FATEH KI KACHORI

For all kachori lovers of Delhi, Fateh has been something of an enigma. Most serious students of this crunchy savoury have heard of Fateh, for the name tends to crop up in any conversation revolving around the humble kachori. But hearing about Fateh's kachoris is like listening to somebody tell a ghost story: everybody knows somebody who has seen a spook, but no one seems to have seen one personally. A ghost-story teller will say: "This is true, because it happened to my Aunt." And, likewise, the Fateh fan club would insist that Fateh's kachori still existed, but nobody was quite where it was to be found.

For those who like their kachoris, this can be a bit frustrating. And street-food lovers are known to go to every nook and corner of a city in search of a good kachori. Kachoris make for great breakfasts, and there are people who make it a point to go looking for a plateful in cities famous for their kachoris -- from Meerut, Agra, Kanpur and Mathura to Varanasi, that bastion of satvik food. In Delhi, some of the best kachoris are to be had at Ansari Road, Dariba and Bazaar Sitaram.

But then, the high priests of the kachori cult had intoned that you hadn't seen the world if you hadn't tried out Fateh's stuff. So, Fateh remained not just something of an enigma, but a bit of a challenge as well. Any kachori enthusiast worth his or her salt knew that to be counted among the crème-de-la-crème of the kachori lovers' club, a visit to Fateh was a must.
So, a trek was organised one sunny morning to the intestines of Delhi in search of the elusive Fateh. An old student of St Xavier's gave detailed directions to the place, pointing out that Fateh had fed generations of hungry students of the school on Rajniwas Marg. The map was followed to the last T, but there was no sign of Fateh there. Did the place exist at all, or was it just a figment of a city's collective imagination?
But, just when the search was being given up for good, an old jungle saying came to the mind. When you are lost, goes the proverb, just get in touch with the nearest panwallah. A panwallah's help was dutifully sought. He scraped a betel leaf with a bit of limepaste, wrapped it up neatly, and then pointed desultorily to a garden umbrella spread out over a cycle in one narrow galli. That, he said, was Fateh's kachori counter.Fateh's is on a little lane off Rajniwas Marg, next to the Gujarati Samaj building.

The famous kachoris are assembled on this very bicycle. Two huge bags filled with kachoris hang from the cycle's handles. The rest of the stuff lies on a slab on top.
To test the waters, a solitary plate of kachori was ordered. It took a while coming, because there were some 20 people who had already assembled there and placed their orders. But the wait was worth its while, for the kachoris at Fateh's are put together like a choreographed act.
Unlike most other kachori makers of Delhi, Fateh uses boiled chholey - the kind that is usually served with kulchas - with his kachoris. A group of three men go through the motions with clockwork-like precision. One of them picks up a small stainless steel utensil and takes out some of the boiled chholey, mixes it with some salt and masalas, and then places it on top of a kachori.
The plate moves to a helper who tops it with chopped onions and green chillies. Then, a third person sprinkles some masalas on the kachori, and then douses it with a spoonful each of a sweet and a sour amchoor-based chutney. The plate goes back to the second man who now garnishes it with slivers of ginger and fresh green coriander leaves. And the plate is reverentially handed over to a client who seems to have lost all control over his salivatory glands.
Fateh's kachoris are excellent. Though kachoris are usually served with a hot sabzi - made either out of potatoes or pumpkin - the chholeys at Fateh's give a different taste to the khasta kachori. Some more plates were ordered, the kachoris were savoured and a fond farewell was bid to the three surprised men by the bicycle.
Finally, the citadel guarding the famed kachoris had been breached. Fateh, after all, means victory.
ENDS

Chadni Chowk Delli 6 !

Ashok Chaat Bhandar

I break out into a virulent rash the moment somebody tells me that the best chaat in town is the one that you get at Shahjehan Road. Having cut my teeth on the different kinds of chaat that you get in north India - from Benaras to Haridwar - I know a thing or two about chaats. And Prabhu's chaat at Shahjehan Road, let me tell you, occupies one of the lowest rungs in the ladder to chaatdom.

