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| The anda bhurjee that I made on a recent rainy day. I like to order it in from Lucky in Mumbai |
You will often see akoori feature on the menus of hip cafes in Mumbai these days. I spotted it at the breakfast menu of the Oberoi Nariman Point too during our recent staycation there.
You will hardly find the ‘anda bhurjee’ at these modern cafes even though it is a staple of the classic Irani cafes of Mumbai (the Oberoi did have it at the Fenix lunch menu, Kainaz tried it and liked it). Akoori is a Parsi dish and is more creamy and scrambled egg-like than the rough textured anda bhurjee and takes more time to prepare. This possibly makes the akoori a more alluring proposition when people want to add a slightly Indian flavour to their ‘world cuisine’ menus. The anda bhurjee is too plebeian perhaps for this and remains stuck in the fast dying world of Irani cafes.
While one associates anda bhurjee and bun maska breakfasts with Irani cafes (Kyani is my favourite for this), not enough has been said about the anda burjee guys whose carts dot the streets of Mumbai.
I used to go to one outside Dadar station in 2000-01 when K and I were dating. This was after I dropped her home and before I took the train back to my PG in Bandra. On nights when we might have missed having dinner together. Some angry words might have been exchanged before that. Some stomping of feet might have happened. What’s a dish without some fire and spice? Or a romance?
The cart was situated in tiny lane that looked like a gladiators’ amphitheatre after sunset. The darkness around pierced by makeshift, dare I say illegal, halogen bulbs hanging on top of each food stall. You could see the tired worker bees of Mumbai catch their breath as they refulled themselves at their favourite anda bhurji, pav bhaaji, vada pav, tava pulao, Mysore Schezwan cheese chutney dosa, cutting chai, etc shop.
The atmosphere was electric. The food that followed, electrifying.
I’d place my order at the stall and watch riveted as the anda bhurjee-wala heated oil on a big tava and flung in finely chopped onions, tomato and green chillies into the billowing smoke. A dash of red chilli powder, turmeric and garam masala followed. Eggs were cracked and added. Tak a tak went the ladle. With some salt sprinkled in between.
Pav would be slapped on to the tava. Butter added to the greasy masala on the iron griddle for the pav to soak in as the anda bhurjee wala swiped the butterflied pav across the wok with the energy of a Zubin Mehta closing an act with a crescendo.
You would get your plate, take a bite, then unleash your inner Bhiku Mhatre and say, ‘Mumbai ka raja kaun!’ In your head of course! Memories of watching the movie Satya, still fresh in ones head.
It was pouring the other morning
20 years since the nights that I spoke of. K was still napping when I woke up. We are married now and live in the same house.
I fed Baby Loaf and Nimki and headed to the kitchen. I am talking of our two cats.
There was pav at home. Eggs.
I made anda bhurjee in Oil of Olay (figuratively) and had my espresso in a cutting glass.
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| Anda bhurjee that K had at the Oberoi a few days back |
