Some Other Things that I've been Eating

This lovely dish is not, as you may have guessed, green eggs and anything. It is called hara bhara kebab, and what it is made of, I know not. I'm guessing peas. Maybe some spinach. It's really spicy. It's delicious. Janki and I ate it, with Dhruv in tow, on the roof of the Strand Hotel, at the cafe.



This man is making pani puri, which is a crispy hollow puff of wheat flour, filled with water and peas and lentils and stuff like that. I don't eat pani puri from just anybody (this guy is no exception) because it would give me the runs something terrible because it's made with local water, usually. Instead, I got me a couple of vada pav, which are like Whitecastle burgers, only with a potato chickpea patty covered in delicious green chutney inside the bun, instead of rancid horsemeat and rotten cheese. What I'm saying is, they're the same size as Whitecastle burgers.

They look like this. It was too dark for me to photograph my own vada pav.

Janki also has been raving about the Breach Candy Sandwich, as she calls it, for some time. You get it at this food stall called "Right Place" in the Breach Candy neighborhood of central Bombay. It's a toasted triple-decker vegetarian sandwich made with potatoes, capsicum (which means green peppers in Indian), onions, cheese, and a liberal slathering of grasshopper-green chutney. It looks like this...



And gets smeared with this...



And ends up looking like this...



But here I go again, stealing Janki's thunder again. Read more about the Breach Candy sandwich on Janki's food blog, which makes me hungry even after eating a whole sandwich 5 minutes ago.



In addition, if anyone is interested in seeing more pictures of markets and bazaars in Bombay, here's a whole blog devoted to them. Those of you who are thinking about clicking that link, ask yourself again, "Are you really interested in that?".

Chor Bazaar

I was looking for goofy old records and maybe some ironic Indian t-shirts. Janki was looking for old Bollywood posters. We went on Saturday to chor bazaar, the thieves' market, and found some cool stuff. One of the coolest things was that the main street you wander in the chor bazaar is called "Mutton Street," but also lots of brasswork, antique clocks, old scuffed-up cameras, antique furniture, spare mechanics parts, refurbishing shops that sell tinkered fans, TVs, radios, exercise equipment, old snuffboxes and cigarette cases, dusty sculptures, trinkets, toys, and junk of all time. It's a huge outdoor thrift store, and when we arrived on the Saturday afternoon, it felt like all the shop-owners were drugged -- no one approached us and hawked, no one shouted for us to come into their stores. Instead, we wandered at our own pace and looked and photographed and bought a few things. It was -- I dunno -- relaxing.

Janki looking for Bollywood posters...



endless trinkets, souvenirs, figuerines, knick-knacks, tchotchkes, hodge-podge, bric-a-brac, and piggly-wiggly...







And outside in the street, grime only slightly thicker than the regular Bombay, but cut by the elegance of the Raudat Tahera mosque...




and the occasional burst of color (saris drying on the line)...


Down a different street, a big tangle of pipes, which never fails to excite the engineer that lurks in me...



And any kind of hand-drill you could want...



Then back up another side street, where children sit on windowsills, flying kites...





Nice place, that chor bazaar.

Tandoori Thanksgiving

The Indian enthusiasm for eating, I should think, goes quite well with the spirit of Thanksgiving. And after all, wasn't it the Indians who invented Thanksgiving? Why don't they celebrate the holiday already? Am I missing something, people?

For some reason, Deval my boss (pictured above) who doesn't like being called my "boss," even though that's what he is, got homesick for Thanksgiving this year (he's a native Texan) and decided the Dasra team should take a day off and eat a massive amount of food. I was promised a whole tandoori chicken to gorge myself on (this is a land where "non-veg" is actually a category on restaurant menus -- as if we're the exception), and I was excited about photographing that neon-red chikkin-skin. But alas, I got regular roasted chicken. I am very thankful, however, because that chicken was delicious, as was the rest of the food, which is pictured below.

clockwise from left: cheese plate, roast chicken, stuffing, mashed-sweet-potato-pineapple-marshmallow-concoction (my own contribution), butter cookies...



clockwise from left: cheese plate, chicken, green bean casserole, mashed taters, cranberry sauce, more mashed taters, paneer tikka (highlighted), stuffing, sweet-potato-delicious, butter cookies...





my third plate:



good camaraderie enjoyed by all:





dessert:





another thing i'm thankful for is this.

i'm not thankful, at all, for this.

Hope you all had a delicious Thanksgiving meal, and a nice time with family and friends. I missed you all.

-R

Off-Spinners and Ghost Houses

"Cricket to us was more than play, It was a worship in the summer sun. "
-Edmund Blunden

Every Saturday and Sunday on the Oval, a huge grassy green in front of Bombay University and the High Coutry, hundreds of locals get together and play dozens of games of cricket, almost continuously from about 10 am until sundown. At the edges of the park, club cricketers put on their starched whites and play official matches (one of them, when I was watching the other day with my friend Dani, was wearing a Steelers cap, but had no idea what I was talking about when I grabbed him and asked him about it) with referees and stuff, but for the most part it's informal, really cramped (and somewhat dangerous because of the fast-moving errant balls), but a lot of fun to watch.

It's called "The Oval" and a lot of famous cricketers, I'm told, including Dilip Vengkarsar, a famous Indian batsman (hitter) grew up playing there. Cricket grounds are called "Maidans". Trivial Matters, another Bandra-based blogger (he's got much better pics than I do, but then, he's got a better camera than I do) posted a fantastic entry about the Oval and the Mahalaxmi Race Course with some cool photos. Check it here.



