When
Food Gets Street Smart
The
variety & diversity of street food & chaat in India make them
irresistible
Every
country has its own street food traditions — usually more delicious than the
food you may find inside its restaurants: the poutine of Canada, pad thai
stalls in Thailand, Vietnamese banh mi sandwiches, the milky coffees of
Australia
and, of course, gelatos and pizzas in Italy. But the diversity of street food in India makes it special. From the kesari lassi and thick kulche-chane in Amritsar to idli-dosa bundis, stalls selling Irani samose and haleem on the older streets of Hyderabad, to the chaat of Agra, Delhi, Lucknow and
Benares, vada pao on the beach in
Mumbai and so on, you can eat cheap and delicious food on the roads in almost any Indian city.
Adding Spice to the Debate
But street food in the north is almost inextricably linked with chaat: spicy, tangy tid bits whose origin can be traced to Mughal times, though it is arguable whether it is old Delhi/Shahjahanabad or the bazaars of Agra that initially spawned the tradition. A healthy rivalry between UP chaat and that of old Delhi continues to exist. This is despite the fact that great, even good, chaat is somewhat a lost art with gol gappe coming in sanitised packaging and aloo tikkis coming dipped in cornflour and topped with everything from cabbage to kachalu (sweet potato), robbing them of their basic made-in-desi ghee flavour.
Any study of Indian street food or chaat must begin with aloo tikkis (spiced potato patties) that have a pan-Indian presence in various avatars — from the batata vadas of western India to bondas in the south and tikki of the north. How did the potato, a much later entrant into the subcontinental kitchen (the Dutch introduced it initially), become so pervasive in our bazaar recipes? Cities like Lucknow, of course, have a substitute —peas. “Matara”, as it is called in Aminabad, is boiled white peas made into patties and griddle fried pretty much like the aloo tikki. Except that juliennes of ginger and lemon must always accompany each pattal (small plates made with saal leaves) of this chaat.
Same, Yet Very Different
It is also interesting to see how the aloo tikki differs from town to town. In old Delhi, one thing that distinguishes it from its UP cousin is the fact that it is stuffed with a little chana dal. The authentic tikki is pan (not deep) fried, leaving it crisp on both sides, then cut from the middle and served with fresh coriander chutney on one side and meethi saunth on the other. This used to be the unvarying ritual in Shahjahanabad.
In Agra, the tikki is quite different. A thicker and crisper patty, it is strangely called a “bhalla” in old markets like the Kinari Bazaar. It’s broken roughly before being served with chutneys and spices. In Bihar, the tikki is served topped with kabuli chana; in Gujarat, the topping may change to sev. In Benares, if you go to the likes of Kashi Chaat House in Goduliya, you’ll find another unique version: potatoes and chickpeas warmed up on the griddle, layered with cool chutneys and yogurt and topped with papri and pakori. It’s a juxtaposition of different textures, flavours and temperatures that modern chefs consciously cultivate in their recipes.
Lentils were perhaps the older basic ingredient for street food till potatoes usurped their numero uno status. Even now, pakoris, vadas, badas, all fried, spiced and often served with yogurt or other chutneys are popular.
Dahi bade, dunked in yogurt and seasoned with roasted cumin seeds and salt, and the fancier dahi gujiyas stuffed with raisins, chronji et al are common to all chaat repertoires. In Delhi, a common snack is the ram laddoo — moong dal pakoris served with grated raddish and a green coriander chutney. But making the perfect pakori is a labour of love. One, the mixture needs to be delicately spiced with just a hint of asafoetida. Two, it needs to be properly mixed for the pakoris to turn out soft and spongy. Kalmi bade, a more elaborate dal-based recipe, are now an elusive snack even in old Delhi — their original habitat. Made with three kinds of dals and double fried, you can find these as add-ons to dahi gujiyas.
