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Saturday, January 28, 2012

Vol. 6 No. 4

LOUNGE THE WEEKEND MAGAZINE

NANO GASTRONOMY Goa’s niche restaurants, canapés, cupcakes, the exciting new world of appetizers—small can be big. In this special issue, we celebrate food that comes in little packages >Pages 615

LITTLE PRINCES >Pages 1213

THE GOA GOULASH

The state presents an opportunity and a challenge to the small restaurateur. We met seven who have experimented and tasted success >Pages 68

HISTORY GOING TO PRESS ‘The New Yorker’ editor David Remnick spoke to us at the Jaipur Literature Festival about writing history and biography as reportage >Page 16

Daab Chingri Dynamite by chef Joymalya Banerjee of Bohemian, Kolkata, serves all the flavours of the traditional dish on a teaspoon.

REPLY TO ALL

GAME THEORY

AAKAR PATEL

SACHIN FOR THE BHARAT RATNA?

he Bharat Ratna is an award our leaders give one another. Twenty-three of our 41 Bharat Ratnas are Indian politicians. It isn’t easy to think of Gulzarilal Nanda’s mighty achievements or for that matter Rajiv Gandhi’s. Norman Borlaug, who saved India from starvation, didn’t get the Bharat Ratna. Even so, many deserving people got it. Amartya Sen, J.R.D. Tata, Nelson Mandela, B.R. Ambedkar, Mother Teresa. His fans now want Sachin Tendulkar on this list. Let us examine the case against... >Page 4

THE GOOD LIFE

ROHIT BRIJNATH

AN EMBROIDERY TO SPORT

f all the grand tales of sport, of contests and comebacks, of courage and craft, sometimes the simplest sit longest in memory. In 1961, so goes an ancient tale, the great Spaniard Manuel Santana wins his first Grand Slam title in Paris. He stands there overcome, he stands there tearful. Then his opponent Nicola Pietrangeli—already a Slam winner and appreciating the enormity of this moment—comes across the net and cradles his victor. And he shakes his hand. >Page 5

SHOBA NARAYAN

WHY ART NEEDS A SIMPLER TONGUE

ne of the questions facing all organizers of large events in light of what happened in Jaipur is this: How much of a broad base of support do you need to build for an event that is essentially (or has become) an elitist pursuit? The India Art Fair is in full swing; and Delhi feels like it is at the centre of the universe. This is the trick that geography plays. When you are part of an event, part of its intellectual mindspace, you get drawn into its “reality distortion field”. A few hundred... >Page 5

‘EVEN NOTHING IS SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL’ Alwar Balasubramaniam’s latest solo exhibition is a culmination of several conceptual pursuits in his art practice >Page 18

CLIMATE CHANGE: IS THE INDIAN ECONOMY READY FOR THE CHALLENGE? JOIN OUR EXPERTS AS THEY DECODE THE IMPACT OF CLIMATE CHANGE ON BUSINESS DATE & VENUE Tuesday, 31 January 2012, 6.30pm, Eros Hotel - Managed by Hilton, New Delhi

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Climate change, as increased global temperatures, unpredictable and extreme weather conditions show, is a cause of global concern. This change in turn increases the frequency of natural calamities, affects the availability of raw materials, and impacts the economy adversely. Are businesses equipped to deal with the risks and opportunities presented by climate change? Does the government have a strategy to “climate-proof” the economy? Mint brings together a panel of industry and government leaders to discuss such key challenges. Entry by invitation only. For invites,call at +91 9910015863 or email: conclave@livemint.com

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LOUNGE First published in February 2007 to serve as an unbiased and clear-minded chronicler of the Indian Dream. LOUNGE EDITOR

PRIYA RAMANI DEPUTY EDITORS

SEEMA CHOWDHRY SANJUKTA SHARMA MINT EDITORIAL LEADERSHIP TEAM

R. SUKUMAR (EDITOR)

NIRANJAN RAJADHYAKSHA (EXECUTIVE EDITOR)

SATURDAY, JANUARY 28, 2012 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

MINIATURE BITE

VIR SANGHVI REVIEWS | MEGU, DELHI

hen The Leela Palace opened in Delhi, sceptics wondered how the chain would ever recover the staggering costs it had incurred in building the property—easily India’s most expensive hotel. The Leela’s solution has been to price its rooms higher than other hotels and to open expensive restaurants. I don’t know how well the room-pricing strategy is working but so far at least, the restaurants are doing well. Le Cirque is packed night after night despite astonishingly high prices. And now there is Megu, by a long way the most upmarket Japanese restaurant in India. Both Megu and Le Cirque are Indian outposts of New York chains and the pricing seems to have been planned in dollars. It is clear that millions have been poured into the interiors at Megu. It is a good-looking, glamorous restaurant with five distinct spaces: a stunning main dining area; a more informal room; a sushi counter; a large, private dining room; and open-air seating on the porch and in the lawn. It is, by any standards, the best-looking East Asian restaurant in India. The food is trendier than traditional Japanese cuisine but it seeks to preserve authentic Japanese flavours. I have been there thrice but as I was a guest of somebody else on the first two occasions, I’ll focus on the third when I went for the express purpose of writing this review. We started with the rock shrimp tempura (`875), a dish beloved of Nobu-style restaurants including the Taj’s Wasabi. I thought the frying was spot on and the dish used whole, small, sweet shrimp rather than the chunks of a larger shrimp that is the norm at other restaurants. A dish of crispy calamari (`700) was slightly less successful. There was nothing wrong with the recipe but I suspect the calamari had spent a few seconds longer than they should have in the pan, leaving the squid slightly chewy. A main course of steamed sea bass in a light, ginger and mushroom-infused liquor (`2,000) was terrific, delicate to the bite and full of flavour. Grilled King Salmon, ChanChan style (`2,500), came with a flourish in

or the constantly starving and perennially poor college students of Bangalore in the 1990s, before economic liberalization and the NRI invasion brought changes, the Darshinis provided a blessing on a steel plate. Quick food that satiated those 5pm hunger pangs without having to sacrifice the bus fare. These tiny, standing-only eateries packed in many people and packed them off instantly gratified. Still thriving, if in smaller numbers, they glorify the virtues of the small. Today, prices are still a factor, albeit with a few more zeros added to them, and those students of the 1990s are health-conscious adults. It’s the reason why restaurateurs are increasingly focusing on small plates, as appetites shrink and the well-travelled Indian demands more variety. SPESH In a world of franchises and chains, Goa retains the charm of the mom-and-pop stores and individual restaurants run by passionate foodies in love with the sea and the solitude. They pay attention to detail, to every pinch of salt, to every traveller in shorts and flip-flops, because they don’t deal in numbers. These people too glorify the virtues of the small. In this issue, we make a big deal out of little things—whether they are what you eat in a restaurant or what you can carry in your lunch box or what you can serve at a house party. Because small is beautiful.

food

the presentation. Sumitra, our waitress, cooked the vegetables by the side of our table and then mashed two cubes of salmon into them. The dish came with four other cubes of salmon and while it was delicious, I thought it suffered from the quality of the salmon used (Norwegian, I would guess) which was mushy and tasteless. Our meal for two, with two glasses of wine, came to `8,846, which is not bad by Le Cirque standards. We could have eaten much more expensively, of course. The menu offers Wagyu beef on a hot stone at `6,000 and pan-seared lobster at `3,000. On the other hand, we could have eaten for less as well. A large sushi and sashimi platter, which is enough for two, is `3,750. All things considered, the restaurant is roughly in the same price range as the Taj’s Wasabi or The Metropolitan’s Sakura. Nearly all of the ingredients are flown in so food costs are high. So I am not sure if it is going to make large enough profits to help The Leela recover its massive investment. On the other hand, the restaurant is already full. A friend who called to book a table two days in advance was told that his request would be placed on the waiting list and they would call him if something became available. Like Le Cirque, which turns people away even as they arrive, wads

of cash in their hands, Megu seems set to become the new ‘in place’ for a certain kind of high-spending Delhiite. But I am not complaining. The food is good, the service is professional, knowledgeable and accomplished and the room is so stunning that you always have a sense of glamour and luxury when you eat there. Finally, that may be The Leela Palace’s greatest achievement. It has come into a smugly satisfied hotel dining scene in Delhi, imported glitzy New York restaurants and suddenly changed all the rules in this sector. It has demonstrated that you can sell highquality European food in Delhi even if you charge steep prices because there is now enough money in the market and people are ready to experiment. The early success of Megu seems set to build on the foundations laid by Le Cirque. If the restaurant continues to do this well then it will prove that you can serve Japanese food in Delhi outside of the charmed circle of south Delhi sophisticates (as Wasabi does) or Korean and Japanese expatriates (as Sakura does). For reservations, call 011-39331360. Vir Sanghvi is adviser, HT Media Ltd. Write to lounge@livemint.com

Arun Janardhan Issue editor ON THE COVER: PHOTOGRAPHER: INDRANIL BHOUMIK/MINT CORRECTIONS & CLARIFICATIONS: In “Art house blues”, 21 January, Moti Talkies was once known as Darbar Talkies. Deepak Rao, mentioned in the same story, is a Mumbai police historian. The schoolboy’s diary that he retains was written by Adi Billimoria. In “Without borders”, 21 January, the Pakistani team in the challenge detailed in the latter part of the story was headed by Mohammad Naeem, who had a disagreement with chef Poppy over the dessert and made a snide remark about her. It was also Naeem who told host Aly Khan that the Iranian seafood biryani was being made with fish from the Indian Ocean.

