Indian Delight: Best Damn Tikka Masala in Cambodia (and other stuff)

Indian Delight

115e0, Sisowath Quay

023 724 885

Phnom Penh

I'm an Indian food snob. I lived in Bangalore for six months back in 2008 and went back in 2010: I'm no fan of the uber-heavy, cream-rich Muhgali food that's favored outside the Subcontinent. However, I was very happy to discover India Delight on Sisowath Quay, which turns out Indian food much closer to the non-coronary-inducing masalas and curries I remember from India. They even pay attention when you ask for your food spicy. Furthermore, there isn't a heady layer of grease hanging over everything you order.

I find chicken tikka masala way too rich the way most places make it, but Indian Delight's version is just about akin to crack for me. You know what this stuff is (hint: it was invented in Britain) but I'll describe it again: pieces of roasted tandoori chicken cooked in a very spicy, slightly creamy sauce with a profusion of fresh spices. This is definitely the tastiest tikka masala I've had - hell, ever, I think - and it's only $5.00. I sometimes wish I could just eat this for lunch every day. It's especially good with the yellow rice peas pulao they serve here, which has a bit of saffron in it.

There's also a rich version of vindaloo, the Portugese-inspired Goa dish of curried chicken with plenty of vinegar and meat, as well as potatoes. My boyfriend is rather fond of the stuff and orders it regularly. I haven't ordered it myself - the tikka masala has its siren song - but it's decent stuff.

There's also excellent aloo gobi, which an be ordered dry or "wet," same question they ask you in India, which I always appreciate. i rather prefer the "dry" stir-fried stuff most of the time. This was again excellent, with a lot of interesting flavors and not-too-limp cauliflower.

It's tragic that most Westerners find okra "icky." Being of Louisiana and Southern extraction, I love okra and grew up on the stuff, and I really love okra curry. Incorporating the same excellent masala that is a hall-mark of India Delight, this is one of the best versions I've encountered. Reminded me of a particularly fabulous restaurant I used to frequent in Bangalore.

Mixed vegetable masala - a little buttery, quite good. The "subzi" often take a back-seat to meat curries in the minds of most but to me are rather integral.

Indian Delight also does lovely "mixed" lime sodas - salty and sweet - and owns a lovely espresso machine. It's by far my favorite Indian restaurant in Phnom Penh, and is one of the best I've frequented outside of India. The friendly service and the pleasantly quiet (other than the occasional Hindi ballad) dining room make for additional pluses, as do the reasonable prices. Set "thali" meals are around $4, while Happy Hour seems to last just about all day, with draft beer included.

I'd put Indian Delight at the top of your list if you're hankering for Indian food in Cambodia.

Sup Tulang: Singapore's Most Obscene Food (And Possibly The World's)

Haji Kadir & M Baharudeen Sup Tulang
Address: 505 Beach Road, #B1-13/15 Golden Mile Food Centre, Singapore
Tel: +65 6294 0750
Opening Hours
Daily: 12pm – 1am

This is a blog post about Sup Tulang, which is one of the more viscerally carnivorous things I've ever eaten, and in the incredibly civilized locales of Singapore, to boot. It's a Malay-Indian dish of beef or mutton bones, which are cooked in a spicy cumin and chili infused (and BRIGHT red) stew until the marrow inside gets soft and spreadable. You may have seen Anthony Bourdain slurping down the marrow with a plastic straw on TV, which is where my Dad got the idea from.

Hell bent on consuming sup tulang in his lifetime, my father put me to the task of finding out the best place to eat it. The Internet food oracles told me that would be the Golden Mile Food Center, closeish to Singapore's Little Arabia district. After an Indian breakfast and a morning spent wandering Little India and buying all manner of counterfeit shirts, we headed for the food court and the Haj Kadir food stall.

The stall, thankfully, is easy enough to find - bottom floor of the shopping center, to the right of the entryway - and is advertised with big, slightly green-tinted pictures of gory looking marrow bones. The elderly stall-men took our order, we sat down at a picnic table, and ordered fresh lime juice and lemon tea, as well as a serve of chicken-rice for my mother, whose sensibilities are more delicate than those of my father and I. Soon enough, a plate of four marrow bones for 7 Singapore dollars were plonked down on our table. We were given plastic straws for the marrow and some bread for the sauce.

It's a pretty obscene food. Tasty enough, but pretty obscene. The sauce is delicious: it's got some gamey, mutton infused, smoky flavor, with chunks of chopped chili floating in it. The bones don't have much meat on them, but the meat isn't the point, really, it's the marrow inside.

I decided to go for the marrow first - the sounds you make when sucking marrow out of a big-ass bone in a public place, well, I'll leave those to your imagination. Then, I picked up the bone, which was really very slippery, and gnawed off the meat. I don't think I made any growling sounds while I was doing this but I also can't say I didn't.

It was a very happy experience for me, as I am a dedicated carnivore and everyone who knows me is pretty sure I retain ancient race memories of Stone-Age ancestors. In that I'd be super happy crouching by a fire tearing big chunks off a mammoth haunch while snarling and snapping at the semi-domesticated wolf pack that might bother me for scraps. Napkins, what are those?

The old men who ran the stall sat at the table next to us and watched me eat the marrow out of the bones while talking animatedly to each other in Malay. According to my mother, they appeared to be somewhere in between profoundly disgusted and impressed by the enthusiaim and verve with which I went at the marrow bones. Probably more disgusted.

Two cute little Singaporean ladies were eating sup tulang at a table near us, wearing cute little clothes, and they were somehow eating sup tulang *delicately*. I have no idea how but am fairly certain whatever dark magic they had been trained in to pull this off is far, far beyond my meager powers.

The real problem with sup tulang is encountered after you're done with it, when you realize that the red dye they use to color the sauce doesn't come off your fingers, even if you scrub them really hard with liquid soap in the cleanish dining hall bathroom sink. It sort of comes off your face, but only sort of.

