The Big Fat Parsi Wedding

Growing up in Calcutta, the biggest treat for me was an invitation to a Bengali wedding. While I couldn’t care less about the wedding ceremony or the bride and the groom, the anticipation of the meal that was to follow almost had my heart pounding. And although I admit to exaggerating a little bit, the level of excitement that I felt was pretty damn high. It’s been more years than I care to think about, but I can never forget the rows of narrow wooden tables laid out with paper, dinner plates of banana leaves and the delectable courses of the most amazing dishes that were served to us.

But let me stop myself here because as you can tell from the headline, this piece isn’t about the big fat Bengali wedding.

Sadly I’ve never had the privilege of attending a Parsi wedding. So why, you may ask, am I writing about something that I know pretty much nothing about. Or you could just read on and have your question answered.

Spento Cooper and his lovely wife Annie, owners of the Turquoise restaurants in Bangalore, have carefully hidden on the menu of their Indian restaurant, a 5 course Parsi wedding meal for two. When I saw that, my heart began to poun .... oh shut up already!! But seriously, I could not wait to try it. And there was no reason to (wait) of course.

So one evening, with gnawing pangs of hunger, I made my way towards the restaurant, ready to, in technical terms ‘pig out’. For those of you that haven’t been to Turquoise, you really should go, especially if you live in Bangalore. With two floors, one hosting European cuisine and the other Indian, the warmth of the restaurant immediately grabs your attention with carefully selected upholstery, comfortable seating, a large bar and very pretty lighting that change colors.

By the way, Spento turns into the head chef when it comes to serving Parsi cuisine at the restaurant and having got to know him a little bit by now, I could tell that he was fidgety! My growling stomach was making me somewhat fidgety myself. Settling myself down with a glass of wine, I was now completely ready to be served massive quantities of food.

Our meal began with the Marghi na farcha, batter fried chicken in masala paste. It was a decent way to begin, but in retrospect was the least favorite part of the meal for me. Unless you’re a big fan of chicken, my recommendation would be to get it packed and save your appetite for the dishes that follow.

Patra ni macchi or fish marinated in coriander chuttney and steamed inside a banana leaf was our second course. The authentic recipe calls for a pomfret fish, which is the way I had always eaten it. This time however, we had the basa version. The chuttney was delicately flavored with a hint of sweetness, not taking anything away from the natural taste of the fish. With the marinade being as good as it was, I didn’t miss the pomfret.

It was time for the salli boti, a dark brown, boneless lamb stew like dish with complex flavors of apricots and balsamic vinegar among a list of other ingredients. The boneless pieces of lamb simply melted in the mouth and the gravy was stunning. Although it came accompanied with a wheat rumali roti, I asked for a khasta roti to soak into the sauce, shamelessly licking my fingers at the end.

Completely full by now, I was wondering how I would get through the next two courses. Our final savory course was the famous Parsi dhansak, which Spento referred to as the mutton palau dal. The mutton cooked in flavorful rice, was served with a smooth daal and kachumber/salad on the side. Throwing caution to the wind, I dug into my plate as if it were the first course, overcome by the aroma and unaware of my lack of appetite. And since the plan was to pig out, I even treated myself to a second helping!

The dessert course came with two kinds of custards. The Lagan nu custard, a traditional home-made dessert with charoli nuts and an orange flan, both absolutely beautiful.

It was time to leave and I felt like I would have to be carried out of the restaurant. On the verge of food coma, I remember not getting hungry until late evening the next day. Which was a good thing for several reasons, one of which was that the taste of the meal lingered for a long while!

Two things to remember if you decide to get the Lagan nu Patru or the Parsi wedding meal at the Turquoise. Please give them at least a 24 hour notice. And even more importantly, bring a large appetite with you.

Twenty twelve

Every year my aspiration is to have a flat stomach. Hasn’t happened so far but I’m not one for giving up.

Why is it that we have so many expectations from our lives, the lives of others and life in general when the calendar changes to January 1st? We go around wishing everyone a year full of adjectives such as ‘stupendous’, ‘incredible’ and in the case of my friend, Naresh, who got a text wishing him a 'momentous' year. When I looked up ‘momentous’ on the online dictionary, the sentence that the word was used in as an example was ‘deciding to drop the atom bomb was a momentous decision’.

I hope I’m not sounding cynical because that’s not what I’m aiming for. I’m simply dwindling with the significance attached to the start of a new year.