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HAMISH BLAIR/GETTY IMAGES

AAKAR PATEL REPLY TO ALL

Why Sachin shouldn’t get the Bharat Ratna

GETTY IMAGES

Norman Borlaug, who saved India from starvation, didn’t get the Bharat Ratna. Even so, many deserving people got it. Amartya Sen, J.R.D. Tata, Nelson Mandela, B.R. Ambedkar, Mother Teresa. His fans now want Sachin Tendulkar on this list. Let us examine the case against him. It is of course inevitable that he will be given the award. This is because democratic governments tend to bow to popular opinion in such matters. Last month, the government signalled its intent by amending the rules so that Tendulkar could become eligible. The Bharat Ratna is our highest civilian award. Before 16 December, it was reward for “exceptional service towards advancement of Art, Literature and Science, and in recognition of public service of the highest order”. Now, it may be “awarded in recognition of exceptional service/performance of the highest order in any field of human endeavour”. This is poor wording. Deploying the forward slash communicates something pedestrian, not heroic. I am surprised Manmohan Singh let this draft pass, as did P. Chidambaram, under whose ministry the awards fall. “Performance”, the word added specifically to bring in Tendulkar, is not the same as service. The critical words “towards advancement of” have been dropped. Salman Khan performs exceptionally in his field. Does that qualify him to be Bharat Ratna? According to the new rules, it does. In the US, the Congressional Gold Medal is rarely given to athletes. Sportsmen who have been given the award, like Jesse Owens and Joe Louis, tend to have had an additional qualification: heroism. In this case, their braving of racism. The medal is not given merely for popularity. The great Muhammad Ali has not yet won it, and who can say he doesn’t deserve it?

In India, the power to give someone the nation’s highest award rests exclusively with the prime minister. Singh must inform the president (the rules say “recommend” but it’s really an instruction) of the name of the person he thinks is fit. Though he may give out a maximum of three Bharat Ratnas each year, in his seven years as prime minister, Singh has given only one, to Bhimsen Joshi in 2009. This is not unexpected because we can observe in Singh his caution and prudence. The stumbling haste to hand the award to a man still in his playing years is unlike him. To return to Tendulkar, there’s no question that he has performed very well as a batsman. He is unmatched in his longevity, and his stamina in getting runs and centuries. What else? In Test batting averages, he stands 16th in history. Even Jacques Kallis and Kumar Sangakkara are ahead of him there. In One Day International (ODI) batting averages, he’s 14th. As captain of India, he won four Tests and lost nine. As ODI captain, he won 23 and lost 43. Whether this is a record of “exceptional service/performance of the highest order” is questionable. In any case, the Bharat Ratna isn’t a glorified man of the series award. When we give someone the Bharat Ratna, we honour ourselves. We hold up the person as an ideal of true greatness. As a model Indian, Tendulkar may not be the person to hold up in front of your children. He resembles a middle-class opportunist who will take advantage where he can find it. He sought and got exemption from paying import duty on a car gifted to him by Ferrari. Why must his baubles be funded by the state? After the high court said such exemptions couldn’t be made, he asked Ferrari to pay the duty. He later sold the Ferrari to a man in Surat, pocketing `1.5 crore,

PACO JUNQUERA/COVER/GETTY IMAGES

It’s just not cricket: (from top) Sachin Tendulkar with teammates after last year’s World Cup; Nelson Mandela and Mother Teresa, recipients of the Bharat Ratna.

according to The Telegraph. This sense of entitlement may be seen elsewhere. While building his house in Bandra, Mumbai, on an 8,998 sq. ft plot, he said he had forgotten to include a gym. Rather than convert one of the many rooms, Tendulkar asked the government to make an exemption and let him build further on the property. Though the government explained that the rules couldn’t be

changed for one person, Tendulkar’s supporters, like Raj Thackeray, are insisting that this be done for the great man. And perhaps it will be. On 15 April 1999, just before the World Cup, his car hit a Maruti 800 in Bandra. Tendulkar got Thackeray to telephone Mid Day, the paper I joined the following year. He warned them against carrying the story. This was surprising because nobody had been seriously hurt in the accident. Thackeray told the paper running the story would damage “national interest”. What was this national interest? Mohammad Azharuddin was about to be sacked, Thackeray explained, and Tendulkar was likely to become captain again. Such stories could spoil his chances. Except The Indian Express, no newspaper ran the story. In July, Azhar was sacked and Tendulkar was named captain. Will Singh consider such things, some of them already in the public record? Perhaps not. As we have seen, it isn’t as if awards haven’t been given away for much less. Atal Bihari Vajpayee gave the Padma Bhushan to a man for fixing his knees, Dr Chittaranjan Ranawat. It isn’t also as if we take our awards seriously. The

general sloppiness of Indians in such matters extends to our Armed Forces. In 1999, the army awarded its highest honour, the Param Vir Chakra, posthumously to 19-year-old Yogendra Yadav. Then it turned out that Havildar Yadav was not dead but in hospital recovering from the bullet wounds the award had been given for. What are such casually announced honours worth? It’s difficult to say. Many think that Tendulkar is fit to be honoured. I think so too. On his 30th birthday, the tabloid newspaper I edited devoted the whole issue, every page, to Tendulkar and his career. This was appropriate honour for a popular hero, and I’m pleased whenever he makes reference to it. On my walls is a signed photo of him batting during his superb 1998 phase in Sharjah. When I was stepping down as editor, I was presented one of his bats on which is written a personal note. I am an admirer of his batting and it isn’t about that. In 2010, the Indian Air Force made Tendulkar a group captain, the only sportsman ever to hold this rank. Tendulkar is already Padma Vibhushan, the second highest honour the Republic of India can give. Kumar Gandharva took apart the gharana system, transformed the culture of Hindustani music and was also given the Padma Vibhushan. Tendulkar hit cricket balls. Many cricket balls, and very far. But Bharat Ratna? It’s not about an honour for Tendulkar, it’s about this honour for him. Last year, Tendulkar declined to accept an honorary doctorate from a university saying it wasn’t appropriate. This was proper, and the right thing to do. Not giving it to him will raise the value of the Bharat Ratna. We can tell ourselves: “Even Sachin Tendulkar wasn’t good enough for it.” Aakar Patel’s book on India will be published by Random House later this year. Send your feedback to replytoall@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Aakar’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/aakarpatel

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SATURDAY, JANUARY 28, 2012 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

ROHIT BRIJNATH GAME THEORY

The handshake is an embroidery to sport

SARAH IVEY/AP

f all the grand tales of sport, of contests and comebacks, of courage and craft, sometimes the simplest sit longest in memory. In 1961, so goes an ancient tale, the great Spaniard Manuel Santana wins

his first Grand Slam title in Paris. He stands there overcome, he stands there tearful. Then his opponent Nicola Pietrangeli—already a Slam winner and appreciating the enormity of this moment—comes across the net and cradles his victor. And he shakes his hand. I like the simplicity of the sporting handshake. Even if it is limp, warm, fleeting, clasping. I like its cousins, the arm on shoulder, pat on chest, word in ear. I like that when I ask Tony Roche, the 1966 French Open champion, about the importance of the handshake he is almost bewildered by the question. Then he says: “It’s part of the game. It’s the done thing. You just thank your opponent for the battle.” I like the fact that the handshake is hard. To stand there as a beaten man, to stand before another victorious man who has stepped on your dream, bounced you with a cricket ball and perhaps called you an asshole, and still proffer a hand. When my exceedingly polite tennis partner beats me, I can occasionally feel a sulking reluctance, but I do it. I shake his hand. It demands something greater from me. It is worthy. I remember the handshake. I remember the stories of Adolf Hitler ignoring Jesse Owens in 1936, though later a journalist claimed a handshake occurred out of view. I remember

Englishman Andrew Flintoff after the 2005 Ashes. When an over-exuberant celebration, the norm for our times, was put on hold as he went to the disconsolate Australian Brett Lee, still squatting on the pitch, knelt down and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. I am thinking of the handshake because of Tomas Berdych. Because at the Australian Open, he won’t shake Nicolas Almagro’s hand at the finish. Because Almagro hits a passing shot not to the right of Berdych, or left, or above him, but straight at him. It isn’t pretty, some will say it is a tactic, some that it is a breach of etiquette itself. Almagro repeatedly says sorry, but Berdych is unforgiving only to be unforgiven by the crowd which boos him out of the stadium. His childish sin for them is greater than Almagro’s. For them it devalues him, the encounter, the essence of sport. Which presumably is contest amidst respect. Etiquette is like embroidery to sport, a lacing of courtesy amidst the insane emotion. A certain civility amid flying boots, an unwritten, often unspoken code that is presumed to bind athletes, to make it seem their sweaty enterprise is not absent of nobility. A code which humanizes them in beastly conflict. We see it here and there. The batsman will not take advantage when a run-out throw hits his bat and ricochets

Breaking the code: Tomas Berdych (right). (of course, Michael Clarke did just that in Adelaide), the fielder will not run out the batsman when he wanders out to pat the pitch. The tennis player will hold up a hand in apology after winning a net-cord point, as if to acknowledge his luck, as if to signify “I wanted to win the point but not quite in that way”. The golfer will not walk in the putting line of his partner. The rugby player, in a game of mesmeric violence, will stand in a line, ear bleeding, eye stitched, and greet his rival. But this small gesture, if admirable for one spectator, can be worth a yawn

to the next. For him the handshake hardly reflects sportsmanship, for him the defeated man is only an actor producing a performance. For him it is false, it’s disingenuous really to fake this gritted smile and greet the triumphant other. For him this perfection we expect from the athlete, to be warrior after one whistle and gentleman after the final one, is absurd. To which I say, all that talk—and athletes will go on about it too—about character in sport, all that chatter about respect for opponent, and fair play, and spirit, well, let’s see it then. No doubt, unwritten codes become complicated. Teams will use the code selectively— for instance, grandstanding about taking the fielder’s word—and soon enough ascending the moral high ground becomes its own little silly sport. Teams will not even view it as a code. When the Orlando Magic once defeated his Cleveland Cavaliers in the Eastern Conference finals, LeBron James refused to shake hands. As he said later: “It’s something that is not done in the NBA (National Basketball Association).” There is a sense sometimes that etiquette is an archaic code in an anarchic time. Sport is so relentlessly cut-throat, so childishly tribal in its fandom where we cannot see beyond our teams, so replete with chicanery, that etiquette is in fact outdated. Who cares? But we should care. Must care. We should let Berdych know he was silly

and small. We should remember that this particularly is the time when sport needs to clutch on to its fading manners. Too much has been lost already. Cricket series inevitably are sold on war analogies. Athletes feel the constant need to be provocative. One-upmanship between football managers is de rigueur and crowds across Europe continue to heckle black players (a racial epithet from a rival is one of the few instances the no-handshake is understandable). Etiquette cannot be hoped for, it must be fiercely advocated. Sport absent of acknowledgement of the opponent is empty. Sport, eluded by respect, becomes commonplace, its virtues diminished. It’s why instead of Berdych in my memory, I prefer Ascoli versus Reggina, in Italy’s Serie B, in 2009. Football etiquette demands that when a player is injured, the ball is usually hoofed out. Except when an injured Reggina defender was trying to kick the ball out, it was intercepted by Ascoli, who then scored. Protests and pushing followed. Good sense then prevailed. Ascoli realized their error and when play resumed, they stood aside and allowed the Reggina players to score. There is no word if they shook hands later, but I’d like to think they did. Just a reminder that this is in fact sport. Nothing else, nothing more. Rohit Brijnath is a senior correspondent with The Straits Times, Singapore. Write to Rohit at gametheory@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Rohit’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/rohitbrijnath

