Panipuri in Agra
In an ideal world, an inaugural gastronomic research trip to India would include a chef as passionate and well-versed about her nation’s cuisine as she is charismatic; a talented photographer to brilliantly capture your culinary adventures; a guide who not only manages to prevent you time and again from stepping into the electric fever-dream of Delhi traffic, but also graciously serves as a hand model and videographer for the trip; and a driver to elegantly navigate the group from one culinary destination to the next through the choking, heaving snarl of traffic ubiquitous to this sprawling city pulsing to humanity’s insistent drum of color and noise.
Not only did our team include all of these essential players, it also comprised a support group at the end of each frenetic day in the form of chef Maneet Chauhan’s parents and her five month old baby girl. Walking through their apartment door at the close of a frenzied, masala-laced escapade dialed us back from the brink of a Delhi overdose as we gathered around a dinner table laden with an abundance of riches including pungent Punjabi mango pickles, fresh-off-the-griddle flatbreads and a jar of raw sugar for our blazing hot chai.
Hot chapati complete with fresh ghee was a staple at Mrs. Chauhan's table.
Sensibilities restored, we set out each morning into the looming Delhi fog with our driver Praveen, who greeted us with a gracious smile and genteel nod of his head to say hello. Before navigating us from stop to stop along the tour route of our extraordinary feast, Praveen stopped along the way to pick up Sandeep. Sandeep became for us not only our guide and comic relief, impromptu hand model and videographer, but protected us with a steady hand from the onslaught of Delhi traffic when we inevitably walked into it time and again as a result of delirium induced by sensory overload.
A ram laddoo vendor outside the National Railway Museum in New Delhi.
Evan, Maneet and I initially amused Praveen and Sandeep with our fascination for Delhi food vendors so pervasive throughout the city’s throbbing streets. Eventually our enthusiasm (or perhaps it was our madness?) won these skeptics over and they too sought them out. We encountered our first vendor outside New Delhi’s National Railway Museum. He was peddling ram laddoo from his colorful stand; lemon yellow orbs of fried white lentils perked up with shaved daikon and green curry. We were ravenous in spite of Mrs. Chauhan’s hearty breakfast but Maneet wisely warned us not to overindulge as this was just the beginning. She certainly wasn’t kidding.
Monkey business
After permitting ourselves only one ram laddoo each, we toured the madhouse of the New Delhi Railway Station where porters called coolies dominate the landscape. Emblazoned from head to toe in red, they slickly manage to transport luggage through a choking labyrinth of people waiting from all corners of India for trains that a piercing female voice on a loudspeaker incessantly announces are going to be hours late. The station impressed, but it was the pair of monkeys grooming each other just outside that fixated us. Once they had our entire group’s attention, the carnal pair promptly started mating, resulting in an initially awkward moment until we all burst out into laughter that set the giddy tone for the rest of the trip.
Making naan at Bhape da Hotel in Connaught Place
A revelation followed the monkey show when we arrived at Connaught Place, one of New Delhi’s largest hubs for commercial and business transactions. It alighted not at a refined restaurant in one of the city’s luxury hotels but at a hole-in-the-wall called Bhape da Hotel where the butter chicken remained for all of us one of our favorite dishes of the trip. And that’s quite an impressive distinction on this journey of gastronomic excess. Bhape is inspired by the dhabas, or roadside truck stops speckled along the highways of India, but most prevalent surrounding Delhi.
Lunch at Bhape
Red onions accompany most meals in Delhi and Bhape was no exception. They add an extra layer of pungency and heat to dishes that are not ashamed to let their spice flag fly in a flagrant display that those promising spiciness in America rarely deliver. Bhape’s tandoori chicken was another favorite as was the naan prepared each day by Manbai Mohanlal Laxman, who has manned the tandoor at Bhape for an impressive 26 years.
Enticements at the entrance of Bhape
To entice diners who might otherwise pass by this inconspicuous gem, copper pots woo at the entryway of Bhape with heady brews in intense shades of cinnamon, vermillion and gold.