Of course I hope that in 2012 the stock market shoots through the roof, that everyone I know is healthy all through the year, corruption gets eliminated and I get to have a meal at Per Se. But that would be just a little naive, wouldn’t it? I mean really - $400 on a dinner just for myself when I’m not even earning?!

On the other hand, where would we be without that four letter word that’s such an important part of our lives. Get your mind out of the gutter folks, because I’m talking about ‘hope’. Even if we sit on our pretty little asses, we hope that things will get better in the new year. Maybe a genie will grant me three wishes (actually I would be happy with just one).

Or maybe I should have realistic expectations from the year. Since I no longer belong to a gym, don’t intend to get a membership and a significant part of my life revolves around food, it’s highly unlikely that I’m going to get that flat stomach. So instead I’m going to hope that I don’t add any more inches to it.

Instead of hoping that I make loads of money in the stock market, maybe I should just wish that I don’t lose any.

Everyone I know will not stay healthy all through the year. So let me just hope that they don’t get seriously ill.

Hoping for corruption to get eliminated would be complete foolishness. So I’m just going to hope that it’s a little bit lesser in 2012.

And since a New York trip is not on the cards this year, I can’t expect a miraculous freebie dinner at Per Se. So instead I’m going to hope that I have at least 3 other memorable travels this year. Kashmir, Turkey and Rajasthan are my top choices today but not written in stone.

Whatever it is that the new year has in store for us, by the time we get to December 31st, we would have forgotten much of what happened. When I was returning home from a night of celebration this morning, I looked around at people walking, jogging, out on their daily errands. An ambulance was waiting to transport a gentleman on a stretcher. Neighborhood stores were starting to open. I stopped at the florist where the morning for the people working there was exactly the same as the previous one.

Was January 1st 2012 just another day?

Ever since I woke up this morning, the R.E.M. song has been stuck in my head.

It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.

Have a “momentous” 2012 everyone!

From Alba with love

My piece in this weeks edition of Indulge. Unfortunately it's not available online.

James Beard award winning writer, Josh Ozersky, describes the unique aroma of white truffles as “a combination of newly plowed soil, fall rain, burrowing earthworms and the pungent memory of lost youth and old love affairs”. Doesn’t sound much like a mushroom, does it?

Of course the white truffle is no ordinary mushroom. Costing upwards of 4000 Euros a kilo, available only for a couple of months in the year, found only in certain parts of Northern Italy and auctioned only to the finest restaurants, these gems are not far from being priceless.

Which is why I could hardly believe that they had made it all the way from Alba to our very own city. Thanks to Gustavo Maurelli, Executive Chef at Bene, Sheraton Bangalore’s award winning Italian restaurant.

Our meal began with a truffle custard served in an espresso-like cup topped with a parmesan foam. I took my time savoring every tiny spoonful, letting it sit on my palate for a few seconds, tasting sheer luxury. A plate of only the best quality parma ham, buffalo mozzarella with truffle bits and a focaccia flatbread followed. I was starting to feel like a male Julia Roberts in Eat Pray Love with the finest symphony playing in the background.

There’s very little I can write to describe the food I was eating. It was almost surreal, one of the most decadent meals of my life. And I can boast of having eaten at a few Celebrity Chef, Michelin star restaurants across the world.

Our main course was a pan seared sea scallop on truffle foam over a crispy ravioli filled with mushy green peas. The scallop was so fresh that it melted in the mouth, the foam giving it a certain flamboyance that could come only from a truffle.

The pasta course was a duet of fettuccine in a light cream induction and a white truffle risotto. Both carbs were finished at our table with white truffle shavings. I had now moved from the symphony to the opera!

Chef Gustavo claims that his wife married him for his tiramisu. Going through our dessert course, an amalgamation of lady fingers, espresso and mascarpone, I found no reason to doubt him.

At one of our neighboring tables, one of the patrons asked the waiter for tabasco. Complete blasphemy! My sincere appeal to everyone eating there - please respect the white truffles.

The Birthing Station

Over the recent past I’ve filled up one of my balconies with a variety of plants. Besides looking very pretty, the space began attracting some birds and an occasional butterfly. Before long a couple of pigeons scoped out an empty pot that was lying on the side and decided to start a family.

