Food for Thought is inspired by Aarti Punjabi’s Instagram post and our flavorful memories of an evening in Kolkata.
Dusty tree-lined lanes branched out into by-lanes on either side. The September sun was beginning to dim its glare, but the midday siesta had hand cart pullers, shopkeepers, and street dogs still sleeping.
The GPS on our phones got confused about where to lead us next. Our Uber Driver, a local, I’ll have you know, seemed as confused as the GPS regarding our destination. We asked him to slow down as Aarti, Chinmayee, and I peeked out of the car windows beside us. We weren’t sure what we, strangers to Kolkata, hoped to see or find, but we felt compelled to be productive.
3 varied lookout points, and we still didn’t know if we were going the right way. A few meters ahead, the taxi driver stopped the vehicle and told us our stop was ‘somewhere on the right’. We disembarked and followed his instructions only to realise that that wasn’t our destination. It was too late, though, as the Uber had sped away. Just as we were discussing dishonest human beings and how many minutes of walking it would take to reach Jorasanko Thakur Bari, we agreed that a tea break was the need of the moment.
That’s when Aarti piped in, saying that she had spotted a hole-in-the-wall place that had samosas frying. She wondered if Chinmayee and I would be curious enough to have a look. We did not let her finish the sentence, and before she knew it, Aarti was leading us to the snack shop.
As we neared it, we admitted the peach-hued façade looked questionable, but the big wok of samosas (christened ‘Singara’ in Kolkata) bubbling away in the hot oil made us overlook it. The eats on offer didn’t stop at only Singaras, though. Plump Gulab Jamuns swimming in sugar syrup, glossy yellow Jalebis sitting pretty on a platter, Puri’s puffed up with pride, and a Potato Subzi that was a lesson in looks are deceptive, haphazardly dotted the counters of this little shop that hugged a corner of a street.
We ordered the Singara’s, 1 each; we were very specific. We whispered to each other that we would try them first to see how they tasted. We also justified, to ourselves and each other, that piping hot street food should not play havoc with our stomachs, right?
Along with students, office-goers, rickshaw drivers, and handcart pullers, we waited for the Singaras to turn golden-brown, and soon enough, they were placed, piping hot and nestled in a leaf-bowl, in our palms. As we waited for them to cool down, I asked the person standing next to me what else was good here, ‘Sab kuch accha hai’ (everything is good), he said between mouthfuls of Puri dunked in the Aloo Subzi. His concentration on his food and his reaching for a second helping convinced me to trust his opinion.
The fact that the two gentlemen who very obviously owned and ran the shop were serving customers personally and chatting with them as they did made me believe that some, if not all, of their customers were regulars.
The Singara’s were finally cool enough for us to bite into them. The outer crust was perfectly crisp and flaky, and the Potato filling inside was unlike anything I had tasted before, soft and spicy with a touch of tanginess. The Singara had scored high on the taste test, and forgetting all our apprehensions about the hazards of street foods, we decided to order the Puri. They are ‘Kachori’s’, the bespectacled shop owner smiled as he corrected us. He scooped a generous serving of the Aloo Subzi into a leaf bowl and set two Kachoris beside it. ‘We don’t want the gravy!’ we protested. ‘It comes with the Kachori’s’, his smile seemed to be a constant accompaniment to his words. ‘Khaa ke toh dekhiye’ (taste it and see), one of the patrons urged us.
Before we could start tasing the Kachori and Aloo Subzi, the other owner, a younger man, ushered us across the road, into a storage area of sorts, arranged 3 plastic stools, and asked us to sit there. He placed another stool before us and placed our food on it. This thoughtful gesture warmed our hearts, and the heavenly flavours of the Kachori-Subzi made our eyes light up and brought out big smiles on our faces. From across the road, I gave a thumbs-up to the brothers who owned and ran the shop, and their smiles acknowledged my thanks.
As we were enjoying every bite of this serendipitous meal, I decided that the Gulab Jamun should not be left feeling ignored. I walked across and asked for a single one. The younger brother said he would get it across and before we knew it 3 plump Gulab Jamuns were placed before us. Our protests were weak, and before we could complete our sentences, he reasoned, ‘How would you know the taste by just one?’ even as he ripped open a brand new pack of tissue papers and handed them out to each of us, placing an additional few next to us.
The warm Gulab Jamuns were soft and spongy; they had absorbed the sugar syrup to their core, flavouring these orbs of delight just right. A fitting end to a meal that we were so glad we chanced upon.
Food is a great icebreaker. I have always believed that how you serve it enhances or takes away from the flavour of food.
The Gupta brothers, Krishna Murari and Manoj Kumar, who own and run Koushal Kachori, just showed us how true this is. The warmth with which they served us (ek aur kachori lijiyega?’), and the attention to detail in how they arranged for a place for 3 ladies to sit and be comfortable to eat. Their conversations with their patrons. Their shy smiles when we heaped praise on their food, cooking, and hospitality.
The fact that they moved from their home in Bhagalpur replanted themselves and bloomed in Kolkata. Feeding people is what runs their home and puts their children through school and college. That they are content to do it is truly admirable.
I would like to believe that Aarti, Chinmayee, and I bonded over this meal. If not for Aarti’s observational skills, we would have missed Koushal Kachori. If not for our spirit of adventure, we wouldn’t have ventured towards it or eaten there.
This meal just didn’t satiate a hunger for food. This meal satisfied my hunger for wholesomeness, the warmth of human connection, and the experience of kindness. This wasn’t just a meal. This was a moment I have frozen in time, to bring out and look at whenever I find myself questioning if there is goodness in the world.
If you are in Kolkata, do visit.
Koushal Kachori
22/1, Madan Chatterjee Lane,
near Central Bank of India,
Raja Katra, Singhi Bagan,
Jorasanko,
Kolkata,
West Bengal – 700007
Ph:+91-9433350062
Timings: Open daily from 7:00 am to 9:30 pm.
I felt like revisiting the time with you and Aarti and all my memories came alive !! Thank you for writing down this post and freezing the beautiful memories of our Blogchatter Kolkata retreat through your words. I am glad I could share moments with you both.
Thank you Mayuri for writing this piece. Your vivid description ensures that everytime we read it we will be back on the street munching samosas !