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| Aaswad puri bhaaji |
I fell in love with the Maharashtrian version of puri bhaaji thanks to the canteen of the market research agency that I had come to Mumbai to work for.
Crisp, oily, bordering on light brown (I am sure women have a precise name for it like mauve, magenta, beige and the like… colours beyond the limited spectrum of us men), aata puris. ‘Bhaaji’ of course meant potatoes. As it does across India. In this case, turmeric hued, speckled with mustard seeds, garlanded with curry leaves, bejewelled by finely chopped garlic, spiked with teeny weeny bits of green chillies, crowned with bits of fresh coriander, swimming in oil. A plate down and I was ready to take on the world. So what if the milky and sugary coffee on offer at the canteen was a downer?
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| Baby Loaf gives me company while I have my post lunch decaf Nespresso |
The puri bhaaji was served on Thursdays and the canteen folks knew that they had to keep a plate for me, even if I reached late. It was the most glorious thing in the canteen, I hardly liked anything else there barring the missal pav. I had many run ins with the management on the sub-optimal nature of the canteen. Even after I became a part of the management in the agency where I was once a trainee, but then that is the Bengali thing to do.
I come from a state where even the chief minister, the top boss, goes on strike. Food matters though, politics be damned. The leader of the vanguard of the proletariat of my time was rumoured to be a lover of the finest of Scotch and caviar. The ‘elder sister’ of today is said to have the chronology of the chop cutlet shops of her para on her finger tips.
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| Give your back some rest daddy says Loaf |
I moved on from the agency eventually and after a few more agencies stints, decided to go independent as a food writer, work from home. The ‘canteen’ is way better here.
I would go to satiate my Maharashtrian puri bhaaji cravings at Prakash Shakahari Upahar Kendra at Dadar. Standing up in attention to take a flat-lay, after the crusty old waiters had brought my plate of puri bhaaji with chaha. I would possibly be the only person with an Instagram account at this much loved Maharashtrian restaurant which has gayly mocked the tides of time and has refused to change. Their puri bhaaji is a lot less oily than what my canteen paraded.
This morning, feeling the need for a feel good breakfast, I called in home (through Swiggy) for a brilliant puri bhaaji from my other favourite Maharashtrian restaurant in Dadar, Aaswad Upahar aur Mithaigriha. My heart sang a little song of joy as I sat to eat. With a lovely Colombian espresso to follow.
While luchi and shada alur torkari made and fed to me by my didu in Kolkata is a pandemic pipe dream of mine, the Maharashtrian aai’s puri alu bhaaji now talks to my soul too.
Funnily enough, Jaggu, the owner of the canteen that had made me fall in love with the Maharashtrian puri bhaaji, was a Shetty from Mangalore himself. That’s Mumbai for you.
Also read 13 types of puris that you get across Mumbai.