I was initially surprised to see just one egg but then a couple of days later I noticed that a second had been laid. My man-Friday, Rajesh’s presence as well as mine in the balcony aroused a lot of suspicion, but we knew we had to go through the period of building trust. A few days later, they became more comfortable with me (taking pictures) and Rajesh (cleaning). Cleaning became a twice-a-day chore thanks to their capacity of crapping all the time.

One morning, approximately two weeks after the second egg had been laid, I woke up and walked over to the balcony to check on the family, as had become my daily routine. I was delighted to see that between the previous evening and the next morning, I now had 2 appallingly ugly chicks as tenants! Little beige-brown furry creatures, being protected by their parents who became overly suspicious of my presence. Since they saw Rajesh outside on a regular basis, he didn’t seem to bother them any longer.

Over the next few days, we noticed that one of the babies was growing at a much more rapid pace than the other. We were concerned that they weren’t getting the smaller one enough food, so we started keeping some food outside, which would disappear in no time. Not being used to pigeon-tenants, I really wasn’t sure of the protocol, but I was beginning to learn. Cleaning their shit and now feeding them. Since the smaller child was clearly not getting enough due to the aggressive-ness of it’s sibling, Rajesh took the responsibility of opening it's mouth and force-feeding it!

Before long the parents began going out and doing whatever pigeons do during the day, leaving the children behind. After all they now had trustworthy baby sitters living in the same apartment. Rajesh, by now had gone to the next level and was bathing the little ones! I swear it was both hilarious and incredibly sweet at the same time.

Well, the kids grew up in a matter of time and left their childhood home to discover the world. The word about the birthing station though had spread in the pigeon community and before long we had new parents all set to start their family. Some friends inquired if they were the same parents, but this was a completely new couple. And yes I could tell them apart. After all they had lived in my apartment for several weeks. Sukanya, my friend and cooking partner, wanted to plan a baby shower for them, to which I had no comment. She was even starting to come up with the menu. Any excuse to cook. I couldn’t however, for the life of me figure out what gift she would get the parents.

The twins are now here since a couple of weeks. The parents have gotten a lot fatter and the children are growing at a much faster pace than the previous ones, thanks to catered meals by Rajesh.

Sometimes I worry that they’ll never leave because they have it so good here. Their lives will be confined to my balcony and they will miss out on so much. In which case I’ll just have to give them notice and politely ask them to leave. To find a new home, to meet other pigeons their own age, learn new skills and once they’ve met their life-partner, to then come back and have their babies at the birthing station.

Chapter 9

I feel like I’m on the verge of an event that will change my life. If not an event, then maybe a revelation. I have no clue as to what it may be. But I can sense it, feel it approaching, almost reach out to it. Not having the slightest idea of what this may be is oftentimes frustrating, though I can be quite patient when the situation requires me to be. And on the other hand, sometimes the suspense is quite thrilling.

If you’re wondering as to how I know this, all I can respond with is, ‘I just do’. It’s a psychic ability I possess that I’ve kept from the world until now.

If you’re thinking that I’ve finally lost it, my thought process is completely the opposite. I think I may actually be very close to finding it. Finding that one thing that is going to clue me into the next and possibly final chapter of my life. Not that I’m planning on dying anytime soon! It could be an extensive chapter. One that my gut tells me is going to be very different from my past.

If you’re thinking that I’m going to get married, then you are completely nuts.

This evening I was having a phone conversation with this guy, Rabi, who’s making a movie. During the course of our call he began asking me about all the things I have my fingers in. The catering business. The script that I’ve written. The restaurant. Why don’t I write a travelogue? Why don’t I conduct cooking classes? My corporate past making sudden appearances. Etc etc. As I mumbled through my responses unconvincingly, I jokingly told him that since he was in the process of finalizing the music and songs for his movie, I would be happy to sing for free. To which he responded, ‘Is there anything that you don’t do?’

There are of course numerous things that I don’t do, though for a moment I felt like Anusha, the airhead VJ in Delhi Belly. The one who wanted to sing and act and dance and have her own ‘clothes-line’!

Unfortunately although I have the ability to do various things, I’m not exceptional at any one of them. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, considering my track record of how quickly I get bored and how short my attention span is. I don’t agree with the negative connotation behind the ‘jack of all trades’ figure of speech. If I was a chef and that’s all I did, I would begin to hate cooking. I like the variety. The option to wake up in the morning and decide which hat it is that I want to wear today.

