Once upon a time, long, long ago I was a young man, from Madras (before those white shirted, dark goggled lungiwallas changed the name to Chennai) who got "posted" out to Nasik in Maharashtra via a short sojourn in Jatland (Faridbad).
Most of my Madrasi colleagues (Madras is the worderfully ambiguous region that comprises 90% of peninsular India, for those of you who are from "India") found it tough, adjusting to the food challenges that life suddenly threw at us. No more home cooked idli - sambhar, or masala dosa for breakfast. And, for lunch and dinner things certainly went even further awkward. Chapati, roti, strange unfamiliar vegetables called "tinda", "shepu", dishes with absolutely unappetizing NAMES - "pitla", for instance, managing to look even more unappetizing than its name!
Thankfully, I had no such problems (barring the fact that, for a brief period, during my OTHERWISE glorious bachelorhood - sigh! - I sacrificed filter coffee for masala chai!) and, by and large, enjoyed my culinary adventures without too much trouble. Which is not to say that I did not have "fun" with my dinner dabbawallah, had more than my fair share. But, not just looking back but even as I was opening my tiffin-box at night I would be laughing at what fate had served up :)
But, truly, this mail is not about "food" in general. I write to celebrate a uniquely Maharashtrian dish, a culinary marvel that, by rights, ought to be legally sold only in the vicinity of fire stations.
"Missal Pav" or "Misal Pav" is the rather non-descript name by which this item goes. It is the culinary equivalent to someone letting off an "atom bomb" right behind you while you were busy doing something else! A pungent tongue burner, the missal pav is supposed to be a breakfast item that is guaranteed to clear blocked noses (it can give Kiwi Dranex a run for its money), soak your hand kerchief and generally make you remember fully 24 hours later what you had for breakfast the previous morning.
Essentially the dish is a bowl of sprouted, boiled lentils, chopped onions, tomatoes served with crisp mixture/farsan soaked in blood red, pungent, spicy gravy. And, of course, pav (unleavened bread) on the side.
For me, it was love at first sight! (A silent "Thank You" to Aba Samant for having dragged me out of my comfort zone in a red, rickety ST bus at Igatpuri all those many years ago one August in 1987 and made me sit at one of the dirtiest canteens that MSRTC operated back then - I'm sure it's got even dirtier now!) The moment he ordered "Missal pav", just HEARING the name of the dish, I made up my mind that I would not like it. I looked around, grime everywhere, seedy looking waiters, weary passengers, a rainy Igatpuri August, slush everywhere and I was all set to tell Aba to go "efff off" when the waiter plonked my dish before me. As I said...... it was love at first sight!! "Spicy" is an English word, so totally unsuited to describe this humble item. It looked like something Count Dracula would have woken up to after years of fasting. Pure blood, pungent as hell, oily (cholestrol? Who cares!) and mind-blowingly delicious as only HOT food can be.
The love affair that started back then has stood the test of time. Since that wet August morning I have sampled countless missal pav plates at nameless corners across Nasik, Igatpuri, Satara, Sangli, Kolhapur, Jalna, Dhulia, Thane and Pune. Lately, Pune... a couple of days back, in fact. Pure joy, sheer magic, spicy, spicy, spicy stuff...
and hence, this mail..... for all that Mumbai (which, before all the topiwallahs went and changed the name, was Bombay) does not appear to be a part of the culinary map of Maharashtra. Even those Oh - So - Typical Maharashtrian joints such as Aaswad, near Sena Bhavan, do not serve that genuine fiery stuff. At best what one gets is a mockery of the original, madrasi mixture soaked in sambhar!! Sheeeeeshhhhh!! How absolutely YUCKY!
So, the next time any of my Thackeray fan friends speak glowingly about Amchi Mumbai, I have this simple, humble request - please add to Mumbai's Maharashtrian aura by setting up an honest to goodness Missal Pav centre!!
Jai Maharashtra (excluding Mumbai, for now!)
Most of my Madrasi colleagues (Madras is the worderfully ambiguous region that comprises 90% of peninsular India, for those of you who are from "India") found it tough, adjusting to the food challenges that life suddenly threw at us. No more home cooked idli - sambhar, or masala dosa for breakfast. And, for lunch and dinner things certainly went even further awkward. Chapati, roti, strange unfamiliar vegetables called "tinda", "shepu", dishes with absolutely unappetizing NAMES - "pitla", for instance, managing to look even more unappetizing than its name!
Thankfully, I had no such problems (barring the fact that, for a brief period, during my OTHERWISE glorious bachelorhood - sigh! - I sacrificed filter coffee for masala chai!) and, by and large, enjoyed my culinary adventures without too much trouble. Which is not to say that I did not have "fun" with my dinner dabbawallah, had more than my fair share. But, not just looking back but even as I was opening my tiffin-box at night I would be laughing at what fate had served up :)
But, truly, this mail is not about "food" in general. I write to celebrate a uniquely Maharashtrian dish, a culinary marvel that, by rights, ought to be legally sold only in the vicinity of fire stations.
Essentially the dish is a bowl of sprouted, boiled lentils, chopped onions, tomatoes served with crisp mixture/farsan soaked in blood red, pungent, spicy gravy. And, of course, pav (unleavened bread) on the side.
For me, it was love at first sight! (A silent "Thank You" to Aba Samant for having dragged me out of my comfort zone in a red, rickety ST bus at Igatpuri all those many years ago one August in 1987 and made me sit at one of the dirtiest canteens that MSRTC operated back then - I'm sure it's got even dirtier now!) The moment he ordered "Missal pav", just HEARING the name of the dish, I made up my mind that I would not like it. I looked around, grime everywhere, seedy looking waiters, weary passengers, a rainy Igatpuri August, slush everywhere and I was all set to tell Aba to go "efff off" when the waiter plonked my dish before me. As I said...... it was love at first sight!! "Spicy" is an English word, so totally unsuited to describe this humble item. It looked like something Count Dracula would have woken up to after years of fasting. Pure blood, pungent as hell, oily (cholestrol? Who cares!) and mind-blowingly delicious as only HOT food can be.
The love affair that started back then has stood the test of time. Since that wet August morning I have sampled countless missal pav plates at nameless corners across Nasik, Igatpuri, Satara, Sangli, Kolhapur, Jalna, Dhulia, Thane and Pune. Lately, Pune... a couple of days back, in fact. Pure joy, sheer magic, spicy, spicy, spicy stuff...
and hence, this mail..... for all that Mumbai (which, before all the topiwallahs went and changed the name, was Bombay) does not appear to be a part of the culinary map of Maharashtra. Even those Oh - So - Typical Maharashtrian joints such as Aaswad, near Sena Bhavan, do not serve that genuine fiery stuff. At best what one gets is a mockery of the original, madrasi mixture soaked in sambhar!! Sheeeeeshhhhh!! How absolutely YUCKY!
So, the next time any of my Thackeray fan friends speak glowingly about Amchi Mumbai, I have this simple, humble request - please add to Mumbai's Maharashtrian aura by setting up an honest to goodness Missal Pav centre!!
Jai Maharashtra (excluding Mumbai, for now!)
Go to Mama Kane at Senapati Bapat Marg, Dadar West. A no frills place, been around for a long time (I am sure it is still there) and you will get good, authentic Maharashtrian food there. Deepak
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