Therefore, every Singaporean will know for the rest of the day that you have eaten sup tulang. This is not exactly embarrassing, but few foods we encounter in the Western world actively mark you for the rest of the day. I ended up taking a long bath with a lot of intensive scrubbing, and my fingers were still stained red for a couple days. Although at least it took care of the facial Marks of Doom.

Anyone even vaguely squeamish about eating meat should probably steer well clear of both sup tulang and the people who are willing to eat it, is what I'm getting at. I suffer from no such moral compunctions and think most cute animals are preferable roasted on a spit with a nice marinade, but I know I'm not speaking for everyone.

Komala Vilas: Real Indian Breakfast Food in the Heart of Singapore

Komala Vilas Restaurant
76/78 Serangoon Road
Singapore 217981
Tel: +65 6293 6980



Singapore's Little India neighborhood.

I love South Indian breakfast food, I really, really do. Started when I lived in Bangalore in college and has persisted ever since, coming to a boil whenever I go back to India (like last year). The rarity of good dosas, vadas, uttapham and other AM Indian delicacies in places not India kills me inside. Phnom Penh does have a pretty good little dosa-slinging joint, but it's not quite the same. Thus, I was very happy to come across Komala Vilas in Singapore's Little India, a restaurant that effectively transports you to a busy morning somewhere near Bangalore or Chennai.



We had a rava masala dosa, an Indian crepe made with semolina flour and stuffed with potatoes, fried onions, green chili and spices. Like most South Indian breakfast items, it's served on a steel plate with small cups of tomato and coconut chutneys and sambar, South India's ubiquitous tamarind vegetable stew. You eat with your hands, ripping the dosa apart and dipping it in the little cups of flavor: it's really pretty perfect. Would only be enhanced by the addition of a smidgen of melted cheese - why can't you find a cheese dosa outside India?



We sampled an uttapam as well, a pancake with red onion and chili mad with a fermented rice and daal batter. Uttapam is in essence a thick, flat variant on the dosa and is eaten with the hands in approximately the same way: the red onions weren't too sharp and made a nice counterpoint to the sambar.



Komala Vilas also does excellent, flaky, hot samosas, which are served with chutney and provide a spicy, interesting AM departure from a boring ol' crossiant. Great with chai tea, but everything is. There's also fresh juices and good, strong, super sweet South Indian coffee on offer, just like I fondly remember it.

Komala Vilas has been doing its thing since 1947, serving cheap and simple South Indian breakfast items to a diverse crowd of Singaporeans. It's a bit of a zoo on weekends, but the people watching is, to me, a real perk - you can pour your tea from saucer to cup and listen to the cacophony all around you. "Quiet" and "Indian" don't go together. Saunter down the street after breakfast, buy some knock-off junk and tasty food products in the Indian run shops on Serangoon road, and pop your head into the Hindu temple if you're feeling nostalgia for the subcontinent. This is the fun part of Singapore.

Blind Date: Tibetan Food Proves Surprisingly Good

Blind Date Restaurant
Fancy Market (Top floor - watch for the sign from the street.)
12, NB Singh Road
+91 35 4225 5404
Darjeeling, India


Blind Date is a small, somewhat creatively decorated restaurant in Darjeeling that specializes in Himalayan food - the common cuisine ground in between Nepal, Tibet, Sikkim and Bhutan. The constants? Momos (dumplings), Thukpa (noodle soup), fried bread and fried rice, and more dairy products then are usually encountered in East Asian influenced cuisines. Most importantly: Blind Date is both dirt cheap and delicious. For your buck, it's just about the best eating experience in Darjeeling. Don't miss it.

Just be sure to use the bathroom first, since, like every restaurant in Darjeeling (just about) there's nowhere to go in the restaurant. Not a problem for men, who may exert the Indian males God-given right to piss on anything wherever he pleases at any time, but ladies may want to hold back on the beer. Watch this space for an upcoming screed about Darjeeling's discriminatory bathroom facilities, but, writing about food right now.



I believe this was Chhurpi, the Himalayas' somewhat weird but delicious variant on the West's hallowed cheese soup. (The fact I am unsure irritates me - I lost my notes somewhere, and Google is proving unhelpful). We ordered it with pork, which was the way to go. Although it's made with Himalaya-style fermented cheese - pretty much cottage cheese with a weird name, don't need to delve into it further, do we? - the taste is somewhat equivalent to cheddar. However this stuff is made, it's ideal for a foggy day at high altitude.



Ting-mo, or Tibetan bread rolls, are often served steamed (like the Chinese do) and are a rather inoffensive and basic carbohydrate. Good at high altitude to keep you hiking but not something I'd pick out of a police lineup for supper. Thankfully, deep frying turns the stuff into golden-crispy Grade-A deliciousness. Get two orders.

I don't have a picture of Blind Date's variant on the theme, but momos are just what people in the Himalayas - and at various restaurants in India - call God's Chosen Food, the dumpling. The main way you can tell them apart from East Asian variants on the classic is the shape - momos tend to be rounder. Other then that, they're filled with various kinds of things and served in a dizzying number of ways. I happen to like the variety that are pan-fried and served with a thick chili sauce the best, but I'll eat and adore pretty much anything pan fried and served in a thick chili sauce. You can never go wrong with momos in this part of the world, and thankfully, you'll never be forced to live without em'.



I should add that Blind Date has some of the best chili chicken on the subcontinent. Chili chicken is a much beloved Chindian dish (You know, the bastard love child of Chinese and Indian food) and is sort of like a spicier, harsher, variant on General Tso's chicken. This being India, the chicken is usually served bone-in and stir-fried with a not-fucking-around chili sauce, some whole chilis, and some vegetables. My friend Kiran and I are nuts for it, and this was great.