Paan
Across the street from Bhape was a Paan vendor who responded when I asked if I could take his photo: “Of course. Post it on facebook and be sure to say something nice about me.” I certainly can say something nice about him, as he was extremely gracious and patient with all of our photographic requests, but I’m not so sure about paan.
Meticulously prepared by layering, sprinkling and drizzling a vast bouquet of aromatics as regionally varied as India itself (paan is also prevalent throughout parts of southeast Asia), paan typically includes lime paste, areca (betel) nut and katha, a brown powder paste. Our paan also consisted of a bewildering array of additional powders, pastes, syrups and blossoms, including a vivid rose petal syrup. The pastiche was assembled atop a betal leaf that was wrapped up into a tight package and slathered with still more syrup sprinkled with powder.
Assembling paan
Paan is used as a digestive, breath freshener and palette cleanser and is frequently laced with tobacco for a euphoric effect that brings the addicted customer back again and again. Straight-faced, Sandeep told Evan that the entire paan bundle, even one as imposing as he held in his hand, was supposed to be consumed in one bite. I noticed the flicker of a grin on Sandeep’s face and I suspect Evan did too because he chose to sample conservatively, unsure of the ingredients this mysterious package contained. I too took a modest bite but it was enough to send my senses into hyper-drive as a wallop of perfume blazed through my brain, out my nose and mouth, and quite likely even my ears.
Paan: One intense mouthful!
Maneet braved her own bite which impressed me most since Evan and I were paan novices, but she knew what was in store. My eyes watered as Evan cried, “It’s like eating an entire bowl of potpourri!” Indeed it was and as Sandeep burst out into laughter (and refused to take a bite himself) we were relieved we disregarded his (sage?) advice to eat the entire thing in one go.
A weaver at Dilli Haat
Our next stop was Dilli Haat, a tourist mecca for people like me, intent on bringing home a gift from India for everyone I have ever met or might meet in the future. An open-air food market and craft bazaar with work from every state in India represented, it’s a one stop shop for all your handicraft needs.
Pickles, pickles and joyfully, more pickles on display at Dilli Haat!
Praveen and Sandeep patiently strolled with Maneet and I through the stalls as Evan escaped the shopping spree to capture photos of a traditional dance and unearth intriguing gastronomic options.
A precarious performance at Dilli Haat
He found one in the form of a sweetly comforting concoction of warm pistachio milk poured back and forth between aluminum pots until the show entices a purchase.
Pistachio milk
The toasted, ambrosial beverage was served in a terracotta cup we soon discovered is a common vessel in Delhi. Evan and I were hesitant to follow Maneet’s lead and throw ours away until she pointed out: “This is one of the most natural, biodegradable cups you will ever use.” Enough said.
The disposable terracotta cups ubiquitous throughout Delhi
The next day, restored as we were once more at Mrs. Chauhan’s table, we ventured to Old Delhi, a place Maneet and her parent’s kept warning Evan and I would overwhelm us. I was amused by this declaration since I could not imagine a more overwhelming, kinetic place than New Delhi with its horns; its seven-row lineup on a three-lane road of rickshaws, trucks, cows, people, cars, scooters, and bicycles; its crush of humanity engrossed in the drama of getting from one place to the next in this delirious maze of luminous motion.
The Old Delhi Railway Station
But they were right. Old Delhi was a new form of chaos all together. We entered into the oldest part of the city by passing Delhi Gate, one of the many ancient gates comprising the historic, walled fortification of Delhi. All at once the current of energy pulsing through New Delhi was electrified by a throbbing, whirling dervish volt of rickshaws and cattle and honking horns, fueled by a current of bedlam entirely new to me.
Waiting for lunch at the Old Delhi railway station.
Yet I quickly realized that in spite of their delirious existence, the population of Old Delhi needed exactly what everyone else in the universe requires to make it through the day. Sustenance. And what a celebration of sustenance it was! Fast, cheap, hot and creative, the street food of Old Delhi instantly won me over. At the Old Delhi Railway Station vendors sated the masses with staples like dal and gulab jamun (fried dough balls soaked in cardamom-laced simple syrup) while a virtual army of vendors awaited us outside.