I won't go into the rules of cricket for all you despicable Americans who don't understand it, but suffice to say it's become dear to me. I can pinpoint the moment. I was watching the West Indies vs. India match in the ICC this year (that's a big int'l competition, though not as big as the World Cup or the Ashes, which is going on right now), and towards the end, when the Windies were down by about 50 with 3 wickets, I turned to Vana and said, "This is a close game!" to which he replied, "Oh, Robbie, no it isn't... You see, they have wickets." What he meant was, since Windies had enough guys remaining the hole, they could start batting less conservatively, hitting more boundries, without worrying too much about getting their fly-balls caught. It was at that point that I understood the deep strategy involved in cricket, and it reminded me of baseball's complicated number-game (counting pitches, batting order, slugging percentages, intentional walks, etc) and how much I love keeping box scores at PNC Park in Pittsburgh, even though I don't follow baseball nearly as much as a lot of my friends do. That, however, is partly an act of protest against George Steinbrenner and his fiendish empire, Jim Leyland's disloyal opportunism, and other such villainy, but alas, it's another story.

Here's a ferocious bowler:


A hapless batter...



A rising star...



And a team of champions...



Very relaxing place, the Oval Maidan, and one of Bombay's most charming sights.

The other amazing place I've been to is Janki's grandmother's house in Malabar Hill, which is a tree-filled, classy area near the governor's mansion, across the back bay from downtown. Janki's house is, undoubtedly, a bhooth bungalow, a ghost house. I've shot it in sepia as proof:



It's an enormous old mansion built from the ruins of Janki's family' ruined shipping fortune. Thirteen people live there, plus a dozen or so servants, and some of them are ghosts (I met a few). There are grand arches with vines, but no munkies, and chunks falling off now and again...



There is a catering company that fries up potato chips and chalabas in the hallway, on a landing, for about 14 hours a day, and the light shines down the hallway...



Rickety old balconies...



There's much more to this house, and lots of stories and feuds to go along with this, but I don't want to write too much about it because it's Janki's thunder, and not mine to steal. Let's just say that any of you Hopkins writers out there who have read her stories about Bombay and the house and its charm and mystery -- they're all true. We have to make her write a novel about it someday.

Up next, Tandoori Thanksgiving and the Theives' Market. Stay tuned.

McDonalds Home Delivery and other Perks of Bombay

There's a number you can call in Bombay and say, "I'd like a Big Mac delivered to my office, and make it snappy," and a young sikh shows up at your door with a fanny, pack, a flannel shirt, and some delicious fast food for your lunch. That number dials the phone in the local McDonald's, and that young sikh is this dude:



What he brought me a few days ago was not your typical Big Mac. It was the MacMaharaja chicken burger. For obvious reasons, Mickey D's does not serve beef, except in Pakistan where they're antagonistic like that (back in the day, Muslims used to parade cows past Hindu temples on the way to the slaughter house... it was pretty cool...).



I also ordered a McVeggie burger, which I'm told is inferior to the McAloo Tikka Veggie McBurger, but I wasn't feeling that adventurous. Would I like fries with that? (the guy actually asked me that on the phone). I would.



The verdict is this: Fries were excellent, crisp and salty, but the McVeggie was rather bland. It had a mayonnaise sauce on it that had no zap to it, and my lettuce was wilted. The McMaharaja Chicken fared better, but the meat was nowhere near as high-quality as the breast stuff they put in Wendy's or Burger King burgers -- it was more like the chicken patties they used to serve us in the Allderdice lunch line: thin and moist. Overall, McIndia beats American McDonald's, but isn't as good as McSpain or McMorocco, both of which I have enjoyed in my international fast food sampling.



Next up is the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST), which used to be called Victoria Terminus because it is modelled stone-by-stone on London's train station of the same name. Around the time that those rascals in the Shiv Sena party turned "Bombay" into "Mumbai," they changed the name of this station into the name of a 17th century Marathi king who nobody except Indians has heard of (gosh!) but who is automatically awesome, because he was known as the "Rat of the Deccan" by the Brits. The building is Venetian Gothic Revival, which I know because I read wikipedia.



"Another side of Victoria Terminus..."


And inside. Get a load of those interlaced vaults!




This is a fun shot... It's one of the many "Goods Carrier" trucks. I put one with Hindi lettering in that last post, here's the English version...



And on Saturday evening, I stopped by the Gateway of India, a massive stone arch built to commemorate the landing of some King back in the 1920's, I think. I don't feel like looking it up on wikipedia right now, but you can, if you want.



The people line up to hop on ferries that go to Elephanta Island and other destinations. Last week they lined up to see Brangelina, when they took a break in their busy paparazzi-choking schedule to visit some other parts of Bombay.



Here's the gateway by night. Very pretty. I had some delicious street food right near here, but blogger is limiting my pictures-per-post number again, so I'll blog about that later...



In case any of you care, I've added a THIRD blog to my repertoire. I don't run this one, I just contribute to it sometimes. It's called mumbaidailyphoto.blogspot.com. It's interesting, and run by my friend Karilyn, who works with me at Dasra. Check it out.

Happy Thanksgiving! Yinz have no idea how much I wish I had been home. Well, actually, any of you who have ever seen me eat may have had some idea.