Fried rice is what Asia runs on. The world will probably run on fried rice in a hundred years. I'm cool with this. Blind Date, true to form, has excellent fried rice. They keep it in the pan long enough to get a little nutty crisp on it, which is essential, and there's plenty of stuff in it, which is also essential.



Gobi Manchurian, another beloved deep-fried and spicy Chindian dish. It's deep-fried cauliflower in a sweet and spicy sauce. Just about ubiquitous and pretty good if you, like most people, prefer your vegetable products crispy and delicious.



I've got a thing for fried greens, which most people think is kind of weird. Whatever. These were really good, and a nice mix of various local-greens varieties - not over or undercooked, nice and fresh, a simple and slightly spicy Chinese-style sauce with some vinegar.

Dosa Corner Phnom Penh - South Indian food in...Cambodia

Dosa Corner
Rue Pasteur (Street 51), #5, near entrance to Street 278.
Phnom Penh, Cambodia
# 5012673276
Delivery? Yes.



I've spent some time in Southern India over the past few years. The first time, I was 19 years old and working for a dysfunctional music magazine in Bangalore - the second time I was just passing through. My main impression of Southern India is that the people are nice, the scenery is delightfully tropical, and the food is awesome. It's a real mystery to me why South Indian cuisine hasn't taken off in the USA like the heavier, meatier food of India's north. It's lighter then Northern Indian food, mostly vegetarian, and is (usually) a bit more delicately spiced - and there are a dizzying array of regional variations from state to state throughout the massive area that encompasses India's south. The most iconic dish of Southern India would be, naturally, the dosa, a kind of crepe made from fermented mung bean flour. The dough is spilled out onto a flat grill in the same fashion as a crepe, and then it's (usually) filled with something - most commonly a spiced potato and onion mixture. However, there are roughly a bazillion ways to cook a dosa, varying by region, taste, and what yer mama made when you were a little kid on the coffee plantation (or whatever).




Needless to say, I was happy to find that there's a spot to get a dosa right here in Phnom Penh. It's South Indian run, as evidenced by the menu that covers a pretty healthy array of Southern Indian foodstuffs. They've got a bunch of varieties of dosa, including palak dosa, rava dosa made with semolina, and masala dosa with egg. They've got uttapams (flat South Indian pancakes), vadas (spicy Indian doughnuts), sambar idlis (rice cakes with spicy soup) and even ghee pongal (a kind of nutty rice dish). It's enough to warm the heart of any lonely South Indian expat in Cambodia. There's a couple of lunch-time South Indian thalis on offer, some South Indian-style meat dishes like chili chicken and praw pepper fry, and some good ol' Mughali style curries for those who just can't bring themselves to do the dosa thing. And yes, there's pretty good chai and coffee. These are essential.

The first time I came here, I ordered a masala dosa but somehow managed to convince the Khmer waitress that I wanted it to go. This meant it got brought out to me imprisoned in styrofoam, and by the time I'd communicated that I was actually interested in eating in, the damn thing was cold. A cold dosa is not a particularly pleasant thing. I decided I'd come back.

I returned recently and ordered a mushroom masala dosa. Thankfully, this came out hot and on one of those nice steel plates Southern Indians are so partial to. It's a pretty worthy effort, though it could have been a *little* hotter. The masala mixture inside with mushroom was nicely spiced and there was plenty of it. They've got a good handle on sambar, South India's mainstay spicy soup with potato, tomato, and a ton of spices, and the tomato and coconut chutneys are freshly made and excellent. You're supposed to eat a dosa with your hands, dipping it in the tomato, cilantro, and coconut chutneys according to whim. They'll bring you out a big plate of the tomato chutney if you ask for it. Which I did.




I had the non-veg thali today and thought it was pretty good, and definitely similar to standard fare in South India. You get three vegetables, curd (better this time then last time,) a small pot of chicken curry, rice, chapati, and a papad, along with some pickle. I especially enjoyed the stir-fried beet, which was a new one for me. The carrots and finely chopped green beans are very Andhra Pradesh - I need to ask where the owners are from. Chicken curry was also good too, if not spicy enough, and featured actual chunks of meat instead of the bone and gristle often found in India. $5.00 and it'll fill you up. (There was a fascinating discussion going on over at the next table regarding love, mistrust, and cross-cultural relations between Indian and Cambodian, but I guess I shouldn't go into too much detail. But it was awesome. "STOP WITH YOUR LIES!!")

It's a tiny little restaurant with only a few tables, but they deliver everywhere in Phnom Penh. There's always a large number of South Indian expats chowing down here. Go figure.

Dinner at the Assam Bhavan

The Assam Bhavan in Delhi is Assam's official point of representation in the city - sort of like the state's official embassy within the capital. It is of interest to me primarily because it has a restaurant, specializing in Assamese specialities difficult to find outside of the homeland. Jakoi is a restaurant that has gained some popularity among the capital's foodie class. Unlike most Bhavan canteens, it's decorated in a reasonably upscale fashion, and has a rather extensive menu with some pretensions of grandeur. Most people go for the special thali, which provides a reasonably extensive overview of Assamese food for a reasonably low price.

You'll be out 350 rupees for the Paranpara special thali as pictured above, which includes fried fish, fish (hilsa) cooked in banana leaf, a choice of pigeon or duck curry, a couple of vegetable dishes, some Assamese style condiments, and a dessert. Well, in theory.

I sat outside, braving the inevitable depredations of doubtlessly malaria-carrying mosquitos. It's nice out there. Cushions, ambient lighting, and some pleasant decorative accents.



The fried fish in tangy curry (fish tenga) was pretty good, albeit exceedingly bony. The crust was crispy and not too heavy, and it didn't seem to suffer from over-frying as some other reviewers have reported.



