It’s a place you pass by, a transit, full of concrete, buildings
and malls, modernity dripping from every brick and mortar. Porvorim is Goa’s
“catch” up with Delhi and Bombay, arguably ripping out the calm optics of Goa
we have, till one plunges further north into the expanse of greenery, in Guirim
or Parra.
But this is just a layer, just one of those peels that are on
the surface. But our Goa is just about layers. Gently take off the one that
doesn’t quite stir the senses and you’ll soon get another. From the highway,
fork your way inwards, to the innards of Pilerne and Porvorim, beyond the
highway and the malls. To streams and rivulets, to winding roads, to mist-laden
fields of green.
In the middle of the week, quite unexpectedly a luncheon
invitation seemed too good to resist. To meet a friend, Chef Peter, who gave up
his place in the sun, as the face of one of Goa’s most iconic restaurants who
had played a not so small part in the capture of one of biggest international
bandits and jailbreakers.
But lest
we get carried away, at heart he is a chef. His entire being is consumed with
the belief that nature’s bounty and freshness, from the fields and sea should
be curated into fine dishes with a medley of spices, interwoven as accompanists
in a culinary symphony. But, let’s cut back to that day, in the April of 1986,
when Peter as young Chef was on duty at O Coqueiro, the landmark at the
Porvorim, with the square popularly referred to as the Coqueiro circle, when
the Thai looking French-speaking man with a cap came by for his usual chicken
cafreal and to make phone calls because the restaurant was the only place in
Goa ( at least a public one) from where you could book and make international
calls.
(An
aside: generous callers whose calls connected, often kept aside sums of
gratitude for the operator. He did well and has now opened a restaurant of his
own in the area which does a mean Goan thali)
There was a wedding that day and the French speaking gentleman
was asked to move from his usual corner to the opposite end of the long balcao
of the restaurant. He had just about commenced his meal when police officers
from Bombay came to this table and the team head Inspector Zhende greeted him
“Hello Charles”. International bandit, murderer, and rapist, known as “bikini
killer” Charles Shobhraj, knowing his game was up reached for the pouch on the
table which had his revolver, but Zhende and his team overpowered him. But they
needed a rope to tie him. And it was Chef Peter’s bounden national duty to
fetch the rope from the well of O Coqueiro and hand it over to the cops to tie
Charles Shobhraj.
The recounting of these leaves from the forest of stories and
anecdotes of one of Goa’s quintessential true blue chefs is happening in the
outer courtyard of Chef Peter’s home ensconced in the labyrinth of foliage and
fields, set against a bend in the road. From the years of living in the
limelight, Peter has come home. But he can’t breathe till he cooks. After a
period of procrastination and hesitation, he opened his little restaurant,
encouraged by friends Joe and Odette, calling it Chef Peter’s kitchen, A few
tables, a quaint kitchen, two blackboards, one with the day’s specials and the
other containing names of fresh wines and pickles his wife has made.
There we were, the verdant expanse of greenery with the canopy
of clouds doing the cha cha cha with the tops of the palm trees. Down below
cattle grazed, nay lazed, with the contentment of an achiever.
The quiet of the afternoon was ruptured by the drizzle and the
occasional laughter emanating from our chatter. But silence fell again as
Peter’s culinary creations rolled out. His signature Tisrio Xacuti, which is
the annual piece de resistance of the feast of the Holy Cross chapel, was
served first. Locals confirm that more people turn up for the Xacuti, which
Peter prepares in bulk than for the festivities. Recently Peter was
hospitalized before the feast. When the unknowing feast goers realised that
there was no tisrio xacuti and no Peter, they rushed to GMC to check on him.
Rumour has it that their love for Peter was equal to their concern for the loss
of their Tisrio Xacuti.
The X factor here, we are told is not the spices but the chilies
used, the mussarie or butao chilies, found abundantly in Aldona and has made
its way to other areas. The Harmal chilies from Arambol also do the trick.
There is one narrative that states that this Xacuti was made and
eaten by the stonemasons of Aldona who then travelled to Panjim and the south
for work. Here ladies, mainly of catholic households, learned to make this
brand of xacuti for the labour force. Of course in Goa, there are multiple
background stories for each dish and spice.
Then came the vauchi bhaji with ponsachim bikna (jackfruit
seeds). Seldom has the seed of jackfruit been used as creatively and tastily
and went perfectly with the sannas cooked by a lady from the village, who now
spends productive time making sannas in bulk for Chef Peter.
And least we were lulled into thinking that the feast ended
there, out came a rarity, Tripe- muscle lining of a cows stomach, a delicacy
and two of my other all-time favorites, pork solantolem and tisro sukkha (clams
in coconut dry).
As we ate Peter regaled us with tales of the village, its feasts
and customs and the satisfaction of his decision to come home to do what he
does best. He is the master of his own destiny, working by himself, going to
the market to get vegetables and fish, supervising the finest cuts of pork and
beef, and then cooking from the heart, at home and for people who come to
literally, eat out of his hand.
And in doing so, he is preserving the Goan cooking of home,
where he has a traditional gem not served anywhere else in every course. For
dessert, we had vonn (fried coconut in black jaggery, channa dal, and milk) and
lettri ( raw coconut with nuts and sugar)
The hot
vonn hit the spot as the rains came down. The verdant green fields glistened as
the heavens opened up, showering the palm trees and the narrow road in front.
For a moment Peter paused and looked to the fields and to his home, saying a
quiet thank you to the creator, for placing him where he was, the best place on
earth.
