Eating India on a Dime

Without a doubt, the best food in India comes from home kitchens--be it a mud hearth in a wattle-and-daub hut a half dozen kilometers from the nearest road or a gas burner in a fully-outfitted city apartment.  This is a culture where literally every woman and plenty of men know how to cook, they generally do it multiple times every day, and they know how to turn not much of anything into a little some-somethin'.  The basic Indian home pantry (ignoring regional differences for a moment) stocks rice, wheat flour, cooking oil, maybe ghee, salt, a few kinds of daal/pulses, sugar, tea leaves, a small galaxy spices and spice blends, some prepared chutneys or pickles, and that's about it.  Of course this is supplemented almost on a daily basis by good from the nearest market, the backyard garden or the neighbors ruminant: milk, yogurt, veggies, fruit, meat or fish in the non-vegetarian households.  And there are plenty of extras, either seasonal, regional, or caste or ethnicity-specific items that make things more interesting.  In Bengal, for example, there's gur, the unrefined palm sugar that's boiled down into fez-shaped blocks every autumn in the Eastern hemisphere's equivalent of maple sugaring.  But the point remains that the magic is not just in the ingredients but in the hands of the cook.  And in the heart.  How else to explain how amazingly good everything I've ever been fed by Kaanchhi didi (youngest sister) in my host family in Pedong?  It's just ridiculous.

Unfortunately, home-cooked food of even the most rudimentary sort is in short supply for the traveler in India.  And, let's be honest, the myriad dining options that remain are appealing enough.  These come in a few basic sorts, in roughly ascending order of price.  There are the street stalls and carts, the holes-in-walls, the well-established, locally famous holes-in-walls, the standard shiny eateries, the tourist places, the hotel restaurants, and truly upscale places.  A few of these may want explaining.  "Standard shiny eateries" refers to places that may or may not be regional or national chains but might as well be.  They have laminated menus and are usually decorated in bright primary and secondary colors, and are frequented mostly by families or couples who are out to dinner as a treat.  "Tourist places" are distinguished by their clientele and by the fact that their menus usually try to do everything: not just the commonly-seen Indian-South Indian-Chinese (though the last part of this triad really deserves scare quotes) but also Western-style breakfast, various other Continental classics (scare quotes, scare quotes!), and perhaps Mexican, Korean, or Israeli dishes.  Or all of the above. 

The funny thing is, there's almost no tendency whatsoever for the food to improve as you ascend the price scale.  Of course, you won't find high-end Mughlai cuisine like Chicken Korma or rich Punjabi food like Shahi Paneer at a street stall.  But if you were to find street fare like Bhel Puri or Poha at a high-end sit down restaurant, the chances are very good it wouldn't improve a whit on the version available twenty paces away on the sidewalk for a tenth of the price.  In all likelihood, it would lack a certain something--a magic masala of sweat, motorbike exhaust, and ink from the newspaper cone it's wrapped in--that would make you pine for the real thing. 

Of course not every street vendor or proprietor of some cavern-like eatery with three grubby tables and one yellowed incandescent bulb is a culinary genius.  But there's a definite percentage of these places that have a cult following, and some of the them achieve city-wide renown.  Every Delhi-ite can tell you where his or her favorite tea shop or Chat spot is and how much better it is than the competition.  And everyone in Jodhpur knows about Lal Mishri Hotel and its Makhaniya lassis.  After months now of exhausting--but far from exhaustive--research, I've picked up on a few patterns.  Rather obvious ones, actually.  For one, the very best places usually specialize, like the aforementioned tea, chat, and lassi places.  This allows them to focus their energies and hone their skills to a razor-sharp edge and also to achieve a high turnover rate.  For another, and relatedly, they're usually located in busy or central parts of cities.    

As this cyber cafe is emptying out ominously and I'd like to finish this post up in one go, I'll cut to the chase and describe a couple of my favorite holes-in-the-wall and local institutions.  These are places that follow the trend I've just laid out, and add to it each a certain ineffable character that elevates them to the next level.  They're quirky.  Perhaps the proprietors are unduly gruff (a common pattern in the very best eateries everywhere, I think--at least that way you know you're there for the food).  Perhaps they have the exact same limited menu as dozens of other places, but just somehow do it better.  Whatever the source of that charisma, these places have got it.

Mishri Lal Hotel, Jodhpur
Keep in mind first that "Hotel" often just means "restaurant" in the Indian context.  Mishri Lal is definitely not a hotel in the American English sense; it's barely a restaurant.  It is rather two rooms--one for men, one for women, though couples and foreigners can bend the rules--outfitted with benches and counters.  There are no menus, except maybe for a chalkboard or ancient painted sign mounted on a wall somewhere.  It's irrelevant.  Everyone's there for the same thing: makhaniya lassi.  This is not hard to discern; the pastel yellow glasses full of the stuff are everywhere, at least one of them in front of each customer, and more always heading out the door for carry-out.  They are absolutely divine.  Way thicker than a standard lassi, just the right level of sweet, and subtly scented with a masala that must include saffron, cardamom, and rosewater.  This is a magic combination, but again, this place somehow elevates it to the realm of the devta.  They're rich and large enough to serve as a meal in themselves, yet one isn't really enough.  They put you in a zombified love trance.  They're reason enough to visit Jodhpur (which is even otherwise a fascinating and charming place) all on their own. 


Kashi Chat Bhandaar, Varanasi
This place is another justly famous classic.  Counter on the outside, cramped little two-story restaurant within, it serves up all varieties of Chat.  Now just what Chat is is a good question.  It's defined by no one set ingredient, but rather consists of a variety of sauces, crunchy fried bits, savory curries, and bits of fruit all combined just so on a little plate.  It contains all the basic tastes in an almost overwhelming profusion: sweet-salty-tangy-spicy with elements of bitterness and astringency (those Ayurvedic outliers) to keep your tastebuds cocked.  A typical version is Samosa Chat, and Kashi's version contains (if memory serves) a broken up samosa more or less buried under some pea curry, yogurt, tamarind chutney, chopped cilantro, diced raw onion, and...there must have been at least one other thing.  That's the thing about chat.  You never really know.  But to tell the truth, I wasn't bowled over by this joint until I saw what my neighbors we're eating and decided to try it.  It turned out to be tiny little puri, the crispy fried puffed-up breads often seen in glass cases on street carts, filled with a combination of sweet tamarind chutney and yogurt and...something else again.  Each bite--and there were seven to an order at about 15 rupees a plate--is an explosion, literally, as the crispy shell gives way and the yogurt and sauces potentiate each other into a gushing climax.  Sounds sexy, no?  It is.  Especially when you're seated three centimeters away from the next customer and you're being ain't in the guidebook, you see.

Other contenders:
Paratha Wali in Paratha Wali galli, Varanasi
Pokhar Restaurant in Jodhpur (even though it's a proper restaurant)
Various sweets vendors in Jodhpur (the point is, Jodhpur's a good place for eating)
Santosh Dal Bati, Udaipur