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It's all the flavours of spring. In the spring of our togetherness we strolled down the avenues of Bombay, weaving roseate dreams of the future, holding hands. We ambled past a great hotel, heard brittle, bejewelled folk speak of crepes suzette, chicken stroganoff and eggs Benedict before they got into their chauffeured limousines. On our dove grey Vespa scooter we stopped at the Parsi Well, near the former Flora Fountain, and ate bhel puri; opposite Akbarally's we snacked on pao bhaji churned out ... clang! clang! clang! ..by men from the eastern states with muscles like professional wrestlers; bit into succulent fried fish from a stall near Sassoon Dock run by a brisk, diminutive Sikh. Or, on a shaded back street, we gorged on seekh kebab rolls made by the famed Bademiya, fanning the embers on his brazier and filling the street with the smoky redolence of kebabs. Times changed. Those street-food vendors vanished or went up in the world: the descendants of Bademiya now run restaurants of the same name. Bombay became Mumbai. We lived our dreams. Recently we stepped out of a famed hotel, into the street, still held hands, armoured by our senior status, and entered a whole street of food stalls. It is busy, kaleidoscopic, filled with sizzling, clanging, cutting, cooking activity as hungry customers flow in, flow out. The vendors and their clients stand, ask, chomp, guzzle and move on to be replaced by others. This is fast food unlimited created by a pan-Indian people for a pan-Indian people. Ramesh sits beside a mountain of fruit: custard apples, pineapples, melons, oranges, chickoos.. you name it, he has it. He offers fresh fruit sliced and peppered with spices or milk shakes blended with fruit of your choice. A step away the Bhatt tea stall hisses on a small gas stove and produces tea boiled to perfection with milk and masala and guaranteed to sustain you all through the day. We taste the decoction and recall a Swiss chocolate maker in Vevey who back-packed in India and is trying to replicated the flavour of masala tea in his boutique chocolates. We move on.
At the Guddu Sandwich Stall we meet Amit who works in the Bank of America. He comes here every day and takes his pick of the 36 types of sandwiches, including five Jain varieties. Guddu sells about 120 sandwiches every day. We learn that this food street is licensed to run from 9 in the morning to 10 at night. The impatient John Montague, 4th Earl of Sandwich who invented this snack in the 18th century would have been surprised at these innovative street-side variations! In contrast, the Jai Maharashtra stall produces more desi fare: samosas, pakoras, vadas and that delectable hybrid, bread pakoras. If you're fussy about fats stick to health foods: Jai Maharahstra is not for you. They seem to have enough loyal clients of their own. 'Ah now' we say to, ourselves, 'this one must be manned by a native of the west coast'. We ask Shyamlal Bhelwala whether he is from Gujarat or Maharashtra. He grins "From Azamgarh in UP" he says. Cuisine is, clearly, a great integrator. Sanjay, who mans Pryanka Fast Foods, is a Mumbaikar but he learnt how to make his excellent dosas from a Malayali. In Karnataka, we were told that the famed masala dosa is an Udipi innovation so Sanjay's culinary skills have a multi-state provenance.
Right at the end of the line is Babeli. He specialises in the Maharashtian version of the sandwich. It is a quarter loaf of bread, called a pao, split in half and filled with — take your pick — masala peanuts, masala chutney, garlic chutney, potato paste and/or chopped onions. Stalwart fare but not recommended for close, personal encounters! We have still, however, not had the sort of bhel puri we used to taste at the Parsi Well. That's when our children drive us out to Ballard Estate. The pavement stall there has no name but it is very popular. Shipra from Worli has brought her visiting relatives to savour "The best bhel puri in Mumbai" We taste it, relish it, order more and nostalgically, it brings back memories of the days when we first held hands weaving roseate dreams. For us, these are the treasured, evocative, flavours of spring.
Food street Bhel puri
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Opposite Bhatt, a
second Ramesh plies a machine that looks like a medieval rack.
Succulent sugar-canes enter at one end, fibrous waste emerges art the
other, and sweet green juice spurts foaming into glasses. A medical
student once assured us "No bacteria can survive in fresh ganna
(sugarcane) juice. It's too rich in sugars. But don't let it
ferment" We gulped it down and prayed to our guardian angels!
Ram Raja, with his
luxuriant walrus moustache, looks a typical Purabi farmer from the
heart of the Braj lands. So does his salt-of-the-earth range: a
cast-iron pan with a log smouldering in it. He offers variations on a
peanut and gram theme including channa and channa jor. Traditionally,
the purveyors of these snacks proclaimed that they could digest stone
and wood.
Where to eat