Actually there is one thing that I do better than most. ‘Nothing’. I watched ‘Eat Pray Love’ a couple of days ago. There was a sequence in the movie that I could completely relate to - the dolce far niente or the ‘sweetness of doing nothing’ scene. I’m a champion at it. If there was a contest for doing nothing, I would be a top contender. Unfortunately for me, it’s not a recognized skill, even though it should be. If you think it’s easy, try doing nothing for a week.

So getting back to where I started, my gut or my psychic abilities tell me that I’m on the verge of something big, a life directing event (or revelation). Not a financial event because I think having excessive money is highly overrated and losing what I have would really suck big time. Not a career type event because I would simply get bored after a while. Not a life partner type event because one of us would kill the other within no time.

Not that being in the poor house or in prison for killing my spouse would not be a life changer, but I’m pretty sure that it’s going to be something positive. Something that’s going to make me go, ‘Ah, so this is the new chapter of my life’. Something that will also make me go, ‘Duh .. how come I didn’t figure this out sooner?’.

Something that I just can’t put my finger onto. But I can almost feel/taste/smell it. The reason I decided to share it with all of you is so that I could come back and say ‘Aha! Didn’t I tell you?’

Much Ado about Nothing

I’m sitting in front of my laptop, hoping to write something reasonably interesting. Something that people will want to read past the first paragraph and either ‘Like’ or post a (positive) comment about. Or simply smile at the end of the one-pager, glad that they spent a few minutes going through it. After all nobody wants to write something that will bore the reader. And if you’re bored reading my writing, then there’s something wrong with you. Or at least that’s how I justify it to myself.

However, I can’t come up with one mind-arousing topic to write about. My brain is a complete blank. I’m attempting to scan it, desperately searching for ideas. Some clue that will guide me forward.

Still nothing.

Considering how much I love food, not just eating but experimenting with, it’s surprising that I haven’t dedicated a single page to it. Can’t say that I haven’t considered it as a topic. Several times I’ve thought about penning words that will make my readers hungry, have them fantasize about their favorite treat, get them to a point where they have no choice but to stop whatever they’re doing and walk over to the refrigerator to look for something delicious. And if the fridge isn’t cooperative, drive down to their favorite bakery/restaurant/snack shop to indulge, with or without the guilt.

But it’s not happening. I’m not quite getting the right words to fill up a drool-over post.

My friend Elsa who I’ve mentioned previously, is very witty. Actually most of my friends are and it’s really laughter that brings us together. When Elsa visited me recently, we would have these goofy conversations (as we always do), play on words, talk and laugh almost continuously. I remarked to her that I should record our conversations and publish them on my blog. She however didn’t think it was such a good idea. “It’s OUR thing,” she said. “You can’t just share it with everyone.”

So much for writing about my goofy conversations with Elsa.
(‘Conversations with E’ could be a good title though).
(I still think that it would make for a very funny read).
(Doesn’t help that I can barely remember any of those conversations now).

I could write about my travels. Travels outside of New York. Which I also happen to enjoy very much. The problem is that these other places don’t give me the kind of fascinating material that NYC does. And I’m very sure that my readers are sick of my (I-wont-name-the-city-again) posts.

P.S. I, on the other hand, am certainly not sick of writing about ‘her’!

As a last resort I suppose I could make stuff up. Pretend that something incredibly fascinating happened in my life that I must share with everyone. I could get ideas from the newspaper (maybe not - it’s all pretty much depressing news), lives of movie stars (but then I’d have to read about them and why would I do that?), lives of people I know (hmmm ... never mind).

I guess I have to accept the fact that my life is largely uninteresting. I’m at a point where I’m struggling to write about Something. Anything.

Instead all I have for you is a page about Nothing.

A sequel to The Love Affair

Previously on The Love Affair ....
Is my love affair coming to an end?
I have no idea. But I figure I’ll have the answer in a couple of months.

I recently returned to Bangalore after spending 7 1/2 weeks in the US of A, 5 1/2 of which were spent in New York City ...

Week One could not have been better, staying with dear friends, perfect sunny spring days and nippy nights, the trees starting to bloom, tulips adorning the city, the return of outdoor seating in restaurants, the Tribeca Film Festival thanks to which I was in the same room as Martin Scorsese, Souleymane Cisse and Ed Burns, discovering a cart selling macaroons in Soho, my favorite meal, the Sunday brunch with a chorizo omelette. Damn! I was even toying with the idea of taking up a consulting assignment and staying back for a while!

