Taste of India, by New Delhi taxi
LIVING IN THE KITCHEN Each of India’s 28 states has its own government-run house for state affairs, known as a bhavan, in the bustling capital city of New Delhi. And most of the bhavans have a canteen that specialises in regional cuisine. Sally forth and enjoy!
With its fluorescent lights and laminate tables, the little restaurant near the shuttered Chanakya Cinema looked like any no-frills canteen found throughout the southern Indian state of Tamil Nadu. Diners bought copies of the Dina Thanthi newspaper, written in the curlicue script of Tamil. A small statue of Balaji, a deity worshipped in southern India, sat snugly on the counter. And the food was rich with the crepe-like dosas for which the region is known.
Young families and hungry bachelors were digging into uttapam, a kind of pancake flecked with coconut and green chilli; paratha, a flaky and buttery bread served on a stainless steel plate; and lamb biryani, a mound of spicy rice topped with a shiny boiled egg.
But the Tamil Nadu House, a ziggurat-shaped concrete building where this 18-table restaurant is located, is nowhere near the warm waters of the Bay of Bengal. Rather, it is tucked in an affluent neighbourhood of New Delhi where it’s possible to sample India’s entire culinary landscape by taxi.
Each of India’s 28 states has its own government-run house for state affairs, known as a bhavan, in the bustling capital city of New Delhi. And most of the bhavans have a canteen that specialises in regional cuisine, whether it’s the coconut-infused dishes of the southwest state of Kerala, or the Chinese-style momos, or dumplings, of Sikkim in the northeast.
Nearly all the bhavans are clustered in the leafy streets of Chanakyapuri, the capital’s diplomatic area, so an adventurous eater can embark on a gastronomic survey of India without leaving the neighbourhood. While not all the canteens are open to the public, most welcome walk-ins. An even bigger draw is the price: in a city that is expensive by Indian standards, a meal for two at a bhavan rarely exceeds Rs 300.
Among the most popular is the Andhra Pradesh Bhavan, which serves the fiery fare that this southern Indian state is known for. Situated in a squat, white plaster building near the triumphant India Gate, the bhavan is a minor attraction in its own right.
On a cool Sunday evening last month, the two-level cafeteria was packed. The boisterous chatter of families, couples and young friends echoed off the white-tiled walls. The 200 seats were filled, except for two granite-topped tables upstairs, reserved for members of parliament from Andhra Pradesh.
Dinner in this fluorescent-lighted space was a loud and harried affair. Men in white shirts and black pants directed new customers with the efficiency of traffic cops, shepherding them to tables as soon as they became vacant. There is a set meal, along with à la carte dishes that can be ordered from roving servers.
A thali, or sampling of dishes, was served on a metal platter with indentations that resembled a painter’s palette, as well as in small metal bowls. They included a curry of miniature eggplant smothered in a piquant gravy; a pale groundnut chutney reminiscent of peanut butter; sambar, a watery lentil broth; rasam, a tangy tomato broth flavoured with tamarind; cooling yogurt; and a double ka meeta, a special Andhra bread pudding soaked in cream, sugar and ghee.
Andhra Pradesh is also famous for its biryani: basmati rice cooked with spices and a choice of mutton, chicken, vegetables or egg. The waiters circled the cafeteria, serving generous mounds of plain white rice, chapati and crispy round papad.
The best part of the meal may be the end: the all-you-can-eat dinner is just Rs 80 a person.
While the rice dishes of Andhra Pradesh may be familiar, the food of Jammu and Kashmir — the northernmost state of India situated in the Himalaya mountains — is less so. Spicy kebabs and lamb dishes are its signature.
Jammu and Kashmir House occupies a small compound on a tree-lined road near the Samrat Hotel in Chanakyapuri, with several three-storey red brick buildings. Its driveway is lined with the white Ambassador sedans used by government officials.
One building holds the dining room, which has tile floors and white walls that are sparsely decorated with faded pictures of Kashmir’s snow-capped mountains. Curtains were drawn over large floor-to-ceiling windows. On a Thursday night, the six big wooden tables were occupied by men in taqiyahs, the caps worn by some Muslims.
There is no menu, so customers simply eat what the kitchen has prepared that day. On a recent visit, that included tender seekh kebabs, made with lamb and roasted with cumin and chilli; moist lamb kofta in an oily pool of tomato and chilli sauce; and haak saag, a dark, leafy green popular in Kashmir that was simply stir-fried.
It’s not hard to find kebabs in Delhi, but dining at Jammu and Kashmir House offers the special treat of eating from a ceramic plate with the state seal: a lotus and two swans. Still, the no-frills canteen is a far cry from the idyllic landscapes of Kashmir.
Not all the bhavans are so utilitarian. Nagaland in northeast India is one of the country’s smallest and most remote states — so it was surprising that the dining room at Nagaland House was relatively formal. Housed in a three-storey white villa with green trim on Aurangzeb Road, a fancy boulevard lined with expensive homes and government residences, the canteen had five tables that were covered with white tablecloths and lavender place mats laid with cutlery and ceramic plates.
Nagaland is known for its green mountains and the folk traditions of the Naga people. But tourists need permits to visit — the state is plagued by rebel insurgencies — so a visit to the canteen may be the closest that many people will ever get to tasting Naga specialties like smoked pork stir-fried with bamboo shoots, and pork stewed with nushi, the leaf of a local yam. Unlike in most of India, pork is eaten with zeal in Nagaland.
On a recent Monday evening, a waiter in a gray uniform attended to a largely empty dining room. Tourist photos of Nagaland hung in the lobby. Outside, there were no green mountains, just an endless stream of traffic to remind diners they were still in Delhi.
