The kulcha knight of Chembur
We were at our friends Anu and Manoj’s house for Satyanarayan Puja on 1st January. The highlight of visiting their house is to get the blessings of the almighty followed by the delicious food on offer. There were hung curd sandwiches and dahivada made at home. A lavish strawberry cheesecake. Sundry Indian sweets and samosas.
They usually have a live counter on such occasions. It is either dosas from Mani’s dosa in Santa Cruz or kulcha from Sainath in Chembur. Turns out that Mani’s was over- booked this time so Sainath it was. I was happy with the turn of events. After all one has greater access to good dosas than kulchas. The Sainath kulcha is of the Amritsari gharana and made in a tandoor unlike the chubby pita bread-like Dehi kulcha or the crunchy one at Rahim’s in Lucknow. The kulchas came with the option of alu or paneer fillings. And a rather liberal slather of Amul butter applied on them. Plus chhole on the side.
Our friends are Punjabis hence it’s no surprise that they are big hearted hosts. The kulchas kept flying from the makeshift kitchen set up at the landing of their apartment to the guests inside. Instead of keeping a count of the number of kulchas per plate, our hosts kept refilling our plates and looked disappointed if we said no. I tried to forget my dietician’s instructions and relished 2 piping hot kulchas.
Our friends insisted that I pack some for my mum so I requested for 2 paneer kulchas. I myself had opted for paneer earlier, thinking that it would be a bit less ‘sinful’ than alu. Kulchas, unlike parathas made in a tandoor in the Moorthal style, are made with maida and not wholewheat flour and the M word is a bad word in the world of diets. I instructed them to not put butter in the ones for mom. I crisped them on the tava later and she relished the kulchas for dinner.
I was awestruck when I watched thee karigar/ ustad/ cook/ masterchef – or whatever you want to call the young boy making the kulchas – at work. I marvelled at how calm remained in the face of the multiple request pouring in: ‘2 paneer’, ‘3 paneer & 2 alu’, ‘5 alu with 2 without butter’.
A bit like the phuchka-walas of Kolkata who are surrounded by a gaggle of hungry folks, each wanting a different combination. ‘jhaal beshi’, ‘lonka chaara’, ‘tok aar mishti jol ek shathe’, ‘ekdom mishti noi’, ‘ekta fao’, ‘jol chhara khali alu’. The customers are typically at different stages of the cycle of eating..some 15 down, some about to start, some finishing their 8th…and keeping track would require a genius you would think.
Yet a phuchkawala never loses his cool or mixes up orders. It was the same in this case of the kulcha-wala at our friend’s place.
Anyway, let me stop dreaming of phuchkas and take you back to the kulcha kitchen organised by our friends.
The young kulcha chef had a look of concentration written on his face. He kneaded one maida dough ball after another, rolled them out with a rolling pin and then stuffed paneer or potato fillings into each as instructed. He then put each kulcha on a thick cloth pad and used his bare hands to place the kulcha on the the inner wall of the portable kulcha tandoor. The tandoor was powered by coal and it was incredibly hot inside. And yet he worked on unperturbed. And not a single kulcha slipped down.
He put a set of kulcha in the tandoor and went back to kneading out more, keeping an eye on the kulchas inside. When he felt that they were done, he used a couple of of 3 feet long skewers to take the kulchas out. He crushed the kulchas so that they would not become hard. Applied butter unless he was told not to. And chaat masala. His assistant would then would prep them on plates or in foil and hand them over.
Then the cycle begun again and once again our valiant knight was up to the task.
The anda paratha ustaad of Gurgaon
The experience reminded me of Tuesday afternoon two weeks back. I was in Gurgaon for a small surgery that my brother had. I headed to Galleria Market for a bite and to get sandwiches and coffee for my sister in law, once the procedure was over and my brother was wheeled in from the operation theatre to the recovery room.
I reached Galleria and walked around indecisively. I was spoilt for choices as the market has myriad food outlets. It was a bit chilly and I wanted something hot to eat. I spotted a corner stall on the first floor named Kwaliti (sic). There were a couple of plastic tables and chairs in front with a few girls sitting and eating there. I put my satchel on a plastic stand kept there for people to rest their plates on while eating. I had woken up early and was rather tired and desperately hoped that I had chosen well. Especially given that there were fancy cafés around and this place was literally a hole in the wall.
There was a steady stream of customers coming in for takeaways as did many delivery app personnel. This assured me that I was at a good place in terms of taste, quality and value.
I went through the rather extensive menu written on a board. I did not want the rajma chawal, butter chicken, chicken rara, biryani etc that I saw. That would be too heavy. I spotted a paratha section in the menu and chose an anda mutton parathas. On asking, I was assured that the paratha was made with maida and not one of those rumali roti roll abominations that have unfortunately taken over the country. I decided to keep an open mind and not compare the end result with the rolls of Kolkata that I love so much. And it was good that I did so as they add mayonnaise to rolls here. Apasonskriti as we would say back home. Against our ‘kaalchaar’.
What is the point of this story? I am getting there!
The karigar/ ustad/ cook/ masterchef – whatever you want to call the young man making the rolls – took out hefty maida dough balls and rolled them out with a rolling pin. He put the the paratha on a greasy cast iron tava. He turned the paratha over after a few seconds. He then cracked two eggs, one after the other with one hand, and poured the contents on the partha. Nothing spilt out
What followed was surreal. It was as if one got to witness the art and craft of cooking at its most sublime form.
He whisked the eggs on the paratha with a ladle. Tossing it up and down to the sort of rhythm that you would associate with a Zakir Hussain playing the tabla, Birju Maharaj dancing Kathak, Mark Knopfler playing the guitar, the late Pele running circles around defenders to score a goal with a bicycle kick, Abdul Qadir dancing in to bowl a goodly or Carl Lewis in a 100 m dash.
I was mesmerised by the dexterity with which he whisked the eggs. And he did this in a most relaxed manner, with no visible stress. Like Viv Richards coming to bat. It was as if the hashtag #youvegotthis was created for him. I began filming him midway with my iPhone and was tempted to say, ‘wah ustad’ at the end.
It struck me that he must be doing this day in and day out and yet his skills would be a blind spot for most. It also struck me while writing this piece, that regrettably I did not know the name of either of the two maestros I just told you about. Just as I don’t know the names of any the street food ustaads I have come across over the years. Just the name of the shops they work in. Or the location if the shop had had no name.
While there are paeans written on the celebrated chefs of India and abroad. These nameless sultans of swing remain nameless.
I have made a resolution to find out their names and tell their stories when I write about street food in the future.
Would this interest you? Are there some stories that you want to share? If so, please do write in and I will be happy to share them.
Oh, and yes do have a happy new year.