The fish in banana leaf with coconut milk and spices might theoretically have been good, but was so filled with tiny bones that I about a nibble or two of edible meat off the sucker. I gave in after a minor but disquieting choking incident. The duck was also a bit tough, though I liked the rich ground spice flavored gravy. Plenty of bones, as is typical with Indian curries. I happen to adore poultry bones, so no complaints from me.



I really enjoyed the pitika, or mashed vegetable, which tasted like an Assamese riff on America's bland and beloved mashed potatoes. The daal and the interesting, semi-powdered Assamese condiments were quite good. I've certainly never tasted anything like some of these Assamese chutneys, which included two variations on kahudi or mustard paste (one with sodium bicarbonate?!), a kind of grated, fermented bamboo shoot (kharisa), and mahor guri, made with powdered gram lentils and chili. Unusual little nuggets, and quite tasty. I'd like to try these again in different contexts. The fried vegetable d'jour was a kind of stir-fried Indian melon whose name escapes me, which I am very fond of. It has a delightfully squashy texture, that crunches with seeds when you bite into it.

I was a bit peeved as I did not actually receive the promised "gooseberry welcome drink" or the dessert as listed on the menu. There was an awkward moment after the main thali plate was removed where I anticipated the arrival of some exotic dessert - and got the check instead. Not so pleasing. If you list a food item on your thali, sirs, you'd best bring it out.

Verdict? Jakoi is worth a visit if you are, like myself, a commited food adventurer who is always up for sampling something entirely new to the ol' palate. However, it's a restaurant with some considerable kinks to work out vis a vis service and food prepration. According to some other online reviews, the kitchen has an unfortunate tendancy to flake out some nights and be fine and dandy on others. If I return, I might give the forgettable meat dishes a pass and go with the vegetarian thali - the kitchen seems to know their way around a legume and a bitter melon a spot better then they do a cut of innocent waterfowl or fish. And ask them point-blank to bring out the dang dessert.



Many of the state Bhavan's have canteens, specializing in foods particular to the state. Not all of them allow outsiders in, but some do. Check before you amble in. If they're amiable, you'll get a cheap and undeniably authentic meal at a very reasonable price.

You may now be asking a fairly simple question. Where in the hell is Assam? And what is it?

Assam is a state in India's Northeast, occupied mostly by the Assamese people, who have their own language and a culture distinct from that of the rest of India. It was a contested region for most of its history - occupied by the Tai people, the Moghuls (briefly) and the Burmese - until the First Bengal War of 1824 to 1826, when the Indians occupied the territory and claimed it as their own.

Like many of India's northeastern states, it's been the scene of separatist violence in recent years, as groups like the United Liberation Front of Asom attempt to secure some margin of self-determination for their land. And nice land it is. Assam's a lush and heavily forested state, with a monsoon climate, incredibly biodiversity, and one of the last remnant populations of the one horned rhinoceros. You may also have hear of Assam before because of its justifiably famous variety of tea. I had hoped to visit one of Assam's superior national parks on this trip, but it was not to be. They were closed for this year's Eternal Monsoon. And as Assam is one of the world's wetter areas, I wasn't eager to test their resolve on the matter. Not interested in swimming to see equally aquatic rhinos. Not really.

Stuff I Ate in Mumbai: Mahesh Lunch Home, Kailash Parbat

I ate at a lot of places in Mumbai, because there was nothing else to do. Not when it was raining like that. Mumbai rain is singular, that's what any native will tell you, but there's times when it gets worse then that. The rain pounds down so hard on your umbrella, you get convinced the sky is falling in, the End of Things. The wind kicks up real strong down a narrow street, ringed by buildings, and your cheap umbrella blows out and you're soaked to the skin, your clothes clinging to you. (Showers at night become superficial, bandaids become a luxury (they fall right off). I wash swirls of dirt off my entire body at night but I don't know what the point is). Mumbai smells of wet-dog mixed with motor oil, and all the kids with their perfect hair wander around with plastic bags over their heads, looking pissed off. The Monsoon that Never Ends.

I went to go have chaat at Kailash Parbat, because I couldn't go to Chowpatty. Not in this weather. It's a small vegetarian restaurant very close to the center of Colaba, and is very well loved by the young and impoverished of the city. It's open air and gets a decent breeze, especially when the rain is pouring down, and they have every kind of chaat you could want, and tons of vegetarian food besides.

Chaat is the catch-all phrase for "tasty Indian snacks that come from the street most of the time but not always." Chaat is the lifeblood of India, the base heart and soul of the cuisine (in my mind) - it's what plain folks eat. Bhel puri, sev puri, pani puri, aloo chaat, bhala papri chaat, and on and on, too many varieties to name. Common ingredients in chaat are potatoes, dahi (yogurt/curds), chopped onion, mango, tamarind sauce, chili, lentil wafers, tomato, and puffed rice. Many chaats also involve chaat masala, a spice mix usually involving amchoor (green mango) powder, cumin, coriander, ginger, and black and red pepper. They're usually served on disposable bowls made of leaves - don't ask where they came from. All chaats share one commonality: they revolve around some form of fried dough. How can you go wrong?



My favorite chaat is bhel puri. The best way to describe it to a Westerner? Savory Rice Krispies. It's a combination of puffed rice, diced potato, red onion, tamarind and chili sauce, sev (fried strings made from besan powder), and fried papri puris (wheat bread). Most places will toss in chaat masala and chopped green mango as well. Every bhel puri cart makes it a little differently, and that's half the fun of it. No bhel puri is ever the same twice. Bhel puri is the iconic dish of Chowpatty Beach, and you are officially Doing Mumbai Wrong if you leave the city without consuming the stuff on that sandy and infamous stretch, fending off seagulls and souvenir-sellers alike. Use the papri puri as a "spoon." Kailash Prabat is said to make one of the better bhel puris in the city, and I'd have to agree. A great ratio of chutney to crunchy stuff, plenty of sweet and savory interplay of flavors, delicious and savory.



