Muttons and Cakes

People make them wrong.

I hope I am not a snob when it comes to many things. Like luxury brands. Or cultural elements. Or occupations. But forgive me for this slight on my character (which is maybe why I haven’t been canonized yet because otherwise I am basically a saint) but I am a snob when it comes to dessert and randomly, mutton curry.

I blame Delhi for this.

In Delhi, I ate a lot of dessert items. They were wonderful. Defence Colony, Greater Kailash and Connaught Place mostly. Now more people who have travelled wider and experienced more than me would have more to say on the culinary arts of baked goods, but for me, Delhi was it. But it was a good it. As far as I know.

I talk here about tiramisu, opera pastries, black forest cakes, cheesecakes and red velvet cakes. 

When I returned home, I found there were a few people in Mizoram who made wonderful cheesecakes that could even compete, on good days, with The Big Chill. Otherwise? People just don’t make my favourite cakes well in Mizoram. Not consistently, at least. Vanilla based cakes they manage quite well and I love some of them, definitely. But with chocolate, something is always missing. It’s too heavy, or too dry, or too sweet, or the moist-ness is wrong, or the cherry is less (with blackforest), or something. It’s always not-quite-right.

There was The Twisted Sisters in Aizawl who made amazing bombolinis. Now that could compete with Dunkin Donuts, no problem, and emerge on top. What a winner! Do they still make it? Or KT Bakery in Lunglei who make heavenly rum balls. I’d happily rake up my calorie intake for those bad boys. 

See this is the thing about calories when you get older. Your metabolism isn’t as good as when you were seventeen. So if you risk fat for something, let it be worth it. There’s no point eating sub-par food and gaining weight and all its accompanying health concerns. The moment on the lips should be worth the forever on the hips. YOLO.

With mutton, I don’t have a lot to say. Good mutton curry should be cooked well and tearing apart with the tenderest touch. It should be seasoned well and not just a masala dump. If it has potatoes in it, the aloo should never overpower it. The general colour should be more a deep red (more soy-sauce-y) than haldi-esque. It should smell clean and subtle, and not heavy and overwhelmingly spice-laden that you can’t even smell the distinct aroma of the meat.

See I’m not snobbish about most food, even fast food, not even with the rubbish chow and momo we sometimes get in Mizoram. Even when the boiled egg is sweating beads because it was just pulled out of a fridge on a hot day. Even when the samosa in the little village is so ginger-and-red-chilli hot that I start sweating. I appreciate people who make food and I usually just eat what I eat and if I don’t like it, quietly not eat. I don’t usually judge food and their makers. So I don’t know why I am this way with cakes and mutton. But it is what it is. I remain very snobbish about mutton and cakes.

And books too, maybe. If your favourite Indian author is Chetan Bhagat, I’m sorry but I judge you.