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Return to the shacks, albeit a posher one.

This post first appeared on @thefinelychopped on Instagram on 25th November 2024

I had a late afternoon flight back from Goa to Mumbai. My Air B&B was close to Bhatti Village, the ‘hidden Goan food gem’ everyone would tell about.
We had a good meal there when it was new, and I thought I’d go back.
I suddenly changed my mind and called Nolan, my Goa-based food writer friend. I asked him to recommend a restaurant by Candolim Beach. How could I go to Goa and not go to the beach?


He suggested Calamari with a disclaimer: it’s ‘shack food.’
I hailed a cab, reached the main Candolim stretch & turned into narrow lanes, with provision shops selling mineral water, toothbrush /paste, cigarettes, and whiskey; stalls selling tee shirts, shorts & skirts at Rs 350; small Kashmiri shops selling handicrafts for a few zeroes more. The drive reminded me of our Baga holidays when we would walk down the sandy stretch past Villa Goesa to a humble shack called Love Shack, whose owner was obsessed with Bob Marley before northerners discovered Baga & it changed forever.
Calamari was a huge ‘shack’ by the beach, open on three sides, with very clean washrooms. It was to Love Shack what the fancy Jio World Drive Mall is to the Khar BMC Market. Touristy? Well, I was a tourist!
I walked to the sea, took a selfie & ran back from the blazing sun. The section near the beach was too hot.

Once upon a time, this would have been us, but with books and not smartphones.

A young couple sat facing the sea, poring into their phones, just as K & I once would, but into our paperbacks, not phones. A portly foreigner couple walked in.
A waiter ran towards them
waving a live crab, the quintessential Goa shack greeting for Westerners. A well-heeled Indian family sat on a table by the mist fans. Dad nursed a beer. Mom was lost in her phone; their pre-teen kids were over the moon when their pizza arrived. I sunk into a wicker armchair, the sea whispering love songs into my ears.

I order a squid chilli fry. Nicely cooked squid, but it was the hottest chilli fry I have ever had. I doused the fire with watermelon juice & then a sweet lassi.
I ordered a Goan sausage pulao. My ritual on the last meal of a Goa holiday. It was too sour for me, though it hardly had sausage bits in sight.

Spicy sausage pulao with some lassi to douse the fire

Maybe I’ve grown over shack food. Or, perhaps I was missing my Goan holiday partner in crime.

 

PS: I went to Goa to attend the 8th IFBA (formerly FBAI) Awards. I was honoured to receive the FBAI Star Award, having won the best blog award in six previous editions and the best podcast award once. Thanks to all of you, my dear readers, for your support over the years, to the jury, and to K for her support right from the beginning.

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