SHOBA NARAYAN THE GOOD LIFE

Why art needs to speak a simpler tongue

become) an elitist pursuit? The India Art Fair is in full swing; and Delhi feels like it is at the centre of the universe. This is the trick that geography plays. When you are part of an event, part of its intellectual mindspace, you get drawn into its “reality distortion field”. A few hundred kilometres away, the same event becomes a forgotten footnote to the daily hazards of traffic jams, water shortage and what the chief minister did. Politicians deal with these parallel realities every day, and perhaps this is why they are able to dismiss the censorship issues swirling around Salman Rushdie so easily. Blaming the Rajasthan government for cancelling the video link at the Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) is to ignore the pragmatism of politics; or for that matter, event management. The greatest good for the greatest number, as utilitarian philosopher Jeremy Bentham might have it. Not all the time, but at least till the show closes. Moral rectitude takes spine—Judge John Woolsey’s ruling in the United States v. One Book Called Ulysses is an oft-quoted example—but is easier done from a judge’s bench. At the art fair, people still talk about M.F. Husain and how his works were

banned from the 2009 India Art Summit, as it was called then. At that time, the organizers issued a statement: “While we acknowledge the lifelong achievements and the iconic status of artists like M.F. Husain in Indian art,” it read, “we are unable to put the entire collective concern at risk by showcasing artists who have, in the past, been received with hostility by certain sections of the society unless we receive protection from the government and the Delhi police.” Was that the right thing to do? As an art lover, it is easy for me to say, “Absolutely not”. But had I been part of the organizing team that worked all year to put up the fair, only to find it under threat at the last minute, I am not sure I would have done anything different. The “solution”, I guess, is to build up a diverse constituency of support for such events. This, arguably, is not part of the job description of an event organizer, but here in India, with its stark inequalities and divisive opinions, it cannot be escaped. Artists and authors are society’s conscience keepers. They must speak their mind and follow their contrarian impulses. But as art and literary festivals move from the homogenous cultures

(Art|Basel or the Hay Festival) to countries with heterogeneous populations with about as many opinions, they have to decide if they want to follow Immanuel Kant’s absolutism or Bentham’s utilitarianism. Neha Kirpal, the founder of the art fair, at least for now, seems to have gone with Bentham. It is important to her to have a variety of art lovers visit the festival, she says. “We have people coming on private planes and others who take two-day train rides to Delhi to see art. The ticket price (`200) is less than the cost of a movie ticket.” The strategy has worked. Last year, 128,000 people visited the art fair, much higher than the region’s juggernaut—the Hong Kong International Art Fair (ArtHK), which drew 63,000 people in 2011. The ArtHK people, incidentally, have taken a 51% stake in the India Art Fair and are themselves part-owned by

Art|Basel. Contemporary art, at the end of the day, is a small community. Commercially, it makes sense to keep it so. You want affluent collectors to visit your booths, not the art student from Bihar who took a two-day trip to Delhi. Artist Subodh Gupta undertook such a journey a few decades ago. What Kirpal and JLF co-director Namita Gokhale have accomplished is bold and path-breaking. To create a business or event that is bigger than you, and will likely outlast you, is the dream of any artist or entrepreneur. These women have accomplished both, and their success will likely spawn other dreamers. The India Art Fair is stunning. If you are a lover of contemporary Indian art, you must visit this playground of desire. Where else can you stand before an original S.H. Raza or discover upcoming artists that you love? I discovered several, and next week, I PRADEEP GAUR/MINT

plan to write about them. Kirpal told me that she spends a lot of her time lobbying for the art fair and increasing community involvement. That seems to be the way to go. Art is an elitist pursuit, but here in India, it must be inclusive as well—for pragmatic reasons. This evening, three artists—Jitish Kallat, Navin Thomas and L.N. Tallur— will duke it out for the `10 lakh Škoda Prize. “Tallur comes from a strong sculpture tradition with an interesting take on traditional motifs,” says Pooja Sood, one of the jury members. “Navin’s focus is on research and cutting-edge sound and technology. Jitish’s is an interventionist, with an intellectual interpretation of space.” I respect Sood, but “interventionist”? What’s that? This is the kind of talk one hears at the art fair. Building a broader base of support for contemporary art, literature and music in India is hugely important, particularly if small fanatic factions can derail landmark events. It involves reaching out to larger swathes of our population and educating the general public about contemporary art and literature. Most important—and I say this as a logophile, and yes, the irony of using this obscure word in this sentence is not lost on me—it involves speaking a simpler tongue. Shoba Narayan highly recommends a visit to the India Art Fair. Disclosure: She was a guest of the art fair. Write to her at thegoodlife@livemint.com

Eclectic: The art fair affords visitors the opportunity to stand before an original Raza as well as discover emerging artists.

www.livemint.com Read Shoba’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/shobanarayan

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food

SATURDAY, JANUARY 28, 2012 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

SPESH

RESTAURANTS

THE GOA

GOULASH THE STATE PRESENTS AN OPPORTUNITY AND A CHALLENGE TO THE SMALL RESTAURATEUR. WE MET SEVEN WHO HAVE EXPERIMENTED AND TASTED SUCCESS

B Y A RUN J ANARDHAN arun.j@livemint.com

···························· o cater to the wide range of tourists it gets—charters from England, spenders from Russia, revellers from other parts of India—almost every corner of Goa offers easy dining options. Fish curry-rice finds a place on the same menu as beef lasagna as restaurants mirror one another, even down to the Kingfisher tablecloths and paper napkins. But food remains an intrinsic part of what attracts tourists to Goa, besides the beach, shacks, parties and cheaper booze. Over the years, new restaurants have come and gone in a season (roughly NovemberApril), unable to find a place for

themselves in an intensely competitive market. Few have survived. There have also been places that are the product of passion, a love for food and a desire to live Goa. These places are run by and belong to people from all over the world, who have a story to tell and sometimes, a secret for their success. Here we have seven restaurateurs—individuals or couples, foreigners, an overseas citizen of India, an Indian raised abroad, people from other parts of the country settled in Goa, and a Goan. They offer different cuisines, cater to all kinds of clientele, always mingle with guests and know what it takes to make it work. They are the small restaurateurs of Goa who mix good food with warm hospitality. PHOTOGRAPHS

A view to kill for Mariketty Grana feels a spiritual connection to India, which she illustrates with two stories. She was eight years old, visiting her sister in England, when she bumped into this “stunning, green-eyed Sikh man” on the street. She had had no “Indian experience” till then but the man left such an impression that she ran home to announce she would one day go to India. Several years later, she was once again in a hurry, this time to avoid getting wet in rainy Corfu, the Greek island she grew up in. Her eight-year-old son Spiro suddenly pulled away and picked up a small stone idol of the Hindu god Ganesha, an unexpected discovery in a purely Christian village. Mariketty, as she likes to be referred to, was at that time in the midst of a critical decision, on whether she should move to India or not. Her answer, it would seem, came from the gods. That was roughly a decade ago. “It was like some sort of power.

RAKESH MUNDYE/MINT

Sunset point: (clockwise from above) Thalassa at Vagator; Mariketty Grana; and the restaurant’s Greek salad.

When I came here first, I could not leave, the love and passion I found here was amazing,” says Mariketty who spends about six months every year in Goa. Mariketty runs one of Goa’s most picturesque restaurants, Thalassa, an open-air eatery on a hill that overlooks the ocean at Vagator. The tables at the edge are booked way in advance, a

vantage point for those swayed by the beauty of the setting sun. The cuisine, Greek, offers a rare change from touristy fish-and-chips. The place swarms with predominantly Indian tourists, many of them repeat visitors, as Mariketty flits from one table to the other to ensure her clients are served well. Her staff is possibly among

the best in Goa, young, enthusiastic men and women, wearing stylish glares and bustling with charm. “I remember on our first visit to India some 20 years ago, we met someone on the plane to Mumbai carrying a Lonely Planet and today, I am in the Lonely Planet, credited with ‘ridiculously good food’.

Everything is so strange. Sometimes I pinch myself to make sure if it’s really happening,” she says, resting her ankle, swollen from hours of standing and walking. Having visited India, particularly Goa, many times, Mariketty chose to spend a longer time here after her son started going to school and she

could not continue the nomadic visits. She started by selling kebabs, wraps and grills at the weekly markets of north Goa, a skill she learnt from her family, almost all of whom are in the restaurant business in Greece. The popularity of her weekly fare led to the idea of a restaurant and to a rocky plot of land, which she and partner Ivan Pinto converted into Thalassa three seasons ago. “It’s not easy to run a restaurant,” she says. “People can put furniture worth crores and they won’t know how to heat a pan. If someone can’t cook here, I can take over. I can do everything and I have no fear because I love my place. I am serving you food from my home,” she says, and rushes off to politely remind a visitor from Delhi, incessantly asking for saunf (fennel seeds), that the restaurant is Greek.

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Gourmet fare: (clockwise from left) Vaishaali Sood; a private party at Fusion, Majorda; Aakritee and Viren dra Sinh; and A Rev erie is described by its owners as ‘going to a Zen retreat in a space colony’.

