I remember in U Rinpuii’s house, I’d eat a quarter of my weight in rice, sausage, alu and daal, with some chutney or the other. She taught me how to make sausages in a way I continue to this day. There has never been anyone who’s ever eaten it that didn’t like it. She also taught me how to make bastenga pork and though now I prefer it the Atula Way, that was where I first ate it. Always a cracker dish. Atula learned her way from her dad. And we enjoyed it so much one time we bought three kilos of pork and ate it all in one sitting with rice – her, me and Tenzin. Pigs we were.
Defence Colony where U Rinpuii lived was also where I ate Opera Pastry any time my pocket money allowed me to. Opera Pastry, for the uninitiated, is a six-layered (or seven?) cake that is too delicious to be allowed. That was Defence Bakery. Defence Bakery also had the best and moistest Blackforest cakes with proper cherries. There was also Angels In My Kitchen who had the best rainbow/red-velvet cake in existence. Cakes are funny business. I’ve noticed that people can decorate cake very well but only very few can make really good tasting cake. Maybe it’s the Instagram age we live in where image is more important but honestly, that is BS.
In Mizoram, Sangsangi of Champhai (now Higis Bake, Aizawl) makes amazing cheesecake and vanilla/blueberry cake. U Mary (of KT Bakery, Lunglei) makes divine snowballs and chocolate brownies. Cookie Jar in Aizawl makes incredible rum balls. There was the twisted sisters in Aizawl who made heavenly bombolinis with cream fillings; why did they stop?! Someone promised me “orgasmic” sandwiches in Aizawl; I’m yet to be convinced.
In college, I ate so much momos from Lajpat Nagar’s Central Market. My dose was usually 12 to 16 fat chicken momos for one sitting, usually with chow and fruit beer. I was also a humongous fan of LSR Residence Hall’s peeli daal/kaale chana lunch; I’d fight for that. Keema Samosa from LSR Café too. Ooh. If you’re ever in Jama Masjid, please try chicken biryani the way it’s been prepared since history book days; thank you Kavya for introducing me to it, you beautiful soul. I’m yet to tire of Mc Donald’s Filet-o-fish. In University, I was addicted to Crispy Dry Lamb and chilli potato combo lunch from JNU’s Keichha’s. In these years, I’d frequented the Tibetan Colony Majnu Ka Tila for dinner for which my usual order was: 2 honey garlic ginger lemon teas, 1 plate chilly chicken chowmein, 1 or 2 plates fried gyuma, and 1 bowl of mokthuk/thenthuk optional. I also went to Srinagar one time and ate fire roasted lamb slices wrapped in rumali roti with radish pickles. Heaven will have food like that. I am so sure.
I have never eaten so much in my life as those five years in higher educational institutions. At one point, at a dinner party I was invited to, someone remarked that inviting me and my friends was like inviting a bunch of men for dinner. We never stopped eating, although we snapped at him saying we were mortified. I spent close to 80% of my pocket money on food. The rest on cheap transportation and chor bazar books. Good thing LSR and JNU prided themselves on low budget fashion. I wouldn’t have made it otherwise.
I was never fat during all these. Curves I had none. People always marveled at it. I blame it on the death-defying journeys to all these eateries because Delhi is an amazingly unsafe city. If you ever ride the Tivra Mudrika, for example, you flirt with death quite literally. The bus wants to see people die. I started going everywhere with SAKs. Buy a Victorinox one; it’s the best. I also blame NSO and Aerobics. LSR wouldn’t let you graduate unless you filled in requisite hours for either NSO, NSS or NCC. Mamu and I first chose NSS but the bitch of a woman i/c of NSS never credited us our hours. So we switched to NSO and the only thing we could realistically do was Aerobics. Which was how every single weekday morning at 7, we were at a little gym enclosure, kicking it to the beat of Get Down by the Backstreet Boys, usually. For one entire hour. The weekend after the first full week, our legs did not work. Aerobics is an amazingly full-bodied workout. The muscle overwork and fatigue resulted in magnificent cramps. I fell off my bed, walked like a cowboy after a full week’s horse ride, and descended stairs like a giraffe trying to drink water. I still prefer it to yoga, the fake ass posing drama. I think yoga is fake, except for maybe the cat-cow pose; I think that helps.
These days, I have about maybe 10% of my former appetite. I think maybe I burnt myself out. It might be from years of living alone I just sort of gave up. I still have binging tendencies. At one point, I ate so much Nabati cheese wafers that the wholesaler I bought it from asked me: How do you sell so much? I couldn’t bear to tell her I ate it all myself. I also ate sunflower seeds like the world was running out on them; they’re not good for your poop. At one point recently, I consumed those pre-cooked, vacuum-packed, oily, chilly-flaked, MSG slathered sausages all day whole day. I can’t even look at them right now. I think that’s what happens to me: I overeat.
These days, I just nod and say: ya, I don’t eat much. People don’t usually believe I once was a walking human garbage disposal anyway. I think also that maybe once you get introduced to really good food, Not Entirely Really Good Food just does not cut it. Which is not to say that I refuse food when it is bad. I think it bad manners to not eat something that was served to me. If I finish a dish or not, whether it is food I like or not, I try to consume at least a few bites, just to show respect to the hands that prepared it. That’s just being a half-decent human, IMO; not much, at all.
I’ve been cooking for the whole day today for a nurse’s meeting is why I’m writing this long ass piece. Such depth.
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