Food for Thought is inspired by Aarti Punjabi’s Instagram post and our flavorful memories of an evening in Kolkata.
Dusty tree-lined lanes branched out into by-lanes on either side. The September sun was beginning to dim its glare but the mid-day siesta had hand cart pullers, shopkeepers and street dogs still sleeping.
The GPS on our phones got confused about where to lead us next. Our Uber Driver, a local, I’ll have you know, seemed as confused as the GPS regarding our destination. We asked him to slow down as Aarti, Chinmayee, and I peeked out from the respective car windows next to us. We weren’t sure what we, strangers to Kolkata, were hoping to see or find, but we felt the need to be productive.
3 varied lookout points and we still didn’t know if we were going the right way. A few meters ahead the taxi driver stopped the vehicle and told us our stop was ‘somewhere on the right’. We disembarked and followed his instructions only to realize that that wasn’t our destination. It was too late though, as the Uber had sped away. Just as we were discussing dishonest human beings and how many minutes of walking were required to reach Jorasanko Thakur Bari, we realized that a tea break was the need of the moment.
That’s when Aarti piped in saying that she had spotted a hole-in-the-wall place that had samosas frying. She wondered if Chinmayee and I would be curious enough to have a look. We did not allow her to complete the sentence and before she knew it, Aarti was leading us to the snack shop.
As we neared it, we admitted that the peach-hued façade did look questionable but the big wok with Samosas (rechristened ‘Singara’ in Kolkata) bubbling away in the hot oil made us overlook it. The eats on offer didn’t stop at only Singaras though. Plump Gulab Jamuns swimming in sugar syrup, glossy yellow Jalebi’s sitting pretty on a platter, Puri’s puffed up with pride and a Potato Subzi that was a lesson in looks are deceptive, haphazardly dotted the counters of this little shop that hugged a corner of a street.
We ordered the Singara’s, 1 each we were very specific. We whispered to each other that we would try them out first, to see how they would taste. We also justified, to ourselves and each other, that piping hot street food should not play havoc with our stomachs, right?
Along with students, office goers, rickshaw drivers, and hand cart pullers we waited for the Singara’s to turn golden brown and soon enough they were placed, piping hot and nestled in a bowl made of leaves, in our palms. As we waited for them to cool down, I asked the person standing next to me what else was good here, ‘Sab kuch accha hai’ (everything is good) he said between mouthfuls of Puri dunked in the Aloo Subzi. His concentration on his food and his going for a second helping convinced me that I should trust his opinion.
The fact the two gentlemen who very obviously owned and ran the shop were serving the customers personally and having conversations as they did made me believe that some, if not all, of their customers were regulars.
The Singara’s were finally cool enough for us to bite into them. The outer crust was perfectly crisp and flaky and the Potato masala inside was unlike anything I had tasted before, soft and spicy with a touch of tanginess. The Singara had scored high on the taste test and forgetting all our apprehensions about the hazards of street foods, we decided to order the Puri’s. They are ‘Kachori’s’ the bespectacled shop owner smiled as he corrected us. He scooped a generous serving of the Aloo Subzi into a leaf bowl and stuck two Kachoris at the side of it. ‘We don’t want the gravy!’ we protested. ‘It comes with the Kachori’s’, his smile seemed to be a constant accompaniment to his words. ‘Khaa ke toh dekhiye’ (taste it and see) one of the patrons urged us.
Before we could start tasing the Kachori and Aloo Subzi, the other owner, a younger man, ushered us across the road, into a storage area of sorts and arranged for 3 plastic stools, and asked us to sit there. He placed another stool before us and placed our food on it. This thoughtful gesture warmed our hearts, and the heavenly flavors of the Kachori-Subzi made our eyes light up and brought out big smiles on our faces. From across the road, I gestured a thumbs up towards the brothers who owned and ran the shop, and their smiles were an acknowledgment of thanks.
As we were enjoying every bite of this serendipitous meal, I decided that the Gulab Jamun should not be left feeling ignored. I walked across and asked for a single one. The younger brother said he would get it across and before we knew it 3 plump Gulab Jamuns were placed before us. Our protests were weak and before we could complete our sentences he reasoned, ‘How would you know the taste by just one?’ even as he ripped open a brand new pack of tissue papers and handed them out to each of us, placing an additional few next to us.
The warm Gulab Jamuns were soft and spongy, they had absorbed the sugar syrup to their core, flavoring these orbs of delight just right. A fitting end to a meal that we were so glad we chanced upon.
Food is a great icebreaker. I have always believed that how you serve it enhances, or takes away, from the flavor of food.
The Gupta brothers, Krishna Murari and Manoj Kumar, who own and run Koushal Kachori just showed us how true this is. The warmth with which they served us (ek aur kachori lijiyega?’), and the attention to detail in how they arranged for a place for 3 ladies to sit and be comfortable to eat. Their conversations with their patrons. Their shy smiles when we heaped praise on their food, cooking, and hospitality.
The fact that they moved from their home Bhagalpur replanted themselves and bloomed in Kolkata. Feeding people is what runs their home and puts their children through school and college. That they are content doing it, is what is truly admirable.
I would like to believe that Aarti, Chinmayee, and I bonded over this meal. If not for Aarti’s observational skills we would have missed Koushal Kachori. If not for our spirit of adventure we wouldn’t have ventured towards it or eaten there.
This meal just didn’t satiate a hunger for food. This meal satiated my hunger for wholesomeness, experiences in kindness, and the warmth of human connections. This wasn’t just a meal. This was a moment I have frozen in time, to bring out and look at whenever I find myself questioning if there is goodness in the world.
If you are in Kolkata, do visit.
Koushal Kachori
22/1, Madan Chatterjee Lane,
near Central Bank of India,
Raja Katra, Singhi Bagan,
Jorasanko,
Kolkata,
West Bengal – 700007
Ph:+91-9433350062
Timings: Open daily from 7:00 am to 9:30 pm.