Escape from the city The impression A Reverie makes is instant—in its scale, size, location and ambience. A tall bar supported by huge pillars sets up the scene as soon as one enters, overlooking a sea of tables or fancy sofas. There is an unusual sense of space in the restaurant that can seat a hundred people. It’s not the place to trundle into with sandy feet and wet shorts. It was set up by Virendra and Aakritee Sinh, who gave up jobs with the Taj group (he was in Mumbai, she was in Delhi and then Goa) in 1997 to “live the beach life”. They met here, got married here before Aakritee became the “rasoia (chef)”. She loved to cook; Virendra was trying to get away from the city rat race. Virendra started A Reverie in

2001 at another location. It ran for five years before an “unscrupulous landlord did not like someone profiting from his property”, so the couple decided to get their own place to escape the rent trap. They have been operating from their current location near Calangute beach since 2006. T h e f o o d i s i n ternational —home-made chicken liver pâté coexisting with a vegetarian Thai thali and a slow-roasted cured duck leg confit among others. It’s also one of Goa’s most expensive stand-alone restaurants. “Today, where gastronomy is gone, it does not mean you forget your culinary heritage,” says Aakritee, as they wind down after business late on a Friday night. “The basic technique remains the same but food has to evolve. It is

a part of my endless pursuit of learning. I do hope to be a gleaming apex of the culinary world one day. ” “We are here because of her passion for food and my love for Goa,” adds Virendra. Across the state, about an

hour’s drive away, Vaishaali and Lokesh Sood form a perfect team to run a restaurant in Goa—she is a Le Cordon Bleu trained chef and he has a real estate business. On the road to Majorda beach in south Goa, Fusion does not get the passing tourist traffic

because this is not the haunt of the backpacker. It’s both Fusion’s advantage and its biggest challenge. Vaishaali keeps alive—and adds her touch—to a concept started by Brazilian chef Jose Augusto Souza, who opened Fusion seven years ago and sold to the Soods two years ago. Their Continental food includes Beef na Pedra, slices of beef that come on a hot plate for the customer to barbecue on the table as they want to, besides pastas and grills. Vaishaali already had a catering business in Delhi before

the couple decided to move lock, stock and cutlery to Goa. Opening a restaurant there seemed more feasible. The clientele is mostly foreign, as few Indian tourists come to these parts and the locals are not easily converted. “They see us and say she is a Dilliwali, they have a mindset against people from Delhi,” says Lokesh. Yet, Vaishaali adds: “We have run away from the city, I can’t see myself going back. We have a nice life, our daughter goes to a good college. We work six months, six months we don’t.”

French connection Dayini Feraud speaks easily of detachment, calls herself an “Aurovillian” because she does not feel French despite her parentage and yet is “too white” to be considered an Indian. “I never lived in France and my education was in English. I am a bit Indian in my way of thinking, but I have foreign parents,” says Feraud, who has overseas citizenship of India (OCI). Feraud runs a café with husband Leo Michaud in Arpora, identified by one small sign on a main road. The tiny path that leads to a residential settlement is easy to miss but once identified, Baba Au Rhum demands a revisit. It has informal blue walls, potted plants, orange-coloured ceiling fans, a thatched roof, wooden tables and backless benches, a sign that reads “Terrasse” and a soft board with flyers of the latest yoga group. The café sells salads, sandwiches, baguettes, croissants and everything that’s French. It came about when the couple, with their then newborn daughter, decided to settle in Goa as a compromise between Europe and Auroville. French-German Michaud’s family in Europe was involved in baking, so that seemed to be a natural choice.

Bon appétit: (above) Dayini Feraud runs Baba Au Rhum with husband Leo Michaud; and the café. Six years later, the couple says, every day is still a challenge. On the day she spoke to Lounge, Feraud was having trouble with her Mumbai supplier, on other days it’s the power or the oven that’s not working, or “some material

that’s fallen apart”. They say their first mistake was to apply for a licence as a bakery, instead of a restaurant, because the former comes under the category of an industry. “So they ask me how many tonnes I make every day,” remembers

Michaud, sitting cross-legged in shorts and a T-shirt, his hair a tangled mess from too many bike rides. “I say look at me, man, do I look like someone who deals in tonnes? So he asks again and I say I make 30kg. So it’s not a bakery in that sense but

by then it was too late.” “People only know of this place through word-of-mouth,” says Feraud. “We are not good business people. The beginning was hard because we are off the beaten track. Some people sometimes looked for a year

before they found us and those who did, always came back.” “It’s a family enterprise. I am the boss but they run the show,” she says of her long-term loyal local staff. TURN TO PAGE L8u

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Back on track: Christopher Saleem Agha Bee says Sublime (left) is meant for people with all kinds of budgets. u FROM PAGE L7

The survivor Christopher Saleem Agha Bee’s stint in Goa has been as busy as his name is. He has seen it all—success, fear, jealousy and violence—as an “outsider” trying to get a bite of the inclusive share of the tourist pie. In its ninth season, his restaurant Sublime in Saligao is considered one of Goa’s best, a reputation it has carried with it since the beginning despite having had to change many

venues. Its latest avatar is in the front garden of a bungalow in a residential stretch away from the humming beach belt. A beautifully designed bar faces the set of a dozen dining tables strewn with rose petals, some tables under a thatched central enclosure, and the rest shadowed by coconut trees. His famous mustard fillet of fish, which now appears occasionally on the menu as a special, is one of several attractions that brings regulars to Sublime, irrespective of where it may be located.

Bee came to Goa a decade ago as a 24-year-old to work as head chef in a hotel belonging to a former girlfriend’s parents. Having worked in a restaurant in Santa Barbara, California, US, he knew food, but not what it entails to be a head chef. There was little scope for experimentation and Bee left to start his own restaurant in Calangute, with savings of `35,000 and five tables. In 2003, its second year, Sublime ran into landlord issues, but Bee had also been swept off his feet by an English couple “who

tempted me with a stage to perform on and I went like a fool into this partnership at Baga river for a year”. A year later, unpaid and feeling exploited, he got a lucky break at Anjuna, where he first tasted big success. He had three years of “absolute fantasy” before running into problems in the third year—he was attacked and assaulted by neighbouring restaurateurs unable to handle his success. “I didn’t want to do my business anywhere if I am not welcome. It’s hard enough as it is,

Burmese brand

The holeinthewall It’s located on one of north Goa’s busiest streets in Calangute and yet, if you’re a first-timer, it can take a few trips up and down the road to spot it. Lloyd’s is a garage, converted with four tables into a restaurant that’s equally popular with locals and tourists lucky enough to find it. Lloyd Braganza, its owner, also makes the best steaks and grills, pure meat with little of the decorative sauce and assortments, in a casual, informal set-up that allows for conversation with the chef while he is barbecuing. Braganza, 36, says he never trained to be a chef; he just followed his hobby and made it a career. His mother makes the Goan food at his new restaurant, called the House of Lloyd’s, in Candolim. The House of Lloyd’s, Braganza’s home doubling up as a restaurant at night, opened this season. It’s as big as Lloyd’s is small; indeed, just the bar in the house is larger than the garage. Braganza, who started 16 years ago, worked at a restaurant, Chopsticks, for eight years before

Grills and more: (left) Lloyd Braganza; and the House of Lloyd’s, which is many times larger than his first place, Lloyd’s. “too much partying” did him in. When it shut down in 2001, he worked as a waiter for a year before a friend offered him his garage. The garage’s success led to the House of Lloyd’s, which can accommodate up to 250 people. “I don’t cater only to foreigners; most of my clients are local people because also I am open all year,” says Braganza. He has strong opinions about “outsiders” doing business in Goa, saying they should just “chill on the beach” instead. He visits Lloyd’s, the hole-in-the-wall that made him famous, after he is done with work at the House, for Lloyd’s is an after-hours place that entices late-night party hoppers with a roadside grill. “I cannot rely on anyone else,” he insists. “Another person may not take as much interest in your restaurant. I always have to be there, by the barbecue.”

Bawmra Jap is an accidental chef. He moved from Myanmar to England to study computing or “something glamorous”, but realized he was not good at it. Egged on by friends who believed he should get into catering, he responded to an advertisement for a South-East Asian chef, impressed his employer by cooking for him at home and got the job. A month later, he was sacked. Unable to cope with the demand for quick turnover in a professional kitchen, he could not keep down a job till his wife Maryam Shahmanesh moved to Goa on an HIV-related project in 2003. Faced with the prospect of living here for four years, unable to find employment in any of the restaurants, Jap got a lucky break in his landlord, who wanted to discontinue his Chinese restaurant in Candolim. Jap took over seven seasons ago and named the South Asian restaurant after himself, Bomra’s. Though referred to as a Burmese restaurant because of his origins, Bomra’s has South Asian cuisine with some Burmese dishes thrown in. It won the NDTV Good Times

Luck matters: (above) Bawmra Jap; and an early evening at Bomra’s.

if you (are) not getting support from people around,” he says. “I didn’t want to open anything, to be honest, because this is such a ridiculous story here; every time you want to do something, you get shot down.” But he stayed on as the Saligao deal worked out. He decided to take another shot at Sublime, away from confrontational tourist hubs. Bee’s parents separated when he was 6; he moved to the US with his mother, and later to Germany when she remarried. But his connections to India remained, award last year for the best Asian restaurant in India and the Time Out food award for the best restaurant in Goa. Jap says: “I am not interested in all of that. All the publicity is good but I don’t want to annoy the big boys. I want to be modest, low-key and cook good food.” He says the secret of running a successful restaurant is luck. “There is no secret recipe. For people like us, small business chefs, a lot of the time it is hard work. Good food is always an asset, but a lot of time, it’s luck. This is a tough business. People go down despite good food and good experience

through his father, the late actor Jalal Agha, with whom he discovered the country on every visit. Even when he moved back to the US, studying catering after accidentally discovering that he was pretty good in the kitchen, Bee knew he had to give India, and Goa, a shot. “You can really be who you are here,” he says. “I don’t think I can come to work any other place like I am—with make-up, cut-off shirt and army shorts. I can be who I want to be and people don’t judge me for that.” because you are at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He has also been lucky with his landlord, who takes care of most of the administrative issues that trouble foreigners most. Open only during season for dinner, Bomra’s serves the khao suey only on Wednesdays. “I don’t like khao suey,” says Jap, laughing. “I keep it for my regulars because the only connection in India with Burma is khao suey. It’s messy, it takes space in the kitchen and shop floor, it becomes more work and we don’t make as much money as we would with a la carte.”