I also ordered a mixed vegetable "tawa". Pretty good, if not exceptional. Didn't really need it. Bhel puri is surprisingly filling. They do a fine thali and pav bhaji (buns with spiced vegetables) here as well. A good spot to try Mumbai-style chutney sandwiches. I've never quite "got" them.

I had come to Mumbai wanting to try Parsi food, but was pretty much totally confused. The classic Parsi restaurants seem to offer monumentally depressing menus of "Continental" stuff -think baked chicken, baked beans on toast, spaghetti Bolognese - and none of the reputed ethnic recipes of the subgroup. I remember eating at one of the supposed Parsi/Iranian restaurants and being primarily impressed by its badness. Sort of a half-assed ripoff of the omnipresent Persian and Lebanese restaurants found in the USA, with hummus that tasted powdered. Maybe the only way to get at Parsi food is to make a Parsi friend. Any takers?

I paid a visit to the Mahesh Lunch Home one day. It's one of Mumbai's rather exclusive clique of high-end seafood restaurants. The interior is futuristically blue-lit and small, and the waiters are friendly in the pompous, overly-sophisticated way of Indian servers in all quality establishments.



I ordered the rawas tikka. Rawas is India's "salmon," and it's particularly beloved here in Mumbai. It's a tasty and firm fish, and I ordered it Hyderabadi style - this means the fish is coated in a spice mixture involving plenty of green chili, and given a quick char. The flesh is firm and has a mild salmon-type flavor. Really quite excellent. Had an extremely butter-centric vegetable jalfreezi with. Bring your ghee glasses.



When I got my food, I, as is usual, took out my camera and began shooting pictures. The waiter grandly came over and asked, "Would you like me to take the picture?" Not sure what he meant. Me with the rawas - a family portrait? Taking the photograph of the food itself?

I politely declined. I always wonder what people in less internet-centric countries and age groups wonder when they see me ardently and extensively photographing my lunch. Kids these days.

I'll put together a Mumbai restaurant suggestions directory in a bit here. Seems like the right thing to do for all the major cities I hit on this here trip.

Moti Mahal: New Delhi

Moti Mahal
New Delhi, India
Daryaganj, Chandni Chowk

I had lunch at Moti Mahal. The Moti Mahal. It's an absolutely iconic restaurant, considered to be one of the pioneers of the tandoori cuisine that has so efficiently and quickly swept the entire planet. It's said that the restaurant's founder, a Peshawari by the name of Kundan Lal Gujral, actually invented both tandoori and butter chicken. (Apparently, the tandoor oven was previously reserved only for bread, instead of meats). The restaurant began in Peshawar and was moved to its current Delhi location in 1947, after the Partition - and has been plugging on with shocking success ever since, drawing the affection of Indira Gandhi, Nehru, John F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon - in other words, everyone vaguely important who was sent to India on official business has eaten here.

There was no one there, which was somewhat curious. The interior of the restaurant is a bit 1960's mental hospital. But at least they have lots of fans operating on high-speed. I ordered my usual - tandoori chicken, tandoori gobi (cauliflower) and sat back. The owner of the place came over to chat, in lieu of anything better to do. "Did you know that Gordan Ramsey came and cooked here?" he asked me. No, I did not. But so The Ramsey did come to Moti Mahal. Engaged in one of those celebrity cookoff things that are so popular on food networks. Naturally, the Moti Mahal boys won hands down. The owner came over with a few photographs after I expressed interest. "That's us. When we won," he said, pointing to an image of both himself and Ramsey looking pleased with the universe.

The food was, as expected, excellent. Moti is also known for its Mughali style curries. Delhi is particularly known for curries made from mutton "variety" meats - you can order up goat brain curry here if so inclined. There are Moti Mahal outlets all over India now, although a family argument means that this Chandi Chowk branch bills itself as the One and Original Moti Mahal, Hands Down. I'm not prepared to argue.



The tandoori gobi had the interesting addition of sesame seeds up top. I think it does add a certain nutty depth to its flavor. A delicate yogurt marinade and a lot of spices, heavy on the aromatics. Really addictive stuff - and a lot of it. I couldn't finish it all.



And excellent chicken. Not too heavy on the yogurt - actually, I kinda like that. But juicy, excellent meat with a lot of complexity of flavor.



They talked me into ordering roti. However, missi roti are superb. It's a thin crunchy roti prepared with besam or gram flour, seasoned with fenugreek, ginger, nigella, chili powder, ajwain, and sesame. And brushed with an inordinate amount of butter. They are very savory, and incredibly delicious.

After lunch, I was going to go to the Red Fort. Which turned out to be closed.

So I didn't. But I did the next day.

Eating Stuff in the Car: New Delhi Edition

Hey there. Have been doing all my writing whatnot over at The Long Way to Cambodia. Since I have been traveling in Asia for the past three months. I will be mirroring all specific food related posts over here from now on.


Without further ado...


Delhi, like the rest of India, is a bastion of street food. And the number one Delhi street food is, of course, the almighty kebab. Kebab functions as a catch-all word for a dizzying array of meat products on a stick here in India, but rest assured: whatever it is, it will be incredibly tasty. India being primarily Hindu and Muslim, kebabs are almost always made with mutton or chicken - vegetarian variants with paneer (cheese), potato, and mashed vegetables do exist.

Al Kauser
Off Sarder Patel Marg, near the Assam Bhavan. (Look for the stall with smoke coming off it, and lots of hungry people sitting on their cars. You can't miss it).




Sheila insisted that we try the kakori kebab at Al Kauser one night, and I was of no inclination to defy her. (I am rarely of such an inclination). Sheila, Rajeev, and myself accordingly jumped into the car, wherein Sheila grandly asked the driver to take us to the Kebab Place, and be quick about it. "It's just a stall, of course, but they are simply the most divine kakori kebabs in town. But it's just a stall, really."

(She was looking for an accomplice, in the dark art of Eating In the Car. We both knew it. And I was happy to oblige).