When I first came to Delhi I remember how disappointed I was with Bengali Market's golgappas. The golgappas that I had in Meerut were called pani patashas - and were a different thing altogether, for the water in each little puff was sublimely sweet. I went off Delhi's chaat then, and continued to boycott it till a friend told me to try the chaat out in Old Delhi. I was told that the bylanes were dotted with little stalls there that sold the most delicious of golgappas and papris.
Since then, I am a convert. The real chaat of Delhi is not to be found in Shahjehan Road or Bengali Market - but in the walled city. In these many years I have had chaats made out of spicy whole potatoes in a light peppery gravy and chaats made of mashed samosas in a green and white tart chutney. And, of course, the usual chaat consisting of paapris, dahi vade and pakori and boiled chholey.
But one of the best chaat counters in Delhi is the 70-year-old Ashok Chaat bhandar in the Old City. It's just on the Hauz Qazi Chowk, at the mouth of the Chowri Bazaar. There are two Ashoks there, but my favourite is the one on the left side of the Chawri Bazaar road.
I suppose I love the chaat and golgappas there because they remind me of the delicious stuff that I ate as a child. The mint-flavoured spicy water in the golgappas at Ashok is not just tart like that in some of the New Delhi chaat shops. Instead, it is both sweet and tart - two flavours that together give a kick to the golgappas stuffed with roasted and spicy potatoes and mixed with a sweet saunth chutney.
But whenever I go to Ashok's, I first ask for a plate of his spicy chaat. Half the paapris are put in a whipped yoghurt mix, and the other half in the sweet saunth. These are then arranged on a plate and garnished with home-made masalas. Red chillies are never used in the chaat that you get in old Delhi. Instead, they use black pepper to add to the pungency. At Ashok's, the main ingredients are pepper, black salt and roasted zeera. Some of the masalas used are closely-guarded secrets - which the owners of Ashok refuse to divulge despite all my teary-eyed entreaties.

To this they add a dollop of curds, a smattering of saunth and a spoonful of green chutney. And finally they top it with thin spicy slivers of roasted kachaloo.
Ashok's has other kinds of chaats, too. There is the usual chaat with soft dahi vadas or the dahi-pakoris, which are baby dahi-vadas. I like their kalmi vada chaat -- crisp flat and thick paapris made out of ground lentils. Another all-time favourite there is the potato chaat. They take a whole roasted potato, spice it up and then cut it into little chunks. To this, they add all the seasonings that go into the paapri chaat. Incidentally, they get their roasted aloos and kachaloos from certain families in the area whose sole job is to do just that.
Once the tongue is nicely set ablaze, you can saunter down to Mianji's kheer shop, which is 200 metres down the Lal Kuan road from the Hauz Qazi Chowk. Tart and sweet - that's what a gastronomical journey is all about!

Gyani rabri faluda

If you are ever near India Gate on a weekend, you'd be forgiven for thinking that the denizens of Delhi had all been ordered to line up there for a head count. Truly, nearly all of Delhi descends on the lawns of the soldiers' memorial on any given weekend - impervious to the effects of the skyrocketing mercury. For India Gate, after all, is one of the few places in Delhi where a family can still have a nice evening out for less than Rs.100 - spending a few odd bucks on chanachur garam, 10 or 20 for balloons for the kids, and the bulk on ice-creams. I like their spirit, but I am not much of an ice-cream man myself. I like home-made ice-cream, but we get less and less of that these days. When I was young, there used to be a Sardarji in INA market who used to manually churn out ice-cream in a wooden pail. Then he used to place a scoop in a cocktail glass, put a cherry on top of it and a thin wafer biscuit at the side, and serve it to us.

Sorry, nostalgia is like a walking stick for the middle-aged. Childhood, for us, was all about home-made ice-cream and kulfis frozen in a small earthen-ware pot. And once I get on to the subject, I get particularly nostalgic about a hot-day's dessert that I am passionate about - the rabri falooda. You get this in most sweet shops, but the best rabri falooda is sold in a shop in Sadar Bazar and one near Khari Baoli. Gyani's rabri falooda shop is on Church Mission Road - the one that leads from Khari Baoli to the Old Delhi Railway Station. If you get lost, you can ask any shopkeeper in Chandni Chowk, and you will be directed to Gyani's place. You will know you are there when you see a crowd frantically waving tokens in front of a small shop. I was there last week. I bought a coupon for a glass of rabri falooda (Rs.25) and then went berserk like the rest of the crowd, yelling "Ek glass dena" and waving my token to the two men manning the counter. They would take a glass filled with thick rabri (full of dry fruits such as pistas and almonds), layer it with a thick line of crushed ice and then top it with a fistful of falooda and some scented water. The mix would be given one passionate shake and a spoon would be added to the glass, which would then be handed over to the one with the loudest voice or the most frenetic token shaker.

Finally, my deep baritone was heard and a glass was thrust into my hands. The rabri was thick, rich and creamy, and the falooda had been cooked to perfection. It is a heavenly dessert, and one glass is so filling that you can easily forego your lunch after that.