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CUPCAKES

Chocolate and lemon

CUPPA

The Deli’s signature Chocolate and Lemon cupcakes come with a swirl of cream cheese frosting decorated with pretty sugar baubles. Also in strawberry, passion fruit, raspberry, vanilla and red velvet flavours. They also have heart-shaped minis for Valentine’s Day. `85, plus taxes, for minis, large ones are for `190, plus taxes. No minimum order, but large orders need a day’s notice. To order, call Indigo Deli, Palladium mall, Mumbai, at 43666666, or Indigo Deli, Colaba, Mumbai, at 66551010.

HEAVEN CARROT, MINT, CHOCOLATE, VANILLA—THE BEST CUPCAKES ARE AN ECLECTIC MIX OF FLAVOURS. WE PICKED THE BEST OF THESE SMALL WONDERS PRIYANKA PARASHAR/MINT

Carrot cupcake Arshi Dhupia’s carrot cupcake has grated carrot in the batter, a distinctive flavour of cinnamon and Philadelphia cream cheese icing with a marzipan carrot. `1,000 for a dozen; available at Cravings, 100, Golf Links, New Delhi. To order, call 9811296858.

Classic vanilla mini These vanilla butter mini cupcakes by Reethika Singh with vanilla crème filling topped with Madagascar vanilla crème come with a variety of optional toppers that are made from rolled fondant. `35 each for mini cupcakes and `30-45 each for toppers, the minimum order is two dozen; available at Cupcakeree, Cooke Town, Bangalore. For details, visit their Facebook page or call 9902521272.

Red velvet The vibrant red velvet with cream cheese frosting is a best-seller along with the Belgian chocolate with ganache frosting. The cupcakes only come in the mini size. Other flavours available are Oreo cookie, vanilla milk chocolate, pistachio, coffee walnut and raspberry. `45 each; available at Le 15 Patisserie, Worli, Mumbai; large orders need a day’s notice. To order, call 9820487727.

Peanut butter cupcake Anna and David Hambly do a vanilla cupcake with a chocolate truffle centre and peanut butter cream icing. `720 for a dozen; available at Red Moon Bakery, W-41, Okhla Industrial Area, Phase 2, New Delhi. To order, visit Redmoonbakery.com or call 40534797.

Tea, anyone? The perfect accompaniment for your afternoon tea, this cupcake is made of caramel-flavoured sponge with chopped walnuts, covered with vanilla Swiss buttercream and topped with a fondant teapot, cup and saucer. Ipshita Chakladar also makes these with a variety of fillings such as blueberry, raspberry, orange and Ferrero Rocher. `1,500 a dozen; available at Ipshita’s Cakes Mamma Bakes, New Delhi. To order, call 9811550292 or visit www.ipshitas.com

Komal Sharma, Pavitra Jayaraman and Gayatri Jayaraman contributed to this story. komal.sharma@livemint.com

PRIYANKA PARASHAR/MINT

freezer. I leave it to you to decide how lucky that’s going to be.

PIECE OF CAKE PAMELA TIMMS

CHOCOLATE ÉCLAIRS

CHUFFED WITH

CHOUX PASTRY I

always assumed it would be impossible to replicate chocolate éclairs at home and even if you could—well, imagine being able to conjure up éclairs whenever you felt like it—that way lies ruin. But having promised you a pro-chocolate drive, I decided to have a go. Selfless, I know. I started by consulting Raymond Blanc, a French chef, and Delia Smith, an English cook and television presenter, hoping that somewhere between the two extremes there would be a middle way to choux perfection. In the end, I had to make five batches and call on chef and author Rachel Allen and Larousse Gastronomique before I had anything approaching an éclair. The first, Delia-inspired batch was just downright flat and soggy inside and out, Allen’s and Blanc’s were like a pile of crazy paving, with deep cracks all over the surface but still soggy inside. It wasn’t until I consulted the Gallic aloofness of Larousse and pastry chef friend Susan Jung (yes, she of the amazing curry puffs) that things started to look up.

Larousse specifies more water and eggs than other recipes, but it was the one that worked best for me so my recipe is loosely based on theirs. Susan pointed out that choux is unlike other types of pastry, in that it is made from a wet flour and water paste which has to be lightened with egg to make the pastry puff up in the oven. The most important stage, she advises, is the adding of eggs to the mixture—the paste has to

be gently cooked first to dry out slightly to enable as much egg as possible to be incorporated. Part of the problem, as always, had to do with the vagaries of my oven, which I suspect is a problem for many aspiring bakers in India, so I’m giving precise instructions for times and temperatures. As I say, fifth-time lucky. My son and I managed to eat about 20 each and stash away 40 in the

Makes about 20 finger-length éclairs Ingredients For the choux pastry 125ml water 35g butter, cut into cubes 1 tsp caster sugar 65g flour (maida) 2 eggs, well beaten For the filling Whipped double cream For the icing 180g icing sugar 2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder 2-3 tbsp boiling water Method To make éclair shapes, you will need a piping bag fitted with a 1cm plain nozzle. If you don’t PRIYANKA PARASHAR/MINT

Fingerlicking: A perfect batch of homemade éclairs needs a bit of practice and lots of patience.

have a piping bag, make little choux buns instead and use a tablespoon to pile the pastry on to the baking sheet. Grease a large baking sheet and preheat the oven to 220 degrees Celsius. Put the water, sugar and butter into a large pan. Heat gently until the butter melts, then bring to a boil. Immediately take the pan off the heat to stop the water evaporating. Quickly pour the flour into the liquid and mix well with a wooden spoon. Put the pan back on low heat and cook the paste for a minute or so until the mixture comes away from the sides of the pan. Take the pan off the heat and let it cool for a minute. Add a small amount of egg and beat until completely incorporated in the mixture. Continue to add and mix small amounts of egg, beating well each time until the mixture is soft and glossy. Don’t let the mixture become too runny—you may not need all the egg. Spoon the paste into a piping bag (or use a tablespoon) and pipe 4cm strips, widely spaced (they will puff up in the oven) on to the greased baking sheet. Place the baking sheet into the oven for 10 minutes. I use an

electric stand-alone oven that has top and bottom heating elements. For the first 10 minutes, I baked the éclairs with both elements on. Then I reduced the temperature to 200 degrees Celsius for 5 minutes with both elements on. To finish, I switched off the top element for a further 5 minutes at 200 degrees Celsius to make sure the insides were cooked but the tops didn’t burn. Take the by now beautifully puffed up and golden éclairs out of the oven and immediately split them down one side to let out the steam and leave to cool on a baking rack. Make the icing by sifting together the icing sugar and cocoa powder, then adding enough boiling water to make a not-too-runny paste. When the éclairs are cool, fill the centres with the whipped cream and either pipe or carefully spoon the icing on top. Neaten the icing by dipping a metal knife into a cup of boiling water and using it to smoothen the surface. Pamela Timms is a Delhi-based journalist and food writer. She blogs at Eatanddust.com Write to Pamela at pieceofcake@livemint.com

www.livemint.com For a video on how to bake éclairs, visit www.livemint.com/eclairs.htm Read Pamela’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/pieceofcake

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APPETIZERS

LESS OF

MORE ARE APPETITES SHRINKING OR IS CAMARADERIE INCREASING AMONG DINERS? EITHER WAY, IT PAYS TO EAT MORE OF EVERYTHING AND LESS OF EACH

B Y A RUN J ANARDHAN arun.j@livemint.com

································ hen The Table opened in Mumbai in January last year, in a space neighbouring Indigo Delicatessen and Café Moshe’s near the Gateway of India, the expectation was mixed. Would it bring much-needed respite in the south of the city, which had limited options, and would it have anything new to offer? A year down the line, it remains one of the most popular eating destinations in this part, its relatively small space packed during weekends with people who are happy to revisit. It is not just the food that has brought repeat visitors—it is also the format that draws attention. The Table designed its menu to offer small and large plates, a seemingly synonymous interpretation of the appetizer-entrée formula, but there was a little more to it than that. Over the last many months, this interpretation of portions has taken on a new meaning, with some restau-

Versatile: Steamed Rawas from The Table.

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ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

rateurs calling it a global trend and others considering it just another offering in different packaging. But what remains true—and most restaurateurs agree—is that small food is getting more attention for a variety of reasons. It’s helping groups of people share food, it’s becoming a more attractive accompaniment to alcohol than salted peanuts, it’s giving hope to the health-conscious, it’s helping diners experiment and get more “bang for their buck”. In its most recent café at the Palladium mall, Phoenix Mills, in central Mumbai, Café Moshe’s has included a section called small plates. At the popular watering hole, Dome, on the terrace of the InterContinental Marine Drive, a soonto-be-introduced revised menu will have new appetizers. The restaurant Chulha, at Grand Hyatt Goa, which opened last year, serves food only in small portions, a breakaway for Indian restaurants. “Everyone is taking appetizers to a different level,” says Irfan Pabaney, corporate chef at the Oriental restau-

rant Hakkasan, Mumbai. “There’s more thought being given to it. Ten years ago, the main course was all people talked about.”

