The Lotus Eaters

Possibly,but that doesn’t mean we’re incapable of loving it. It might be the part of me that has a fondness for mutton,but few Indian regional cuisines excite me as much.

Part of the reason was that it used to be so difficult to get. If you were lucky,as I was,you,or your parents,had Kashmiri friends; but it wasn’t the sort of food you generally saw on menus. Except,of course,for the ubiquitous,overstewed,overspiced Punjabi-ised Rogan Josh,Exhibit A for the prosecution in the case that Plainsmen Don’t Understand Kashmir.

In Bombay,for years,there was only KongPoush in Andheri,memorable for its brightly-draped shikaras. They’re shutting,sadly,in a few weeks,and moving to Goa. Delhi is,fortunately,doing better. It always had Chor Bizarre,up near the Stock Exchange,where huge parties of Japanese tourists stare doubtfully at their bowls of rishta,delicately prodding the large red,cockscomb-and-chilli meatball with forks; Moets,in Defence Colony,which has proudly claimed for decades that its chefs are “Trained in the Fine Art of the Wazwan”; and,of course,Kashmir Bhavan and its stall in Dilli Haat. That last is a wonderful,inexpensive and relaxed place to eat in winter,with kahwa in heavy glasses warming you where the weak sunlight cannot. And there is the hole-in-the-wall Ahad Sons in Masjid Moth,where the genial waza Mansoor hands over packages of white-as-milk yakhni to weather-beaten,grey-eyed men on scooters who have come from all over Delhi for a taste of home. (To these has now been added the quite wonderful Kashmiri Kitchen in Malviya Nagar,who deliver from their extensive menu across Delhi — I visit kashmirikitchen.blogspot.com to read that menu,longingly,far too often in the average workday.)

One advantage of this spreading of options is that we get different takes on vegetables,which,too,Kashmiri food does fascinating things with. I am not a fan of spinach,but I make an exception for haak saag,delicious with its spring-onion crunch,its mustardy edge. I love lotus stems,and the Kashmir Valley does an even better job pairing them with the right spices and ingredients than they do in the valley of the Mekong. (Seriously: try Vietnamese shrimp-and-lotus stem salad. It’s a winner.)

And there is eggplant-with-tamarind — choek,or sour,baingan — which has,over time,become my favourite. It’s easy to make: fry some hing,zeera,and a couple of cloves in ghee; turn off the heat,and stir in a spoon of thick tamarind water mixed with some haldi; then turn the heat up slowly,while adding saunf and dry ginger flakes. Finally,add quartered aubergines that you’ve fried lightly beforehand,and cook for about 7 to 10 minutes.

Not all Kashmiri food is quite that easy; grinding meat fine enough to make a decent gushtaba or rishta,widely acknowledged to be the most awesomely textured meatballs in the universe,is fiendishly difficult. But all of it is rewardingly delicious once made. Like many of us,I’m addicted to thick,creamy sauces; what I find enormously difficult to comprehend is why the densely-flavoured,milky gravies of some Kashmiri recipes simultaneously manage to be so light and easy to eat. Consider,for example,aab gosht,not the hideous green chilli-and-chana variety sold here,but the purer version from the Valley. Once you’ve pressure-cooked your mutton with saunf powder,garlic,ginger and salt,mix together some chhoti elaichi and milk,and simmer the milk till its lost a lot of its water — it should be less than half,more than a third. While you’re doing that,add peppercorns and ghee,and — slowly — a tablespoon of fried onions,ideally as a paste. Once you feel the milk has reduced enough,add the meat and the remaining water from the pressure cooker,and bring everything back to a boil. Boil it for five minutes,and then let it simmer for 10.

The secret,I think,is that milk takes to saunf and saffron really well. Anyone who has had flavoured,warm milk on a Delhi street knows this,but in Punjab they use heavy cream and butter and onions in everything. In Kashmir,they’re smart enough to stop just short of that,and the food’s all the more delicious for it.

If you haven’t had Kashmiri food yet,try making some aab gosht. Or order some,and unpack it,and allow the unfamiliar spices to waft around your kitchen. You’ll be hooked. Or,better still,go out and make friends with a Kashmiri,survive the endless quoting of Agha Shahid Ali,and wrangle yourself an invitation to dinner. It’s what I would do.

mihir.sharma@expressindia.com