Al Kauser is a bit of a kebab stall institution, beloved by an entire generation of Delhi-ites for its kakori rolls. The kakori kebab roll, for the uninitiated, is made of ultra-finely cut ground lamb, ground to a fine paste and seasoned with garlic, cinnamon, cayenne, cardamon, cumin, and some other tasty aromatics. The result is an incredibly tender kebab that quite literally melts in your mouth, creating a decadently fatty explosion of flavor in one's mouth. As kakori kebabs are delicate things, they are usually served with ultra thin and buttery roomali roti. Traditional condiments are hyperactively spicy cilantro chutney with green chili, and pickled onions. Mix these elements up together and you've got a work of art. Kakori kebab is a foodstuff entirely suited for eating in your car or while standing up - that's the other beauty of them. And did I mention that kakori kebab is cheap?



Al Kauser is best known for its kakori kebab, but they also turn out a popular mutton burra kebab (mutton on the bone with a coating of yogurt and spices). Chicken tikka is on offer for wusses who can't handle mutton, but there's no real reason to bother. (I don't know why people bother with chicken tikka in general). Watching the cooks slap the kakori paste on the table and form it into kebabs at super-human speeds is half the fun. Must not be comfortable to spend all night working in a flaming inferno of a grill stall, but I'm glad they do it. As are a lot of people.

There is something delightful about devouring kakori kebab in the back of a car with a grand dame, dripping cilantro sauce and bits of roomali roti all over the upholstery. Since that is part of the sacred ritual of eating kakori kebab. It must not be abrogated. "God, I do love these!" Sheila commented after we polished off the last batch. She handed me a paper napkin. We both delicately and in a highly lady-like fashion wiped the mutton grease off our mouths. "You have to eat them in the car, darling," she said, as we pulled away. "It can't be done any other way."

Well, I'd concur.



We ended our casual-style dinner at a nearby shopping center, for bhel puri. Sheila has a bhel puri guy there she likes, and the three of us ordered up plates of the good stuff.



A lovely rendition. Plenty of fresh mango and onion, plenty of chutneys. A pleasant overdose of sev and seasonings. Not too dry, not too moist. Crunchier then most. Christ, I love bhel puri.



We adjourned to Haldiram's - one representative of India's ginormous Bengali fast-food chain - to sip on Diet Cokes and watch the locals sink their faces into thalis, samosas, and chaats. Sheila vacillated with the idea of getting some kulfi or some barfi, something like that, but talked herself out of it. "Too fatty," she sighed. "You know that Delhi is in the throes of an obesity epidemic."

Which it is. And we know why.

South Indian Food: Annapoorani in Bangalore

Southern Indian food is one of the primary delights of time spent in Karnataka. It's completely unlike the heavy, oil rich, and meaty food we commonly associate with USA and English Indian restaurants. That's the food of the Punjab, that's the food of the Mughals - the sort of stuff that originated in Northern India and was disseminated the world over by opportunistic immigrants. But Southern Indian food has stuck closer to home, and has therefore been largely overlooked by many residents of the West. Shame, shame. What's better then a masala dosa (a savory rice and lentil crepe filled with spiced potatoes) with coconut chutney for breakfast? How can you go on living sans sambar (broth with tamarind and daal), avial (vegetables cooked with coconut), Avalakki bath (flattened rice prepared with coconut and curry leaf), and fish moli (fish cooked in coconut milk? Sucks to be you if you haven't had this stuff. Even better? The coffee in Southern India is actually drinkable.

Thankfully, Bangalore has plenty of excellent Southern Indian restaurants. B'lore is a city that runs on dosas, vadais (savory doughnuts) and idlis (rice cakes), and almost every restaurant serves up some variation on the theme. Most of the working-dude class restaurants don't even have seats. Everyone stands up and goes at lunch or supper or snack-time with their fingers. You never see women in these places, of course. Impolite.

My guesthouse was located on Cambridge Road, a remarkably convenient location from a little eatery called Annapoorani.

Annapoorani is one of the finer Southern Indian restaurants in the city, and does a cracking catering business as well, via Moulis Catering. It's a simple joint, but it features a surprisingly extensive selection of speciality food items, and the dining area is spotlessly clean. Further, it's dirt cheap, the coffee is good, and they'll keep on replenishing your sambar and chutneys until you explode. I ended up eating there quite often.

The menu has a variety of tiffins - dosas, vadais, and the like - but I always ended up ordering the set meals. Here's a brief and not particularly well-informed introduction to South Indian cuisine.


This is a mini masala dosa, served with various accompaniments. The dosa was thicker then the norm and had a very flavorful filling - spot on. I liked the green chutney on the side. Tasted like a coconut chutney infused with more cilantro and more interesting spices. Below it, there's a spicy dip, which tasted almost exactly like the famous Turkish harissa.There's the usual delicious tomato chutney in the far right corner. The rice looking stuff is lemon rice, which is a remarkably refreshing and comforting combination of rice, milk, and some very subtle spices, cooked for a bit -this would be great for soothing a pissed off stomach. The red soup beside it is the aforementioned sambar, a lovely combination of slow-cooked vegetables, chili, dal, and tamarind. It's extremely tangy, and the standard accompaniment to a good dosa. The light brown stuff beside it is a sort of sweet, cinammon flavored soup. The white cakes are "gunpowder" idlis, a kind of fermented rice cake. I find their flavor to be remarkably innocuous, but again, they come in handy during episodes of sever stomach upset.



Sometimes, you just gotta eat chapatis. They are, simply enough, an unleaved flatbread exceedingly similar to tortillas, and are usually made of wheat, often referred to as atta. They're extremely good for you. This was served with the usual tomato chutney, which is made with tomato, green chilis, mustard seeds, methi seeds, a smidgen of dal, sugar, and a couple other things. There's also the usual sambar and a dry vegetable preparation. Dry vegetable or subzi preparations are roughly as numerous as stars in the sky in India. Almost all are good. South Indians are paticularly partial to food prepared with drumstick, a kind of vegetable pod with a superficial resemblance to okra. Personally, I find the stuff stringy and hard to digest, but it is theoretically quite good for you. Huh.