Sharing is caring The idea of doing small plates at The Table, says executive chef Alex Sanchez, was based on how it would be consumed—by sharing. This concept of dining was inspired by San Francisco though, Sanchez admits, the American city itself does not have a distinctive cuisine. But The Table wanted to make the experience more casual, in some sense communal, and keep the service approachable. “The point is,” says Sanchez, “when you are going out, you are often doing it for the social aspect, to go out with people. I find the more social way to eat is to share.” Sharing is not new to Indian cuisine or to Indians, who dine differently from several of their Western counterparts. A dal makhani always comes in one large bowl for everyone on the table to share, as opposed to a roast chicken. “We wanted to initially do it (the restaurant) as a street food concept,” says Glenn Peat, executive assistant manager at Grand Hyatt Goa, “but changed it to this style (small portions) because we want people to try multiple things.” At The Table, for instance, diners have been known to order a few small plates, share them and be done with the meal without bothering to go through the formality of the rest of the courses. The same often happens at Neel, the Indian restaurant at Tote on the Turf in Mahalaxmi, Mumbai, with their kebabs. “The concept of different courses, etc., is a fiction that has been created here,” says Rahul Akerkar, managing director and director cuisine of deGustibus Hospitality Pvt. Ltd, which owns Neel, the Indigo restaurant in Colaba and the two branches

ing than the lingering meal. What small plates do is give you a variety of choices in small doses—much like everything in our lives. It’s the tapas concept, more evolved.” For several restaurants staggering under Mumbai rents and, therefore, forced to operate out of cramped spaces, small plates help keep the turnover quick. The Table, for example, was designed so that the first orders are sent out of the kitchen in 5-7 minutes, making the wait for the larger plate seem less long. The client is happy to get food on the table without waiting too long, while Sanchez and his team have the space to work on their larger plates. of Indigo Deli, all in Mumbai. “It’s a Western model applied to Indian cuisine and Indians, which does not necessarily work.” Small plates, even if considered different from appetizers, have existed in almost every cuisine. The Chinese dim sum, the Spanish tapas, the Greek mezes, the Indian kebabs have all been designed to be shared. What The Table and others have done—and several others will continue to do—is innovate. Subhash Sinha, the executive chef at the Pune Marriott Hotel and Convention Centre, which has the Indian restaurant Paasha, says that beyond the feasibility of sharing, small plates also give the diner an option to try more of what’s available. He recollects a trip last year to Shanghai—with its Chinese fare quite different from the Indian variety of the Oriental cuisine— where he was keen to discover as many flavours as possible. “Wherever you are, beyond the places you see, what’s most important is food,” says Sinha. “You have small stuff, it satiates your hunger, plus allows you to experiment.” The quest for more variety in smaller portions, says Akerkar, is also a reflection of our times, when we are bombarded with little packages of information which we have less time to assimilate, linger on and, therefore, digest. “To do the traditional format of dining, a three-course meal, a long leisurely bottle of wine… people don’t have the time,” says Akerkar. “There is something to be said about faster (not fast-food) din-

Experiments in motion Where small plates would differ from the traditional appetizers is in variety and presentation. A plate of dim sums would have just that, as also a plate of kebabs, unless they come in a platter in different combinations. “If I do something with arugula and balsamic, you would enjoy it. If I give you just 20 leaves, it would leave you with a bitter taste in the mouth,” says Sinha. “Sometimes it is more challenging to plate a small one visually,” says Sanchez, who was declared best chef at the first Time Out (India) Food Awards 2011. “If I have a component on one side with something on the other side, people are sharing, is one person taking a bite of one and the other of the other? I have to make sure all the components of each dish are compartmentalized so that when one takes a scoop, they have everything in it to complete the dish. “If I have a beet salad with goat cheese, orange and mint, if they take a bite, are they going to have mint because that’s a key taste of what I intend the dish to be? Form over function is the name of the game here,” says Sanchez. Chefs take great pride in the way they present food, a visual treat that might often escape the consumer. That bread pudding which came to your table with streaks of chocolate and what looks like marmalade, is the product of hours of experimentation in the

“

If I have a beet salad with goat cheese, orange and mint, if they take a bite, are they going to have mint because that’s a key taste of what I intend the dish to be? FORM OVER FUNCTION IS THE NAME OF THE GAME HERE.

”

kitchen. In a small plate, when multiple forks are likely to dig in for a share of the pie, the chef does not have to squirm at the possible destruction of his practised creation. For instance, Pabaney is particular about the pandan prawns served with crispies at Hakkasan to make sure they look the same, and elegant, each time. “This way, the client does not massacre my presentation,” agrees Paul Kinny, laughing. Kinny, the executive chef at Mumbai’s InterContinental Marine Drive, who has finished working on a revised menu for Dome, calls this small-portion concept a global trend, which he is also following. There is also the challenge of flavouring the small plate in such a way that it does not deter the diner from ordering more of the same or attempting the larger plates. Sanchez says the flavours have to be exciting to make an immediate impact, but not too assertive. Moshe Shek, founder of the restaurant chain named after him, keeps it light, without cream, cheese or butter, while Sinha would prefer starters with a mild flavour so “your taste buds don’t get blocked”. The portions would also have to be just right—not to kill the appetite, just satiate the initial pangs of hunger. It shouldn’t be so small that the price offends people, and not so big that it is completely impossible for one person to eat more should they decide to do so. “I feel more creative freedom with small plates because it does not need this balance of protein, sauce, carbohydrates and vegetables. In the small plate, you are not cornered into any one way,” says Sanchez.

Less, but all the time The all-day dining concept is a consequence of demand that goes beyond the noon-3pm hours. Shek calls them

Size matters: (clockwise from above) Murg Malai Tikka from Chulha; chef Alex Sanchez of The Table; Soft Scrambled Eggs With Black Truffle Served In Egg Shells from The Table; and Tamatar and Sengada Chaat from Chulha. the 11am or 4pm visitor who is peckish but not looking for a full meal. “It’s happening more often that meetings are over brunch or coffee instead of lunch or dinner. What options does one have if they don’t want a sandwich?” he asks, explaining why his Colaba restaurant started small plates three years ago. The small plate has also become a substitute for bar snacks, a more versatile option to the standard salty or spicy peanuts that are supposed to encourage more drinking. “What happens with smaller plates is you get more variety with your drink,” says Farrokh Khambata, proprietor of catering company Catering & Allied, Mumbai restaurant Joss, Amadeus, which opened last year, and the Cafe at the NCPA that opened on Monday. “With better food, you can drink, drink, drink.” It’s another symbol of the times, says Pabaney, in that eating out is not easy on the wallet, and even if the younger lot now has more spending power than about a decade ago, the more frequent diners, especially at high-end outlets like Hakkasan and Indigo, are older. He says the people who frequent his restaurant, in the average age group of 45, also have smaller appetites. “We eat much less than we did when we were in our 20s,” says 45-year-old Pabaney. “This bunch is also more discerning, welltravelled and, therefore, happy eating more varieties in smaller quantities.” “I have always had this philosophy,” says Khambata. “You are only as good as your appetizer.” Sanchez has the last word, and simple reasoning: “Small plates are just sexier.”

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APPETIZERS

LESS OF

MORE ARE APPETITES SHRINKING OR IS CAMARADERIE INCREASING AMONG DINERS? EITHER WAY, IT PAYS TO EAT MORE OF EVERYTHING AND LESS OF EACH

B Y A RUN J ANARDHAN arun.j@livemint.com

Versatile: Steamed Rawas from The Table.

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ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

rant Hakkasan, Mumbai. “There’s more thought being given to it. Ten years ago, the main course was all people talked about.”

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Less, but all the time The all-day dining concept is a consequence of demand that goes beyond the noon-3pm hours. Shek calls them

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CANAPÉS

GOAT CHEESE ROUNDELS WITH CARROT PURÉE

LITTLE

Makes 8-10 pieces Ingredients For the goat cheese roundels 10g pears 50g goat cheese 10g raisins (soaked in water) 10ml cream Freshly ground pepper and salt to taste For the carrot purée 30g carrot 5g cumin seeds For the vinaigrette 20g cooking juice from carrots 10ml olive oil 20g carrot purée 10ml vinegar 10g mustard paste Pepper and salt to taste Method To make the goat cheese roundels, cut the pears into small cubes and mix with the goat cheese. Fold in the cream. Add the soaked raisins. Season and shape into roundels, arrange on a greased tray and refrigerate. To make the carrot purée, cook the carrots in salted water with cumin seeds. Drain and blend the carrots, setting aside a little cooking juice for the vinaigrette. Strain and set aside. To make the vinaigrette, mix together the cooking juice from carrots, oil, carrot purée, vinegar, mustard paste, salt and pepper. To serve, coat soup spoons with the vinaigrette and place the goat cheese roundels on them. Garnish with roasted cumin seeds. —Recipe courtesy Rohit Sangwan, executive sous chef, Taj Lands End, Mumbai.

PRINCES THE KATEWILLIAM WEDDING FEAST GAVE CANAPÉS STAR BILLING. CHEFS AT HOME SHARE THEIR TAKE ON THESE COCKTAIL SNACKS B Y A MRITA R OY, P AVITRA J AYARAMAN V ISESHIKA S HARMA ····································· &

CHUKUNDAR KA NAZAKAT

PARMESAN TOKRI CHAAT Makes 25 bite-sized baskets Ingredients 100g Parmesan, grated 50g cooked moth dal (or boiled mung dal) 10ml oil 5g chaat masala 2g red chilli powder 5g green coriander, chopped 30ml saunth chutney 20ml coriander chutney 30ml sweet curd Salt to taste 1 pomegranate Method To make Parmesan tokri, heat a non-stick pan on low flame. Sprinkle 10-15g grated Parmesan cheese in a circle. Let the cheese melt and take on a golden brown colour at the corners. Take about a table-

SMOKED SALMON ON BEETROOT BLINI Makes 12 Ingredients 2 tbsp buckwheat flour 3 tbsp all-purpose flour 1 tsp sugar V tsp each of baking soda and salt N cup whole milk 1 large egg, separated

spoon and while still hot, mould it on the back of another spoon to form a small cup. Repeat till all the cheese is used up. Keep aside. Blanch the moth dal. Heat oil in a pan and sauté the moth. Add red chilli powder, salt and chaat masala. Cool the mixture. To serve, take the moth mixture and add some saunth chutney, chaat masala, fresh coriander and coriander chutney. Spoon the mixture into the Parmesan tokris. Drizzle first sweet curd, then saunth chutney and coriander chutney. Garnish with a coriander sprig and pomegranate pearls. —Recipe courtesy Manish Mehrotra, executive chef, Indian Accent, Delhi. 3 tbsp unsalted butter, melted and cooled 1 tbsp beetroot, roasted and puréed 6 slices smoked salmon (50-60g each) 12 caperberries K tsp sea salt Method To make blini, mix the dry ingredients in a bowl. Add milk, egg yolk and whisk until smooth. In another bowl, beat the egg white until it holds soft peaks. Fold into the batter along with 2 tbsp melted butter and beetroot purée. Brush a skillet with butter, heat over medium flame. Drop one level teaspoon of batter per pancake on the skillet and cook until bubbles appear on the surface and the undersides are golden. Flip and cook for a minute more. Brush with melted butter and transfer to a plate. To serve, cut smoked salmon into the desired shape, place on the blini and garnish with caperberries. —Recipe courtesy Karan Suri, senior sous chef, The Leela Palace, New Delhi.