Week Two I move into my sublet. Another almost perfect spring week except for a rainy Wednesday. Elsa, the friend I love to death and fight with a lot, visits from Chicago and we spend our days walking, eating, drinking, watching performances, getting to know Gabrielle the waitress/actress, Allie the bartender/model, Celine, Elsa’s niece/waitress/dancer, Michael the waiter/traveler ... there were others but I forget their names. We ate small meals many times a day so we could try out more places. We celebrated Cinco de Mayo, Elsa with beer and I with way more margaritas and tequila shots than should be legal, leading to stories about me that were told at parties later. I discovered that I loved the West Village and the East Village way more than Greenwich Village. New York still had the best pizza and bagels. Yes, life was bloody good!

Week Three was exhausting with my Culinary class, but also fabulous with me spending time reading my book and people-watching in various parks during the picture-perfect afternoons. Speaking of the class, I haven’t worked so hard in a very long time. It was like being on Top Chef, being constantly watched, afraid I would overcook the meat, have vinaigrette that wasn't blended (who was the genius that thought of mixing oil with vinegar?), limp salad leaves, measure incorrectly, cut my finger while chopping, burn my hand while flambe-ing. Fortunately none of that happened and our team consistently had the best dishes according to us!! After spending hours and hours in the kitchen Monday through Friday, I was ready to call it a week and sleep in the next 48 hours. What a ridiculous thought. Sleeping is a complete waste of time in New York City, even if you’re exhausted from a culinary class.

Week Four was a disaster weather-wise. It rained the entire week. Constantly. I don’t like getting wet. I kept buying and losing umbrellas. I hated that my shoes were wet. I began missing home. I wanted warm meals served to me. I didn’t want to do laundry. I wanted more space than just the room I was confined to. The parking garage across the street was too noisy and kept me up at night. The highlight was Pooja’s visit over the weekend, when the rain temporarily stopped, we ate scrumptious meals, bought some art from Union Square, ate cupcakes from a place that sold them out of a window in Soho, discovered that Crocs was now selling shoes that were actually wearable ... stranger things have not happened too often!

Week Five, I got more homesick. Pradipta, who was supposed to come and stay with me for 4 days, called to say that his trip had been canceled. Susan (from Kentucky) and Akshit with family (from Boston) however came in to town so I had some fun times with them. Brunch at the members only dining hall of the MET and the night at Greenwich Village, bar hopping, Southern Comfort shots and standing in line for kati rolls at 2:30 am were particularly memorable. However, the highlight was Sunday night at Washington Square Park, listening to Colin Huggins (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/31/nyregion/thecity/31pian.html), the Crazy Piano Guy (http://www.thecrazypianoguy.com/links.html), playing beautiful classical numbers, enthralling his audience, followed by popular tunes, incredible vocals by David Gordon and Nick Ganju on the guitar. Also the Crazy Dancing Lady, 60-something, visiting from Los Angeles who had had back and knee surgery and who wasn’t shy about showing her unique and endearing dance moves. The audience, clapping, singing (I sang every single song and missed my friends from Chicago like crazy), dancing, lapping up the entertainment being provided in the park. My $10 tip was too little for the magnitude of joy that it brought me. I had a lump in my throat and I wished that I could relive that evening over and over again. For a few hours I was in the zone and not thinking of home.

There were only a couple of more days left in New York after returning from a week each in Chicago and New Jersey. The purpose of my visit was to renew my vows with the city and reestablish my relationship with it. Despite the incredibly amazing time, I had a feeling that it was going to be goodbye for a while. As I walked around some of my favorite hangouts, I was struggling with my emotions. I was happy to be heading home and equally sad that I was leaving. I didn’t know when I would be back to maybe stay in the West Village, experience the unique vibe of the East Village, make friends like Shafik in Vive la Crepe, or David, sitting on the bench next to me in Washington Square Park, share life stories with the bartenders, Allie and Jeremy at Cafe 50 West, get the best foot massage in Chinatown, watch a guy in a suit skateboard to work, be surrounded by artists, musicians, actors, dancers....

Was this the end of our affair? Could the affair really end? Even if I didn’t come back for a while?

One of the people I met this time said to me ‘this city grabs you and never lets you go’. I heart you New York like I heart no other city. But you’ve got to let me go.