This is an adai, or a lentil crepe prepared with masala spices, onions, and some other tasty stuff. There's pachadi (vegetables cooked with coconut) second from the top left. The round thing is a sweet ball with nuts inside of it. Moving clockwise, there's curd rice - a very subtle flavor indeed. The yellow rice is Avalakki Bath, which is beaten rice cooked with a variety of spices. The red stuff was some kind of heavily tamarind inflected veg dish - I believe it had drumstick. Gotta have drumstick.



The centerpiece of this meal is appam, a fermented rice pancake. On the left, there's a sweet short-bread type foodstuff up top. Below that is coconut milk. Apparently, you're supposed to put the vegetable curry at far right on the appam and dip it in the coconut milk for maximal deliciousness. I was happy to find that this was indeed the truth. The beigish looking stuff is pachadi, a slow cooked vegetable stew made with yogurt. The yellow stuff is vermicelli upma, small rice noodles cooked with plenty of turmeric, spices, and nuts - it's slightly sweet.

All these meals come with Indian style filter coffee. It's good, strong coffee, albeit served with enough sugar and milk to give a horse cardiac arrest. A happy horse. I love the stuff. Black coffee drinkers may need to learn a little Kannada or Telugu to get by around these parts.

Conclusion? South Indian food is delicious. Seek it out wherever you are. I found a spectacular South Indian restaurant in the suburbs of Louisville, Kentucky, so I know it's at least possible.....

Dosa on Fillmore: Southern Indian Food? Yes!

Dosa on Fillmore
1700 Fillmore Street,
San Francisco
(415) 441-3672

Dosa, a trendy Southern Indian restaurant already popular in San Francisco's Mission District, recently opened a second location on Fillmore. We decided to visit the new location for lunch recently, finding ourselves struck with a sudden urge for out-of-the-ordinary Indian food in an airy and attractive setting.

So what's the big deal about Southern Indian food? Well, it's drastically underappreciated in the USA. I spent some time in Bangalore and other locales in Southern India, and the food in these balmy stretches of the Subcontinent is very different from the heavy, meaty dishes of the North. What most Americans consider to be "Indian" food is actually northern Indian food - this is because most Indian immigrants to the United States hail from the Punjab region of India or more Northerly climes. Southern Indian food differs from its northern counterparts in a few drastic ways. It's much more vegetarian oriented then the food of the north, and is more reliant upon fish and seafood then it is upon lamb and chicken. It is a cuisine that depends heavily on rice, coconut, and chili, lending it a flavor that is more reminescent of foods associated with Southeast Asia then with India proper. This seafood-heavy and coconut milk loving style of cooking is especially predominant in Kerala, India's lovely southernmost region.

So why is Dosa called, well, Dosa? Easy. Southern India's most popular dish is the dosa, a large rolled pancake made of rice and black lentils. One can order a dosa just about everywhere in Southern India, usually filled with a mixture of spiced potatoes and vegetables. Dosas are usually served with sambar, a broth made of tamarind and toor dal, and a variety of chutneys, usually derived from cilantro or coconut. Dosas are by far Southern India's most popular 5:00 in the morning drinking binge snack, in case you found yourself in a pinch. Dosas come in a startling array of cooking techniques, flavors, and fillings, and it's that versatility that Dosa's menu capitalizes on.



We started with the chickpea channa (garbanzo bean salad) with onions and cherry tomatoes in a spiced lemon dressing - an interesting Indian riff on a typical salad. I never encountered anything much like this in India- a country with really terrifyingly bad water doesn't tend to eat a lot of salad - but this was a refreshing and delicately crunchy dish.

We sampled the rasam or "fire broth" as well, which is simply Dosa's version of a very common Southern Indian soup of tomatoes, tamarind, and lentils. It's a nice and authentic tasting variant on a staple food in the region, and I liked it very much.



Next up were Dahi Puris ($6.00), which are a very common street snack or chaat in the district of Maharashtra. These beauties were made with puris, a kind of puffy, crispy Indian fried bread. They're then filled with tart yogurt and a couple of varieties of chutney. Dahi puri is an excellent combination of creamy, crunchy, spicy and sweet all at once in the grand tradition of Indian snacks, and it's nice to be able to get these things in a more salubrious environment then a Mumbai street-stand. Though nothing really comes close to an evening on Chowpatty Beach with the sun going down, women in saris striding down the beach, and the dulcet tones of stray dogs fighting behind you as you enjoy your afternoon snack. Good old India.



This is a "spring" masala dosa made with the standard spiced potato filling and a variety of fresh vegetables. I was disappointed to find that this was more of a burrito-type dosa and not the gigantic plate spanning beast I generally think of when I contemplate dosa - the restaurant needs to make this plain on the menu. However, the bready, gently spicy flavor of the dosa came through nicely, and the crisp vegetables provided a nice counterpoint to the usual potatoes. I was very taken with the restaurant's version of sambar. It immediately filled me with food nostalgia for the stuff I used to eat almost daily in Southern India, and I considered (and should have) ordering another bowl. It came with some nice, fresh coconut chutney and a slightly sweet and tasty tomato chutney. You can order additional chutney varieties if you're a chutney freak like yours truly, and I enjoyed the eggplant and tamarind variants very much.