Makes 10 pieces Ingredients 300g beetroot, boiled 5g carom seeds Salt to taste 30ml olive oil 15g hung curd 30g Ricotta cheese 40g spinach, blanched and chopped 50g passion fruit pulp 50g flaxseed sprouts 5g chaat masala

Method Cut the boiled beetroot into thin round slices. Shred half the sliced beetroot into thin juliennes. Toss it with olive oil and carom seeds in a hot pan. Cool the mixture. Then mix the tossed beetroot with spinach, Ricotta, hung curd and chaat masala. Season the mixture with salt. Fold the sliced beetroot roundles in a cone and stuff with the beetroot-spinach mixture. Garnish the filled cones with flaxseed sprouts. Serve the dish accompanied with passion fruit pulp and olive oil emulsion in a dropper. For the passion fruit and olive oil emulsion: Mix passion fruit pulp and olive oil well with a whisk. Season with salt. —Recipe courtesy Ashwani Kumar Rangta, junior sous chef, ITC Gardenia, Bangalore.

GOAT CHEESE WITH MINT POMEGRANATE ON CRISP BREAD CIRCLES

TOFU AND MUSHROOM CANAPÉ

Makes about 12 Ingredients 6 large bread slices Butter for toasting bread K cup goat cheese K cup pomegranate N cup mint, finely chopped 2 tbsp olive oil Salt and cayenne pepper to taste Method Preheat the oven to 180 degrees Celsius. Cut each slice of bread into 2-inch diameter circles. You will get about 12 circles. Lightly butter each circle on one side and toast in the preheated oven for 3-5 minutes until crisp and golden. Allow the bread to cool. In a small bowl, combine

Serves 1 Ingredients 80g tofu, diced small 50g black mushrooms, chopped 10g plum sauce 5g oyster sauce 3g ginger paste 2g garlic paste 10ml soy sauce 1 boiled egg Method Marinate the tofu and mushrooms with plum sauce, oyster sauce, ginger and garlic paste and soy sauce. Cook for 2-3 minutes in a wok and toss-fry. Let it cool. Halve the boiled egg and arrange the prepared mixture over it. Serve chilled. —Recipe courtesy Anuruddh Khanna, executive chef, The Park, Delhi.

pomegranate, mint, olive oil, salt and pepper. Spread a spoon of goat cheese on top of the toasted bread, spoon the pomegranate mixture on top and serve. —Recipe courtesy Archana Doshi, who blogs at Archana’s Kitchen.

TAMARIND TOFU IN CRISPY CUPS Makes 8 Ingredients 80g tofu 2 spring-roll sheets 50g onion 10g ginger 30g fresh red chillies 30g salted peanuts 10g lemon grass 10g mint leaves 75ml tamarind sauce Method Cut tofu into small cubes and deep-fry. Keep aside. Cut out eight circles from the springroll sheet. Heat oil in a wok. Put the circles in one at a time and press them down with a round stick (or a rolling pin) to form a cup. Fry till crisp. Drain on paper. Allow to cool. Finely chop ginger and lemon grass. Cut red chillies into roundels and deseed. Finely dice the onion. Mix together. To serve, put the ginger, lemon grass, red chilli and onion mixture in the cups. Add fried tofu. Top with tamarind sauce and garnish with mint leaves. —Recipe courtesy Rahul Hajarnavis, executive brand chef, Shiro.

DAAB CHINGRI DYNAMITES Makes 10 Ingredients 200g shrimps 30g green chilli paste 20g mustard paste 100g daab malai (the flesh inside a green coconut) 40g daab malai paste 50ml coconut milk Salt and sugar to taste 3 green chillies 4 fresh red chillies 25ml mustard oil 10 teaspoons to serve on Method Cut the daab malai into 2x1-inch pieces and chill in ice water. Deseed and shred the green chil-

lies finely and chill in ice water. Clean and dice the shrimps. Heat oil in a non-stick pan, sauté the shrimps with the rest of the ingredients, except the daab malai pieces and green chillies. To assemble, take a piece of malai, dab with an absorbent cloth and place it on a spoon. Take a spoonful of the shrimp mixture and place it on the malai. Garnish with shredded green chillies. Repeat with the rest of the spoons and serve. —Recipe courtesy Joymalya Banerjee, chef and owner, Bohemian and Chef Joy’s Deli, Kolkata.

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DHUNGAR SALMON

SALAMI AND GHERKIN ON BAGUETTE

Makes 6 pieces Ingredients 200g fresh salmon 5-6 cloves 15ml clarified butter 20g flying fish roe tobiko Salt to taste Parsley to garnish Method Marinate the salmon with salt and press it nicely with a heavy vessel so that it gets an even shape. Take the salmon in a deep, broad pan. Now, take burning charcoal in a bowl and place it next to the salmon in the pan. Pour in melted clarified butter along with five-six pieces of cloves on the red charcoal. Immediately cover the pan with a foil or a lid. Keep the pan covered for 20 minutes for the smoky clove flavour to be infused in the salmon. Now, slice the smoked salmon into pieces 1cm thick. Roll the sliced salmon into small pinwheels (30g each) and garnish with flying fish roe and a sprig of parsley. —Recipe courtesy Ashwani Kumar Rangta.

Makes 1 Ingredients 4g Calabrese spianata (a spicy pork salami) 10g baguette 1g Pommery mustard 1g butter 10g gherkins 2g red oak lettuce Method Cut the baguette and slightly toast it, apply the mixture of Pommery and butter on top of the bread, put the lettuce, Calabrese spianata and sliced gherkins on top. —Recipe courtesy Soumya Goswami, executive chef, The Oberoi, Delhi.

GARLIC CROSTINI WITH PINEAPPLE MARMALADE AND PINK PEPPERCORN Makes 24 pieces Ingredients 1 baguette 100g garlic butter 100g Brie cheese 1 pineapple, diced 150g sugar 2-3 rosemary sprigs 5g pink peppercorns 150ml balsamic vinegar Method Cut the baguette at an angle into finger-thick slices, apply garlic butter and toast. In a saucepan, cook pineapple with half the sugar over moderate heat for 30 minutes till thick and syrupy. Add a rosemary sprig, remove from

fire, cover and cool this marmalade at room temperature. Reduce balsamic vinegar and the remaining sugar on a low fire till slightly thick and syrupy. It should take 10-12 minutes. Cut Brie into small wedges. Assemble the sliced baguette on a platter, arrange Brie wedges on them and top with dollops of marmalade. Sprinkle crushed peppercorns and drizzle balsamic reduction over the platter. Garnish with rosemary sprigs. —Recipe courtesy Jaydeep Mukherjee, executive chef, Indigo Deli and Indigo Café, Mumbai.

SMOKED SALMON ON FLAKY BREAD Makes 1 Ingredients 3 puff pastry rectangles 5g Philadelphia cheese 2 caperberries 1g tobiko 12g smoked salmon 2g dill Salt and pepper to season Method Cream the cheese, add seasoning and dill. Apply on the pastry rectangles. Alternately layer salmon and pastry. Garnish with tobiko, caperberry and dill. —Recipe courtesy Soumya Goswami.

ASIAN DUCK CANAPÉ

BUTTER CHICKEN IN KASURI METHI TARTS Makes 15-20 tartlets Ingredients 200g cooked chicken tikka 50ml makhni gravy 15g ginger, chopped 10g green chillies, chopped 10ml cream 10g butter 100g refined flour 5g kasuri methi (dried fenugreek) 2g salt 1g fine sugar 40g desi ghee 100g chickpea (or any pulse) to blind bake Method Chop the chicken tikkas into small cubes. Heat butter in a pan and sauté ginger and green chillies. Add makhni gravy, cream, kasuri methi and cook

till well blended. Adjust seasoning and consistency and add the chicken tikka. Toss and keep aside. For the tarts, mix salt, sugar and flour and rub in ghee. Add crushed kasuri methi. Add just enough water to hold the dough together and rest it for 15-20 minutes. Roll the dough into an even thin sheet and cut out tarts using a cutter. Place the cutouts in individual tart moulds. Fill the moulds with chickpea to avoid the tarts rising while baking. Bake at 150-160 degrees Celsius for 12-15 minutes. Remove from oven, cool and demould the tarts. To serve, fill hot butter chicken mixture into the tarts and serve garnished with cream. —Recipe courtesy Manish Mehrotra.

Serves 2 Ingredients 160g duck breast 3g five-spice powder Salt and pepper to taste 10g hoisin sauce 10ml soy sauce 2 slices brown bread 50g iceberg lettuce 10g spring onion 5g celery 20g mayonnaise Method Marinate the duck breast with fivespice powder, salt, pepper, hoisin and soy sauce. Grill the duck breast and leave to cool when it is done. Shred the duck breast, mix with spring onion, celery and mayonnaise to make a salad. Toast the bread. Cut it and the lettuce into bite-sized pieces. Arrange lettuce on the bread and top with salad. Garnish with spring onion. Serve cold. —Recipe courtesy Anuruddh Khanna.

CHITTAGONG CHICKEN CANAPÉ Makes 10 Ingredients 200g boneless chicken 60g onions, chopped 40g garlic, chopped 25g coriander seeds 25g red chilli paste Salt to taste 50g mustard oil 10 papri 60g cheese, grated 15g garlic paste

A few coriander sprigs Method Mince the chicken roughly by hand, rub with the garlic paste, chilli paste and keep aside for 15 minutes. Dry-roast the coriander seeds in a pan and roughly crush with a rolling pin. Heat oil in a pan, lightly sauté the chopped garlic and onion. Add the chicken and the rest of the ingredients except the cheese

and papri. Cook till the chicken is cooked and dry. Remove from fire and cool. When cooled, divide the mixture into 10 equal portions and place one portion on each papri. Grate a little cheese over each canapé. Melt the cheese lightly with a blow torch (or put the canapés in the oven for about a minute) and garnish with a sprig of coriander. —Recipe courtesy Joymalya Banerjee.

