Of all the things most enjoyable in life, I believe that
music, food, travel, dance and friendship are probably the most invaluable to
man. Weddings somehow have the ability to bring these varied elements together,
and this tale is one of travelling to Mumbai, that ever-churning melting pot of
India’s huddled masses, to witness the union of two close Parsi friends, Teena
Mistry and Pervez Dubash.
Parsi marriage is known as lagan and is conducted with great
zeal and fervour.I could perhaps write a lifetime’s worth of columns on the
subject of Parsis alone, but nay, we must not digress. This time at least, we
must stick to their food. Parsi wedding ‘after-party’ style feasts happen at
baugs, quite literally gardens attached to an Agiary, or a Parsi Fire Temple.
This particular evening featured a sizeable wedding (with lots of eating) at
the rather scenic Seth Jeejeebhoy Dadabhoy Agiary Baug at the very end of
Colaba, in the middle of a naval encampment.
To the hungry soul, it is the post-wedding rituals that
contain the most appeal. A grand reception is held which boasts a varied menu
of food, drink and music. These meals are sit-down affairs, with approximately
30 tables accommodating up to 40 people each. In this given case, the menu
comprised of sarya, which are crisps in their finest hour, achaar – rotli,
which in self-explanatory fashion is pickle and rotis, the pièce de résistance,
patra ni macchi, steamed fish in a banana leaf with the mildest of spices,
salli margi, chicken with potato crisps that have been grated into mere
slivers, pulao dal which is discussed in length below and of course, lagan nu
custard for dessert. All of this must be washed down with raspberry, an aerated
beverage that for some is considered an acquired taste.
For most, Parsi cuisine is an unfamiliar concept. Most
‘strangers’ to the community, skate over other dishes in favour of the dhansak.
A decade ago, I would have counted myself amongst this (vehemently considered
ignorant) majority. These strangers, when invited to Parsi weddings take great
umbrage to not finding dhansak on the menu. However, this dish, comprising meat
and lentils is generally served four days after someone has passed away amongst
Parsis. Bearing this sombre link in mind,dhansak is not served at weddings,
finding its replacement in pulao dal.
Of course, not everyone is fortunate enough to always be
invited to these affairs, if not a member of the close-knit community,
something that I have discovered through my ever-so-recent experience. But fear
not, in my quest to learn as much as the cerebrum can contain about the topic,
I have learnt that there is one place in Mumbai where one can indeed live out
at least the culinary part of the Parsi marital experience, without being
invited to one.This attempt at gastronomic divinity can be undertaken at Jimmy
Boy in Horniman Circle (the name of which somehow never ceases to elicit a
laugh from first time readers).
Mumbai boasts other quaint Irani restaurants that one simply
must try, such as Ideal Corner, which is run by the able and most chatty
Walter, a native of Tivim, who resides in Calangute (when in his motherland)
and has two daughters who are the light of his life. And then of course, there is the inimitable
Britannia & Co that I personally rate higher for the experience than the
food itself (which is a most remarkable feat). Stepping through the sparsely
decorated archway, one is greeted by the 93 year old proprietor, Boman
Kohinoor, an anglophile extraordinaire who regales visitors with his collection
of snippets of Queen Elizabeth II (who I believe he must have a shrine
dedicated to by now). From Boman’s charm to his late wife Bachan’s invention of
the iconic Berry Pulao, anyone who hasn’t eaten at Britannia & Co yet, is
missing the culinary quest of a lifetime. According to friend, fellow
wanderlust stricken traveller and (as the aunties in Goa referred to gluttonous
nephews in the old days) comelão Siddharth Savkur, the Parsi food on offer at
Soda Bottle Openerwallah in Delhi is phenomenal as well. This is a
recommendation not to be taken lightly.
Having had close ties with this ever so unique community, I
have been blessed to have had the opportunity to examine their fare first-hand.
I urge everyone who believes in the need to ‘live to eat’, to do so too. For it
is more than food. It is a dog-eared page, heavily stained with the gravy from
a salli boti of Mumbai’s history.
