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Another year has rolled by and perhaps it’s time to shine a light on a style of cooking best described as modern Indian. The one thing guaranteed to make Padma Lakshmi throw a hissy fit is when some well-meaning gora goes, “So Pad-ma, when are you gonna call us over for a curry?” On one episode of Ugly Delicious, while dishing up a home-cooked meal for celebrity chef David Chang, she mutated into a hell-hath-no-fury-like-a-curry-scorned mode when Chang raised the subject. “Curry is one of those dumb words used by white people; I mean, c’mon. We never had curry powder in our kitchen; my grandma cooked us the most amazing meals from scratch. I’d like to think our food has a great rack,” replied Padma. Ah well, it’s probably the Rushdie effect.
All in the perception
Actually, the problem is one of perception which stems from the MacDonaldisation of the world and the American proclivity to slot everything into a convenient category. Instead of soaring to the glorious heights of Pork Asado, Peking duck or bibimbap, culinary racism, something I just made up, reduces nations to the lowest common denominator of Taco Bell, Gen Tso’s chicken or seafood omelette. In terms of culinary diversity, India is practically a continent since the term, “Indian food,” is likely to mean various things to a Mallu, a Panju, a Kashmiri or a Bong.
Prophets are seldom recognised in their own country which is probably why master chefs Floyd Cardoz, Manish Mehrotra and Gaggan Anand needed to strut their stuff in New York, London and Bangkok respectively before their talent was acknowledged by us homeboys. What this holy trinity of chefs achieved was to take Indian cuisine from its greasy spoon, lager lout image to the exalted realm of a Noma, a Hakkasan or a Daniel’s. In doing so, they proved that respect for our noble culinary traditions, classic methods and stylish presentation skills were precisely what was needed to put Indian food on the global culinary map. Indira may have abolished the Privy Purse, but the khansama tradition continues to survive, albeit on oxygen. Manish Mehrotra redefined the humble puchka by serving 5 shot glasses of paani topped with puchka and followed it up by stuffing crisp slivers of maple-smoked Canadian bacon in a kulcha. He served juicy spare ribs with sonth chutney and mango pickle and delighted customers were like, “Dude, this is so awesome!” Floyd went pedal to the metal at Bombay Canteen by presenting pan-Indian flavours in quirky, unusual settings/pairings. Think tacos stuffed with pork vindaloo, but with a Gujju thepla or the multi-textured fabulous Dawoodi Bohra dish Keema Bheja Ghotala served with sunny egg yolks peeking through the keema and brain: a fabulous mélange of texture, flavour and taste which would have had MF Husain swooning with delight.
Go seasonal & regional
Moving South, we have our very own Raahi Neo Bar & Kitchen in Bengaluru where sous chef Aakash Tyagi killed it with his take on the slow food movement using regional produce and techniques. “My menu is a culinary showcase of the versatility of cuisines in India. We celebrate local traditional cooking methods using regional ingredients which are unique to the food culture of every region. We have dishes from Kodagu to Kaziranga and we’ve tried our best to keep it authentic. Early in my career, I trained under Chef Saurabh Udinia who influenced my food philosophy; apart from him I really admire Chefs Sean Brock and Dan Barber for the pioneering work they’ve done in bringing local farms to restaurant tables. We followed just two golden rules in drawing up the menu. Go seasonal and go regional: this is our unifying theme where we’ve stuck to using only seasonal ingredients to maintain optimum flavours and nutrition. Not just fruits and vegetables, even our seafood is seasonal because we don’t want to serve fish caught during the breeding season to do our bit to stop overfishing.” That’s all very well, cynics say, but isn’t desi khana basically gravies and masalas? “No way,” says Aakash. “Dude, I’m from Delhi, but we don’t have butter chicken on our menu. We’ve totally moved on, like, gravies are so yesterday. We serve Yak Cheese Datchi from Sikkim, we do Rajasthani Sev Mangod and Bengalis will relish Mochar Ghonto, made with banana blossom. For simple homestyle flavour, our Chicken Rice Mizo-style is a shining example of the fact that Indian food is much, much more than gravies and masala. Our roast pumpkin paddu and our sattu kachori served with suran and brinjal chonka rocks.” Other intriguing menu choices include a local donne biryani cooked in leaves and redolent with the flavours of fresh mint and coriander and a smoky Hyderabad style haleem.
So what precisely is modern Indian all about? Look, texture or flavour? All these aspects are important but ultimately, it’s the flavour that decides the fate of a dish. No matter how beautiful a dish looks, it’s gotta taste good. The texture is the second most important since this stimulates the appetite. The taste of the most exquisite crab soup made with tiny river crabs at a roadside shack in Madikeri still lingers on my palate. I asked the cook what his secret was and he just shrugged, “Everything is fresh, we only prepare on order and all our food is cooked in traditional wood-fired ovens, which makes a huge difference to the flavour. What then is the ethos of modern Indian? “Dining is a very intimate experience,” says Tyagi. “At the end of the day, you have to feel the pressure that your guests have voted with their feet and picked you and you have to step up to the plate and justify their choice. This pressure acts as a motivational force and you just can’t afford to drop the catch.” On a more caring note, he feels that because we live in a country where 800 million people are undernourished as per the global hunger index, it is only fair that chefs follow a zero-waste, environmentally responsible policy.
(The author is an old Bengalurean and impresario of comedy and musical shows who considers himself fortunate to have turned his passions — writing and theatre — into a profession.)