What is also disappearing is the distinctiveness of each region’s chaat thanks to the masalas and spices used. Common chaat masalas, bought off the shelves, are used across homes and restaurants today. In the past roasted cumin seeds, freshly powdered and black salt were the main seasoning used in UP. In Delhi, each vendor sold a different-tasting chaat because of his made-at-home, secret recipe for kala chaat masala. Eastern and western India have been partial to sweeter flavours — as is evident in the semolina puchkas and pani puris that are so different
from the pani ke batashe of Lucknow and gol gappe of Delhi.
and, of course, gelatos and pizzas in Italy. But the diversity of street food in India makes it special. From the kesari lassi and thick kulche-chane in Amritsar to idli-dosa bundis, stalls selling Irani samose and haleem on the older streets of Hyderabad, to the chaat of Agra, Delhi, Lucknow and
Benares, vada pao on the beach in
Mumbai and so on, you can eat cheap and delicious food on the roads in almost any Indian city.
Adding Spice to the Debate
But street food in the north is almost inextricably linked with chaat: spicy, tangy tid bits whose origin can be traced to Mughal times, though it is arguable whether it is old Delhi/Shahjahanabad or the bazaars of Agra that initially spawned the tradition. A healthy rivalry between UP chaat and that of old Delhi continues to exist. This is despite the fact that great, even good, chaat is somewhat a lost art with gol gappe coming in sanitised packaging and aloo tikkis coming dipped in cornflour and topped with everything from cabbage to kachalu (sweet potato), robbing them of their basic made-in-desi ghee flavour.
Any study of Indian street food or chaat must begin with aloo tikkis (spiced potato patties) that have a pan-Indian presence in various avatars — from the batata vadas of western India to bondas in the south and tikki of the north. How did the potato, a much later entrant into the subcontinental kitchen (the Dutch introduced it initially), become so pervasive in our bazaar recipes? Cities like Lucknow, of course, have a substitute —peas. “Matara”, as it is called in Aminabad, is boiled white peas made into patties and griddle fried pretty much like the aloo tikki. Except that juliennes of ginger and lemon must always accompany each pattal (small plates made with saal leaves) of this chaat.
Same, Yet Very Different
It is also interesting to see how the aloo tikki differs from town to town. In old Delhi, one thing that distinguishes it from its UP cousin is the fact that it is stuffed with a little chana dal. The authentic tikki is pan (not deep) fried, leaving it crisp on both sides, then cut from the middle and served with fresh coriander chutney on one side and meethi saunth on the other. This used to be the unvarying ritual in Shahjahanabad.
In Agra, the tikki is quite different. A thicker and crisper patty, it is strangely called a “bhalla” in old markets like the Kinari Bazaar. It’s broken roughly before being served with chutneys and spices. In Bihar, the tikki is served topped with kabuli chana; in Gujarat, the topping may change to sev. In Benares, if you go to the likes of Kashi Chaat House in Goduliya, you’ll find another unique version: potatoes and chickpeas warmed up on the griddle, layered with cool chutneys and yogurt and topped with papri and pakori. It’s a juxtaposition of different textures, flavours and temperatures that modern chefs consciously cultivate in their recipes.
Lentils were perhaps the older basic ingredient for street food till potatoes usurped their numero uno status. Even now, pakoris, vadas, badas, all fried, spiced and often served with yogurt or other chutneys are popular.
Dahi bade, dunked in yogurt and seasoned with roasted cumin seeds and salt, and the fancier dahi gujiyas stuffed with raisins, chronji et al are common to all chaat repertoires. In Delhi, a common snack is the ram laddoo — moong dal pakoris served with grated raddish and a green coriander chutney. But making the perfect pakori is a labour of love. One, the mixture needs to be delicately spiced with just a hint of asafoetida. Two, it needs to be properly mixed for the pakoris to turn out soft and spongy. Kalmi bade, a more elaborate dal-based recipe, are now an elusive snack even in old Delhi — their original habitat. Made with three kinds of dals and double fried, you can find these as add-ons to dahi gujiyas.
What is also disappearing is the distinctiveness of each region’s chaat thanks to the masalas and spices used. Common chaat masalas, bought off the shelves, are used across homes and restaurants today. In the past roasted cumin seeds, freshly powdered and black salt were the main seasoning used in UP. In Delhi, each vendor sold a different-tasting chaat because of his made-at-home, secret recipe for kala chaat masala. Eastern and western India have been partial to sweeter flavours — as is evident in the semolina puchkas and pani puris that are so different
from the pani ke batashe of Lucknow and gol gappe of Delhi.
Anoothi
Vishal The writer is a Delhi-based food
writer & curates food festivals
ET130407
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