The Parsi Duo in Pune - Dorabjee & Kayani

I made a vow and hoped to keep it. Distractions along the way could prove fatal.

So there I was, early in the morning ready to leave for Pune on an empty stomach. Not sure if I could hold on to my own words. After all I had a simple plan. Bawa no nasto at Dorabjee’s!

In the early days, we would all squeeze into a big car to begin our journey to the Atash Behram. As soon as the car started my mom and aunts would begin the journey by remembering the God with ‘Shno Thare Ahure Mazdao’. Well, all I could dream of was a breakfast feast fit for the Kings.

As soon as we reach; I would always try to beat my brother and all my cousins to the table since I was the slowest eater of the house. It was like my second name. Mom would chant it at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Only chocolates were an exception. As soon as I would climb into the chair, the table would be filled with the breakfast spread. With a million options to the way you’d want your eggs; charvelu (scrambled), aakhi dar nu (sunny side up), meva ni akoori (burji), tamota par eedu, pora (omelets), kalaiji ma eedu and much more. And the best part you could gorge on bheja (brains), kalaiji (liver), febsu (offal) and even get sweet surprises like  crispy tareli boi with piping hot rotli and toddy.

To curb by hunger pangs with all the thoughts of food passing by, I grabbed a cold coffee to accompany me on the long drive. Not before long, I stood ahead of something grand that had been an institution for years. The old bungalow had such a charm. I chose to sit by the window.

Having it all planned in my head I dished out the orders as soon as we got there; Akuri, Bheja na cutlets, Bheja Masala, Mutton liver masala and Chicken Biryani. At 11 am it seemed like a Bawa nasto brunch loaded with cholesterol.

The Akuri was soft, luscious and fluffy.  The bheja na cutlets a melt in the mouth madness with the protein being let alone to do the talking with minimal ginger-garlic seasoning. The bheja masala on the other hand was all about bites of onion tomato masala accompanied by creamy bheja. The liver masala best cooked slow on natural wood fire was a delight while the biryani was flavorful but missed the creamy potatoes in them.  The meal was hardly complete without having the custard pudding; however must say I have had much better ones at home made by mom.

It was like having breakfast on the porch of a bungalow and being transported to an idyllic world far way.

As we bid adieu to one iconic establishment we walked the alleys to reach another, the omnipresent Biscuit King in Pune  – Kayani Bakery. My Pune trips always have a mission. To get truck loads of biscuit goodness back home. More times than less getting biscuits feels like getting into a battle field, only that here most times you come out as a winner with bags filled. 

You must sample the classic buttery English cookie that the British left behind in the able hands of Parsis, the Shrewsbury. I like mine dunked in a mug of cold coffee. But there is much more beyond the humble Shrewsbury. I’d place my bet on the Ginger biscuit and mawa cake. Though, a recent entrant that is climbing my favorites chart is the Chocolate orange cookies.

All I was itching to do now is sit in the car and dive in to be consumed by buttery goodness. 

The Unsung Heroes

Today my thoughts veer towards the unsung heroes who trained my senses to a variety of food.

Those people who cultivated my taste buds with each plate of food. Or to say, elevate my senses each time I discovered something new.  No. I’m not talking about my gratitude to my mother. That forever I will be indebted to. Instead today I want to talk about my baby sitter (Yes, I will not elevate to a more sophisticated word to please the world), my tuition teacher, the office boy from my father’s workplace, the unceasing  friend who took me to eat fish everywhere until my love for fish grew by leaps and bounds. I owe my sense of understanding of the food world to them.

In this world of over analyzing food, the techniques, the temperature, the pretty plating and more we have forgotten a simple rule. Food that delights our sense is what we veer close to. Is it so critical to consider the precise temperature the steak is cooked? Did we as kids even have these things in our consideration set? I think we have got a bit dishonest with ourselves and the world in the process. We should simply enjoy food that touches our soul. That is a non-negotiable. Nothing else matters.  After all it is a sense of feeling – the heart tugging feeling. 

In all frankness even as a child I could distinguish between the two.  That’s because I followed a simple principle. Else why then would I always want to have my babysitter’s kadhi chawal over my mums? Or for that matter my granny’s simple kheema papeta pattice. Nostalgia.  Or my fui’s parsi ravo. It all came from my discerning choice in food even as a 5 year old.

Fui's Ravo

Why would I eagerly wait for Rao to ring the doorbell way before the party started? For he would mesmerize me by the way he enjoyed cooking. There was something that kept him going. I had seen him do simple things with such passion. Like chopping onions while I cried or rub the meat. He would involve me at each step.  Smell each ingredient before adding it to arouse my curiosity in food. Or the slow cooking on kakra-no-chulo (kerosene stove) with constant adjustments to cook it to perfection. Even today I look to the kind of familiarity of those days, where the aroma that filled my home. 

So the next time you eat and you will of course judge as always. Do so with the judgment of a child. You might be pleased. 

Do you have any such unsung heroes?