India Like This Only

The first time I tasted ajwain was in Macchi Amritsari. I must have been about 17 at the time and a young student at the Institute of Hotel Management in Dadar Mumbai. I’d pick up work as a banquet server, working for hotels and catering companies that cater giant fancy events for fancy rich people. Harpal Singh was this giant of a Sardarji, who ran some of the best Punjabi food in Mumbai. My job for the evening was to be the invisible guy in a black bow tie who floats around with a tray of appetizers. “Amritsari Macchi, ma’am, sir” was what would tell the sahib folk, all engrossed in conversation. Of course, once in the back, I’d sneak a taste of the goods. The unique floral essence with a mildly bitter finish made my developing mind go “Ooh…. what’s that ?” That’s when I remember coming to isolate this peculiar flavor and understand it for what it is. It was ajwain that made that particular Amritsari Macchi spectacular. Otherwise it’s just another deep fried fish with spices. The

Back in the day when I was the Indian cook at Google, mornings used to be pretty hectic for us from the minute the crew walked in. We’d spend the first part of the morning going around from pillar to post, gathering our ingredients for the day. It’s usually quite a scramble, and there wasn't a minute to spare. That's why one morning, I found it rather strange to see three of my fellow cooks and the Executive Chef gathered in front of the Indian spice shelves at 6:00 am deep in conversation. They were holding on to a bright yellow jar with a puzzled look on their faces. “Did you order this?” The Exec Chef asked me, and held up the jar labeled Compounded Asafetida. “You actually cook with this s***t?” he asked me in disbelief. "Oui Chef" I replied. "There's a reason why the French name for this spice is Merde du diable”. (the devil’s poop). Being  classically trained in French culinary arts, chef got it right away. For those who are unfamiliar with Asafetida,

Growing up in a household with a catholic mother and a muslim father gave me an edge over the other kids in school. I got to celebrate twice the number of festivals. In our house, Christmas and Easter were celebrated as fervently as Ramzan Eid and Bakri Eid. As the world celebrated Bakri Eid, also known as Eid-al-Adha earlier this week, it made me remember the time when I was a young child growing up in Mumbai, and how this festival helped me understand some of life’s most important lessons. Bakri Eid is a festival where Muslims all over the world perform the Qurbaani; the ritualistic sacrifice of an animal if they are able to. On this day, the experience of Abraham is remembered where he was called upon by God to sacrifice his son Isaac. Every year on Bakri Eid, I was told I was too young to go with him to see the Qurbaani happen. Dad would leave early in the morning with my uncles and return a few hours later with a wicker basket full of mutton parts, all cut up into pieces and layer

I get so many crap forwards on my Highschool Whatsapp chat group, it's hard to keep abreast. We, the eight friends who make up this group all grew up together and went to the same school in a little coastal suburb called Bandra in Mumbai India. Even though it’s been over thirty years since we graduated, and even though we all live on different continents now, when we are on that chat group, we become those same teenagers again. And the kind of forwards that usually get tossed around tend to be the kind that reflect that particular era of our lives. You know … the kind that inspires uncontrollable snickers and snorts from Beavis and Butthead. Which is why I was pleasantly surprised by this post that surfaced the other day. It was a PDF forward with the title: 207 page treasury of 375 Mangalorean recipes, possibly all the way back from our Great Grandparents' Culinary Skills. I just could not resist. I had to dive in and dig further. And what a treat it was! This was an exhausti