on the man I had married twelve years
ago. One look at the Kayani signboard and he had turned traitor to our weight
watching cause.
So what if
he had long legs – I would overtake him!
We raced to
the marble stairs of the eatery and then suddenly we could walk no more. The
menu in large white lettering on the blue board outside and the sight of the
jellies and custards in the display at the entrance made us weak in the knees.
That was
when we spotted the knotted blue rope considerately hanging at the entrance.
A hundred
years of having weak kneed customers like us had prompted the owners to hang
that rope there to help people in predicaments like ours. And that day the rope
rescued us. We grabbed it to help ourselves up the stairs.
There was no
doubt this place belonged to the previous century. It certainly belonged in the
Pre Cholesterol Obsession era.
A hundred or
more eggs grinned unabashedly at us as we stood there. The Caramel custards and
jellies were a little more covert in flaunting themselves but their inviting
looks were unmistakable. As we stood rooted to the spot their cousins – the
creamy chicken patties arrived in tray loads and plonked themselves in clear
view next to the chicken lollipops and laughingly beckoned us.
There was no
escape.
The
contemptuous waiter with his knowing smile waved us to the red and white
gingham print tablecloth clad table. Perspiring and breathing heavily we collapsed
there.
“Ch …….ch…….chai?” I queried hesitantly
with an apologetic smile.
“Haan, haan……. Bun maska chai na?” The
generous waiter corrected me irritatedly.
We nodded eagerly
in relief. We hadn’t dared to hope for the maska
(butter) but what the hell. We had gone back a hundred years in time (the
prices on the menu under the glass slab on our table confirmed that) – we
needed the calories.
Our waiter
disappeared.
Another
appeared. We asked for chicken patties. He hung around suggestively with a
knowing smile.
“Chicken
lollipop, chicken farcha, mutton cutlet, keema
ghotala aur eggs akoori bhi le aao”
my husband muttered hurriedly in a single breath and ducked under the table in
anticipation of a reprimand from the present era.
The tea was
tear-jerkingly sweet. The bun had so much butter on it. Everything was
deliciously deep fried and egg coated. And to reassure us as we ate the thin
wizened owner of Kayani sat in full view at his counter - allowing us to hope
that no matter what you ate here, you could still look like him.
Every cell
in our bodies protested as we left.
We rode the
ten kilometres from Dhobi Talao to Navy Nagar in guilty silence for lunch.
Lunch????????
Oooops!!!!!!
Through
lunch our friends gave us looks of confusion and irritation. They complained
several times that we looked dazed and distracted. And as the clock struck five
they exasperatedly said goodbye.
The taxi
driver looked at us for instructions.
“Dhobi Talao” we mumbled without meeting
his eyes.
“Ch……ch…ai?” I muttered again to the same
waiter who had served us that morning, looking steadily down at the tablecloth
in embarrassment.
“Chai, khari, nan, khatai…………..?” he
asked scornfully
We nodded
quickly.
“Aur ek chicken nuggets aur do fish and chips parcel” we added with
eager nervous smiles.
Dal ghotala
- Measure out a cup of Sabut Masoor Dal.
- Wash it and add 5 cups of water to it. Add salt and half a teaspoon of garlic paste.
- Close the cooker and heat it on high flame until the first whistle. Then turn down the flame and cook for another twenty minutes.
- Turn off the flame and allow the cooker to cool.
- Meanwhile cook a packet of frozen seekh Kababs (Chicken, Mutton or Vegetarian as you prefer) as per packet instructions. Actually just microwaving for a minute at maximum power also works.
- In a karahi heat two tablespoons of oil. Turn down the flame and add 1 tsp of jeera seeds, 5 cloves of chopped garlic, ¼ tsp of garlic paste, a green chilli and ¼ teaspoon of turmeric powder and fry until golden. Be careful otherwise it will burn.
- Pour the dal into the karahi and boil well for about 5 minutes. Mash the dal against the sides of the karahi as it boils.
- When the dal has attained a smooth consistency add 5 tablespoons of milk and boil some more.
- Now cut up the seekh kabab into centimetre wide pieces to get rings.
- Add these rings to the dal and boil some more.
- Serve hot.
- Garnish with sliced onions fried golden brown if you like.
