Amritsar is a melting pot of all things sweet and savoury, but the accent on all things sugary is unholy in this holy city. At every nook and cranny, you will find one guy making that one sweetmeat that sets the bar of excellence. The Ambarsari is of course on a first name basis with the guy, much as he in turn knows the buyer, his progeny and his ancestry.
Treats at your doorstep
These uni-product shops have been a tradition in town. Most of these guys were “Bhais”, (hawkers), who would flog these delectables as headloads, from house to house. One recalls this sweet old sardar in khadi, with an impeccable turban matching his white beard, selling the perfect rasgulla and rasmalai door to door. He would come by once a week to our home and sit by the gate as if beckoned by someone. In case you were not inclined to buy, he would simply insist that he brought this dozen only for you, pack it up before you could decline, and even scatter some pistachio shavings from his coveted waist pouch on to the big round goodies as a freebie.
You just watched and drooled as the performance ended with a genuine smile. Such was the historic art of culinary offering that defines the city’s hospitality to this day. That the merchandise was beyond compare need not be iterated. Friends and relatives right up to the nation’s capital would place their requests. You would drive down the Grand Trunk Road with a car full of goodies. The tradition continues.
As a foodie to the core, the “Ambarsari” is as much a glutton by himself as he is a phenomenal host.
And one remembers the tall and slim, clean-shaven guy with a red headcover matching with the red cotton swath wrapped around a tall copper barrel on the rear carrier of his bicycle. He would ride by ringing his brass bell, softly making his call “Malai Wala” … enough to send us kids scampering to the gate. With precision he would slice thin wafers of this icy cream and jaggery dessert onto a leaf plate, add a flat wooden stick for a spoon. If you had no tuck-shop money that day or were with a running nose and thus least expecting mom to give cash for a chilled treat, he would just smile and serve. He had no qualms on payable-when-able credits.
Most of these “bhais” over the years stopped visiting our homes and set up small shacks in the old walled city or in the by-lanes of the newer civil lines area.
Corner shop delicacies
And this inconspicuous corner shop trade of the city is today a viral phenomenon, without directly accessing mobile telephony or Instagram. It’s the visitor who transports their fame on social media with pictorial evidence of relish.
Sample Gian Chand, for instance, and his “world famous” lassi topped with oodles of malai, which is a googler’s pick. Stand by the roadside, drink up, lick the white whiskers off your lips, then scoop out the real deal with delight. You could dip into your good fortune further and savour peddae di lassi, which, instead of the above two constituents, provides you with multiple layers of joy. That these are cardio challenges is an unkept secret, but options do exist. Take the Giani Tea Stall’s offering for example. Morning walkers and tourists throng this haven for the sweet tea that sets you for the 100-mile journey, whisked perfect with yard-high throws in mid-air.
Similarly, Gurdas Ram of Katra Ahluwalia has a 4.5-star rating on Tripadvisor for his jalebis. Dig deeper and you could also have jalebis dipped in hot creamy milk as well. Competitor Sharma ji is an institution too. Out on a side lane, off Lawrence Road, you line up to order and await the jalebaa, a plate-sized version of the jalebi. Here you could also lunge for the ubiquitous, yet astoundingly more delicious, gulab jamun (GJ). Definitely one to die for.
And of course, the city also has on offer other dimensions to this GJ, such as the kala jaam, a drier yummy avatar, and the Gulabbi’s, marble-sized kiddo versions, that melt into the mouth.
As a foodie to the core, the “Ambarsari” is as much a glutton by himself as he is a phenomenal host. Before you finish the dessert at the end of one meal, he will be unabashed at suggesting the next set of options, much as it is difficult to even think with a belly full. The mood is omnipresent. Just as you settle in to enjoy the winter sun, you hear the jingling of bells. Your host lights up and sends his help for a jug full of cane sugar juice with just that bit of lemon and ginger crushed along to lure the taste buds.
The art of hospitality in this city flows from the enactment of relish that can set any person salivating and yearning. How can one resist the charms of a food lover talking about his first love? You simply get carried away. And upon departure they will almost make the visitor feel guilty unless he packs along tons for folks at home. After all, how can you not carry away the motichoor and besan ke laddoos, the aam papads and chooran golis, the jaggery peanut chiki, the rice murmurrahs and more?
That the city folks are a fair personification of their love for food is all too obvious. Ask the nutritionists or the dieticians who are raking it in by providing succour during bouts of guilt. Especially so when the weighing scale and the seams of fashionable clothing exhibit distress and give proof of the devoured puddings.
Festive fare
There is always a reason for more. Festivals by tradition are defined by specific goodies. The bhuggah that can be devoured only upon Lohri along with the deep-fried khajurs and rayodis, the luchhi and karah during kanjkaan, with dry brown gram to confuse the palate et al. Come Basant and the yellow rice pudding, mithey chawal, with ample dry fruit thrown in, is simply essential.
And so is the ritual of ramping up specific sweetmeats in particular seasons. The gastronomic purrahs, with or without khoya, are made available only during the monsoon. Come winter and you can dig into oodles of halwas – gur da karah, moongi dal da halwa, and of course the rich gajjrella made of carrots cooked in creamy milk and garnished with ample helpings of almonds and dollops of khoya. And let’s not forget that for each of these, the Amritsaris have a favourite joint that cooks it to perfection.
Some of these sweetmeats are still served in their old style. Take the rice dessert phirni for example. There is no way we will eat it unless it is served in an earthenware vessel. Individual servings only. And the GJ just must be hot served in leaf bowls only.
Come summer and you feel inclined to cold treats. Hop into Avon for the best ever kulfaa, the masculine version of the kulfi, but embellished with phirni and rabri for that killer effect. And once in town, obviously you cannot miss the excellent fruit cream from the shop at Lahori Gate inside the walled city. Eat to believe this divine desert steeped in dry fruits and the richest dairy. A sure invite to the tooth fairy!
And have we mentioned in detail the milk cake rechristened palang torh, the makki and Jaggery churhi with handsome helpings of desi ghee, the murabbas and the karah prashaad? That each of these have a time honoured typical rich Ambarsari recipe … well perhaps that can be left for another day. So come hither to the city with the sweet tooth, put on a pound or two, and share the lifetime experiences it has to offer. Fare ye well!
(The writer is an environmentalist, philanthropist and historian who loves all things Ambarsari.)
The art of hospitality in this city flows from the enactment of relish that can set any person salivating and yearning. 
As a foodie to the core, the “Ambarsari” is as much a glutton by himself as he is a phenomenal host.
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