Dosa usually does offer one meat-based dish a day (as well as some chicken rolled sandwiches) during lunch, and today's special was baingan bhartha, a dish made with chicken and lots of spiced eggplant, served with yellow rice. This was nicely done and reminiscent of the stuff I used to eat at Punjabi dhabas, although it could have been more spicy. I imagine the kitchen can easily up the chili quotient if you ask first. Southern Indian food isn't really known for knocking you on your ass with spices anyway. I didn't encounter much in the way of truly spicy food in India - rather heavily spiced dishes - and I suspect the macho Anglo-Indians of old began the beloved British tradition of curries so hot that they can kill at five feet. But that is theory. I also am not big on lime pickles, which are typically used to add assertive heat to curries and other things.

After a couple of nice enough passion-fruit bellinis and an Indian spiced bloody mary (not my cup of tea, but my dad liked it well enough), we paid up and were on our way, smelling vaguely of Indian spices for the rest of the day. In my book, that's a good thing. Now if only some enterprising specimen would open a mobile chaat truck or two in downtown San Francisco. Takers?

Tandoori Lamb Chops: Just Try It

Tandoori spiced food is one of India's greatest gifts to the universe. Hinduism, algebra, Buddhism, and other things may be placed aside for later consideration. Today, we concern ourselves with meat.

This lamb chop recipe is pilfered from Food and Wine magazine, which in turn pilfered it from Karim's in Delhi's Jama Masjid area - perhaps the most chaotic and delightful region of that already fantastic city. I never got to eat there - that will come, later - but do have this recipe. I make it all the time. It's one of my never fail standbys, and is just as good with chicken and fish as it is for lamb. But it really comes into its own with the meaty funkiness of good lamb, and I advise that (in the best of all possible worlds) that you use it for this recipe. I made these most recently for my grandmother as a vague attempt at celebrating Divali. I think they turned out all right.

LUSCIOUS TANDOORI LAMB CHOPS



Factor in overnight marination time: you won't regret it. Still tastes fine if marinaded for half a day, but not really the real-thing, if you know what I mean.

8 lamb rib chops (2 1/2 pounds) OR a rack of lamb OR a half chicken OR hard-fleshed white fish chunks - how flexible this is!
3/4 cup Greek yogurt.
1/4 cup heavy cream.
3 tablespoons lemon juice.
One 3 inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and minced.
4 minced garlic cloves.
1 tablespoon malt vinegar.
1 tablespoon garam masala.
1 tablespoon cumin.
1 tablespoon paprika
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground mace (optional)
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
Cinnamon in small quantity, if you'd like
Kosher salt
1 tablespoon vegetable oil

Using a knife (no fooling!) cut slashes into the meat. Get a large bowl and whisk the yogurt with the cream, the lemon juice, ginger, garlic, garam masala, cumin, paprika, cayenne, mace, nutmeg, and one teaspoon of salt. Toss in the meat and work with your hands to get it into every possible nook and cranny. Let it sit overnight, or at least as long as possible.

Ready to cook? Divine. Add the oil to the marinade and toss with the lamb chops. Remove them from the marinade and let them stand for a bit. Don't scrape off the yogurt. That's the good stuff.

Grill those suckers. They're also good under the broiler. I find them only truly acceptable when cooked very rare, but I suppose you can incinerate them into submission if you must.



Serve them with Indian side dishes if feeling exotic - I like aloo gobi - or with more mundane stuff if you are not. A bed of simple sauteed spinach is always very complimentary to lamb chops. They are, not shockingly, very nice with wine or Indian beer.

I suspect this marinade might be a rather nice dip for vegetables if given a bit of tweaking. Do let me know if you try.

- F.G

Shrimp Vindaloo: It's Actually Sorta Portuguese!

Vindaloo is an Indian dish that's particularly common in Goa - the well known Indian "vindaloo" derives from the Portuguese dish Carne de Vinha d' Alhos, which was adapted with tons of spices to the Indian palate. Today's vindaloo is defined primarily by the addition of vinegar - red wine vinegar traditionally - and a considerable amount of chili. Although vindaloo is traditionally prepared with pork, shrimp can be easily substituted, as I've done here. Vindaloo isn't all that common in India - in fact, I don't remember seeing it on the menu anywhere - but it sure as hell is good and worthy of addition to your recipe roster. This particular recipe is from the Cooking Club cookbook, and it's pretty darn easy (and good).

You will need (for 4 servings):



1 teaspoon whole cloves
1 teaspoon black mustard seeds
2 teaspoons garam masala
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 to 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/3 cup white wine vinegar
1/3 cup tamarind concentrate/paste
4 cloves garlic
2 tablespoons chopped ginger root
1 tablespoon ghee or vegetable oil
1 to 2 pounds shrimp
1 teaspoon salt
Fresh black pepper
1 large onion, sliced
1/2 cup water
1/2 of a 14.5 oz can of diced tomatoes, with juice
7 curry leaves/ 2 bay leaves
1 tsp sugar
1 red bell pepper cut into 1 inch pieces



Get yourself a small skillet and heat it over medium heat. Add the cloves and mustard seeds, and dry roast them til' they get fragrant - about 2 minutes.



Put the cloves and mustard seeds into a blender jar, along with the garam masala, turmeric, cinnamon, cayenne, vinegar, tamarind, garlic, and ginger. Blend it all at a nice high speed until it's turned into something approximating a liquid.



Now, heat up the ghee or oil, and brown the shrimp. Once they're pretty much done, stick them in a bowl. The aim is to get some nice flavoring on them.



Next, saute the onions and get them caramelized - this will take around 10 or 12 minutes. Be patient. Once that's done, toss in the spice paste and saute until they're fragrant, around 2 minutes.



Then, add the water, red pepper, tomatoes, curry leaves, and sugar, and bring it all to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium low and simmer for about 20 minutes or so. Once done, it should look about like this.




Serve it up with some yogurt raita (recipe forthcoming,) and some other Indian veggie dish - this roasted cauliflower, potato, and pea dish with Indian spices was a delicious addition. The tomato chutney I talked about earlier also goes nicely - not surprising. Go forth, my brethren, and cook Indian tonight.