The Old Delhi Railway Station
Scenes from the Old Delhi Railway Station
Outside the Old Delhi Railway Station
After our railway station exploits it was time for the ride I was anticipating since we touched down in India. Rickshaw! No trip to Old Delhi is complete without a visit to Chandni Chowk and the only way one should arrive is by rickshaw. Chandni Chowk is one of Delhi’s oldest and most vibrant markets. Comprised of a spindly web of shadowy passages, it bustles with commerce and brims with mouthwatering food.
Was he a rickshaw or an F1 driver? We will never know but I am confident that he was the fastest man peddling a rickshaw in Old Delhi....and that is saying something!
I was convinced our rickshaw driver had a death wish as he barreled Maneet, Sandeep and I to our destination. His frantic speed belied his adept navigational skills, assuring us that we were not going to die no matter how inevitable it seemed as cars and cows and motorbikes came speeding toward us. His deft skills enabled us to enjoy this crazed ride far surpassing one you would ever experience at an amusement park.
Evan and Praveen's rickshaw driver took a more leisurely pace to arrive at Chandni Chowk.
The first vendor we encountered after catching our breath at Chandni Chowk sold an alluring dish comprised almost entirely of milk foam. Vendors begin their preparation for daulut ki chaat at around 2:00am each day by churning heavy cream then whipping it for hours. Each and every daulut ki chaat vendor we discussed the process with throughout our trip told us that the next step entailed setting the frothy cream outside in the winter’s dew for several hours. How exactly winter’s due was responsible for transforming a pot of whipped cream into a buoyant cloud of tangy wispiness left even a pro like Maneet baffled. We resolved to unravel the mystery later but on the street of Chandni Chowk, we decided our best, most immediate solution was to taste the mysterious creation ourselves.
Daulat ki Chaat
With milk froth still on our tongues, we were welcomed by two chickpea inspired dishes the moment we stepped inside the 17th century passageways of Chandni Chowk. The first was khandvi, a delicate wrap of chickpea flour tempered with mustard seeds and served with green chiles, coconut and a smattering of sesame seeds.
Khandvi
Its compliment was dhokla, a steamed, fermented chickpea cake as addictive as it was spicy.
Dhokla
At the end of a corridor buzzing with the hum of commerce generated by vendors selling everything from resplendent ribbons to crystal trimmed bangles, was 19th century Parathe Wala serving what we were told (and I certainly believe) were some of Delhi’s best parathas.
At Parathe Wala, the a la minute, fried, whole-wheat flatbreads are stuffed with your choice of ingredients including radishes, bananas, chiles, paneer, cashews, carrots, potatoes, mint and almonds.
Rolled out, stuffed and fried in a performance as enticing as the result, Parathe Wala vibrated with a rolling cast of local and foreign customers packed together in an elbow-to-elbow dining room to indulge in this Chandni Chowk essential.
Theatrics at Parawthe Wala
Across the passageway from Parathe Wala was a lassi maker that we all agreed made the best lassi of the trip. Rich and tangy, it quelled us into silence (quite a challenge with our group) as we downed every last drop.
Nothing compares to fresh lassi.
Served in the rustic terra cotta cups I was growing to love, it also became Sandeep’s first gig as impromptu hand model, a role he enthusiastically adopted and was asked to perform countless times to afford Evan the perfect shot.
Sandeep, our very patient and always cheerful hand model.
The frenetic streets of Old Delhi
A vendor selling sweets
We strolled through the seedy Meena Bazaar and explored the temple at one of the entrances to the imposing 17th century Red Fort that dominates Old Delhi. I was asked to don a fetching (cough, cough) fuchsia robe because I was wearing a skirt and learned in an instant that knee high leather boots are not the optimal footwear to remove again and again during temple visits.
Roasted peanuts
An outdoor barber shop in Meena Bazaar
On the other side of Meena is Karim’s, a Delhi institution. With outposts throughout the city, we went to the original to sate our kebab fix. It didn’t disappoint. The restaurant is reached through a nondescript, dimly lit passageway off of Chandni Chowk that tumbles unexpectedly into the action-packed tandoor-hustle and kati roll-bustle of what is a mainstay for locals and tourists alike. The open-air series of storefronts, each producing a different element of the menu, is patched together by a confluence of anemic alleyways spilling into its epicenter.
Karim's in Old Delhi
Kebabs are fired and naan tossed from the tandoor as scooters and bicycles zip through the establishment in a scene more reminiscent of an old Hollywood film set than a restaurant lobby. I absorbed the energy of the place standing next to a stoic man intently tending his aluminum pots bubbling with Karim’s staples like Nayab Mughz Masala (brain curry), Keema Kaleji (minced meat and liver curry) and Mutton Mughlai. He ignored me for several minutes before he turned my way with an enormous spoon and an even bigger grin and asked: “So, are you liking your stay in India?” I grinned widely back, sufficient it provided him with the proper response.
The hyper-efficient naan team at Karim's
Kebabs at Karim's
Sated and exhausted from our adventure in Old Delhi; senses buzzing, brains still trying to absorb it all, we stumbled out of Karim’s into the topsy-turvy pandemonium of the city once more. As we jostled our way down the street, we passed by a vendor selling kheer benazir, a cardamom scented rice pudding sprinkled with pistachios and vark, thin sheets of edible silver gilding many Indian sweets. But after our elaborate meal at Karim’s we vowed to save it for another day.
Kheer benazir
Ensconced in the calm sanctuary of our quiet car, Maneet read my mind when she threw her head back on the seat and exhaled in exhaustion, “I need a cocktail.” I nodded in agreement and Praveen promptly drove us to the Leela Palace Hotel, its opulence a jarring juxtaposition to the tumult of Old Delhi. We dusted ourselves off as hostess as refined as Old Delhi is raw, guided us through the regal lobby dripping in gold and perfumed with impossibly red roses floating in ornate pools of clear water.
Smoking out the mosquitoes at the Leela Palace Hotel
Guilt washed over me as I tried to find a way to justify the brash extravagance of the Leela after spending the day in Old Delhi, where so many struggle valiantly to source their basic needs. I could not reconcile the divide between the expensive cocktail in front of me and the daily scramble of so many to find clean water and keep their children fed.
But I knew it would be impossible to ever bridge the gap between Old Delhi and the Leela. They each symbolized the extreme contrasts that make India so beguiling to the traveler, enticing them to return again and again. I did not enjoy the appetizers at the Leela as much as I relished what we tasted in Old Delhi that day.
The humble elements comprising the dishes we discovered in Old Delhi were elevated by creativity and imagination, not reliant upon the crutch of extravagant ingredients to make them sing. The resolve to make something mouthwatering was unhindered by the tug to impress and rooted in an abiding respect for the past and pride in an impossibly rich culinary heritage stretching back millennium.
Cocktails beneath the opulent ceiling of the Leela
We were only a few days into our trip but already Delhi had won me over. The realization that I would never be able to comprehend or absorb completely the extreme contrasts that make India’s people and their cuisine tick humbled me. More than this, I knew that what I loved best about India were the same qualities I love in the people I’ve met in life who fascinate and enchant me the most.
These characters are never the individuals you can decode in a single conversation. The most interesting people are those who confound and delight and amaze and confuse in equal measure, drawing you into an orbit generated by an indistinguishable energy and light that is all at once blinding and comforting, heartbreaking and seductive. They dazzle with their enigmatic personalities, mesmerize with their quirky charm, enchant with their brilliant, edgy wit. This was Delhi. Gratitude washed over me at our table at the Leela, fortified by the collective laughter of our team comprised of new friends and old. This was India and I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to arrive. I wanted more. But first it was time to regain our equilibrium at the table of Mrs. Chauhan.
Jody Eddy 