QUAIL’S EGG PIMENTADE Makes 10 Ingredients 120g each of red, green and yellow bell peppers 20ml olive oil 10 quail eggs 2g chilli pepper 5g freshly ground black pepper 5g chervil Salt to taste Method Wash the bell peppers and dice

QUAIL EGGS WITH CELERY SALT Makes 12 Ingredients 12 quail eggs 1 tbsp vinegar 1 tsp sea salt N cup celery, cleaned and finely chopped) 4 slices of wholewheat bread (sliced thin and toasted) 1 tsp caviar 1 tsp fresh sprouts (pea or mustard) Method Place the quail eggs in a small saucepan; add enough cold water to cover by 1 inch. Add 1 tbsp vinegar and bring to boil. Remove the pan from heat; cover and let it stand for 5 minutes. Add ice cubes to the pan; let it stand for 15 minutes. Gently tap the top and bottom

finely. Sauté in olive oil for a few minutes; they should still be slightly crunchy. Season with salt and pepper. Add the chopped chilli pepper and set aside. Fry or poach the quail eggs or slice a boiled egg. Arrange the pimentade in soup spoons, top with a cooked quail’s egg and decorate with a sprig of chervil. —Recipe courtesy Rohit Sangwan.

ends of each egg on the work surface to loosen the shell. Starting at the bottom (rounded) end of an egg, carefully remove the shell, pinching and squeezing the egg between the fingers. With a sharp knife, slice the eggs in half and keep aside. Mix together the celery and sea salt overnight to get a good flavour. Cut the toasted bread in the desired shape and top with a sliced quail egg. Garnish with sprouts and caviar, sprinkle celery on each canapé and serve. —Recipe courtesy Karan Suri. amrita.r@livemint.com PHOTOGRAPHS

ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR, ANIRUDDHA CHOWDHURY, INDRANIL BHOUMIK AND PRADEEP GAUR/MINT

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LUNCH BOX

THINKING

B Y G AYATRI J AYARAMAN gayatri.j@livemint.com

OUT OF THE BOX

COMPLICATED MEALS JUST DON’T COME TOGETHER EARLY IN THE MORNING. THEN HOW DOES ONE PACK AN EXCITING, BALANCED LUNCH? HERE ARE SOME SIMPLE RECIPES

THE WELLBEHAVED BAGUETTE Serves 1 Ingredients 1 baguette, thick crust, fluffy inside K cup Philadelphia cream cheese N cup black olives, finely chopped 3 tbsp celery, finely chopped 1 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped 1 tsp thyme leaves K garlic clove, finely chopped 2 tbsp onion, finely chopped K cup tuna (in oil) from a tin A few drops of green Tabasco (optional) A pinch of salt, if needed Method Cut the baguette in half and hollow each half out carefully, using a fork to ruffle and release the centre (don’t go too close to the crust from the inside). It may take a couple of tries to get it right so even if you do “break through”, it’s all right. Take a large bowl and mix everything until it is an even, colourful mix. Taste for salt. You can adjust the amount of cream cheese. Now using a parfait spoon, and carefully pack the salad into each hollowed out baguette. Wrap in cling film. Tip: If you’re packing a baguette sandwich as lunch, take two strips of butter paper that are approximately two-thirds the width of the sandwich. Wrap one strip around the bottom of the sandwich, make a “sweetie” twist and fasten with a snip of cellotape. Repeat as a “cap” over the exposed half. When it’s time to eat, just pull off the top. —Recipe courtesy Genesia Alves, Love Lunch.

···························· ou are out of ideas early in the morning, and you don’t want to open a box of messy, drippy or worse, smelly, food in office. Sometimes, as Mumbai-based food writer and consultant Rushina Munshaw Ghildiyal points out, the same old home food, no matter how good, just won’t do in a work situation. For instance, before you put the pasta in the tiffin box, Ghildiyal says, make sure to toss in some olive oil. Think whether the chutney will discolour, will the leaves wilt, will the salt make the tomatoes leak their juice all over the bread? Attuning yourself to a whole new way of thinking can transform your humble dabba. Mumbai-based Roshni Bajaj Sanghvi, a graduate from the French Culinary Institute, New York, and food writer, lists the most common tiffin-box mistakes: trying to pack upma, warm and fluffy at home during breakfast, which turns into a sodden clump by lunchtime, or pouring your dressing over the

vegetables before packing, which makes the strongest carrots wilt; or trying to pack fried food, which again turns soggy. And don’t even think about instant noodles. There are many benefits to making a tiffin-box exciting, say food writers and chefs, but the most important is that the better your dabba is, the less you will want to eat out or skip meals. “Think for the occasion when packing a lunch,” says Genesia Alves, co-founder, Love Lunch, a gourmet tiffin service which caters to a lot of Mumbai’s lunchtime hungry. Different is not necessarily boring. “We lived in Scotland while my husband went to university there and I invented this way of making a sandwich ‘behave’ on the bicycle ride uphill to Stirling,” she explains about the baguette recipe she recommends. She points to a variety of ingredients: Bring out the baguette, the tuna, chutneys, spreads and wrap covers. “Stuff the baguette with almost anything, including a forked-up salade niçoise or Greek salad or leftover roast lamb and hummus or chicken puréed with pesto sauce: Only,

GARLICKY SPINACH PASTA

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ABHIJIT BHATLEKAR/MINT

Serves 3-4 Ingredients 1kg spinach, blanched, squeezed dry and coarsely chopped 1 cup onions, sliced 4 garlic cloves, minced 1 tbsp olive oil or butter 250g freshly cooked noodles/pasta/potatoes K cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese to serve Pasta water or homemade stock for thinning sauce Method Heat butter in a pan and add onions. Sauté until translucent. Add garlic and sauté for 1 minute. Add spinach and stir-fry until bright green, remove from flame and cool. When cool, blend to a paste using a little water to thin, if required. When done, reheat gently and add the cooked noodles, pasta or potatoes. Stir properly so it is well coated and serve warm with grated Parmesan on the side. Tip: Store any extra or leftover cooked pasta in the fridge. Just toss in olive oil or a pesto once it is cooked and store in an airtight box. Use that or fresh cooked pasta in myriad ways to bulk up salads. Combine and toss with cooked rajma (red kidney beans) or chicken, lettuce, steamed diced beans, finely chopped leafy veggies, fresh herbs, cooked sweetcorn, chunks of carrot, and whatever else you have at hand. Toss pasta in a dressing of honey, lemon juice, chilli powder and green chillies for a hit of spice. —Recipe courtesy Rushina Munshaw Ghildiyal, a food writer and consultant.

go easy on the dressing because you don’t want the baguette to get damp and have stuff leaking,” she says. Chef Vikas Seth of Sancho’s, the Bandra, Mumbai, restaurant, showed us how complex, yet versatile, a burrito can be—if you have the time you can dress it up with last night’s leftover Mexican rice (or pulao) or leftover rajma (or fresh baked beans), make a dressy guacamole, or chuck in a lightly chopped tomato salsa. The good news is, there are no rules except those that your time and your fridge dictate. Many of the ingredients, which can be bought in a supermarket, are healthy, light and interesting. Shonali Sabherwal, who runs the Mumbai gourmet tiffin service Soul Food which famously delivered to Katrina Kaif for a while until the actor got her cook trained by Sabherwal, also underlines how it’s a great way to stay healthy, eat light and spiritually. All it takes is a little thought and some planning for that dabba to be the highlight of your day. Here are some out-of-the-box recipes for packed lunches:

RED PUMPKIN SAUTÉED WITH GARLIC AND BASIL Serves 4 Ingredients Kkg red pumpkin, cut into big cubes 7 small garlic cloves, minced 2 tsp dry basil 2 tbsp olive oil A small bunch of arugula leaves Sea salt to taste Method Boil squash in water beforehand. Add oil to a pan, do not heat to a high temperature. Add garlic and basil and when it sizzles, add sea salt. Sauté for 5-7 minutes, do not let it burn. Add the squash to this mix, and on high flame, stir-fry, tossing the squash till it is coated with basil and garlic. Plate arugula leaves at the bottom of the tiffin container and spoon the squash on top (dip the arugula leaves in balsamic vinegar and a dash of honey before plating the container). Variation: You can alternatively bake the squash by parboiling it, mixing the oil, garlic and herbs, coating each piece with this mix and baking it for 20 minutes in the oven. Serve on a plate with arugula leaves and a mound of red pumpkin pieces—this makes for a great warm salad. Tip: To make the dish spill-free, make sure you just do a quick dip of the arugula leaves in the balsamic vinegar, just enough to coat the leaves—if you add K tsp of olive oil to this mix, it coats the leaves rather than making them drippy with the vinegar. —Recipe courtesy Shonali Sabherwal, Soul Food.

QUICK AND EASY CHICKEN BURRITO

SPICY VEGETABLE SALAD

Serves 2 Ingredients 4 pieces of 8-inch, ready-made flour tortillas 120g pinto beans/baked beans 250g minced chicken 50g onion, chopped 20ml oil 10g burrito/taco seasoning 40g mozzarella, grated Method Heat oil and brown the chicken mince and onion together. Drain any fat. Stir in pinto beans and the burrito seasoning. Cook for another few minutes, stirring lightly, till it forms a thick mixture. Chill the mixture in case you want to carry for your office lunch. Place the tortilla on a large plate. Add the chilled chicken mixture and grated mozzarella in a thick line on the edge of the tortilla closest to you. Bring the sides of the tortillas towards the centre of the filling. Fold the bottom of the tortilla up over the filling and continue to roll until it becomes a tight cylinder. Repeat with the remaining tortillas. Warm up in the microwave when you are ready to eat. Tip: You can substitute the burrito/taco seasoning with a mix of the following ingredients: 2 tsp chilli powder, 1 tsp cumin powder, 1 tsp garlic, K tsp oregano and salt to taste. —Recipe courtesy chef Vikas Seth, Sancho’s restaurant.

Serves 1 Ingredients 20g broccoli 20g paneer or cottage cheese/tofu 20g bell pepper 30g carrots, julienned 30g cucumber, julienned 1 spring onion (the green part only), cut into lengths 1 red chilli, deseeded and julienned 1 green chilli, deseeded and julienned A small bunch of coriander leaves, chopped 65g spicy salad dressing (see recipe) 25g Lollo Rosso lettuce 8g Romaine lettuce

Method Combine the broccoli, paneer, bell pepper, carrots, cucumber, spring onion, red chilli, green chilli and coriander leaves. Add the spicy salad dressing and toss. Place the Lollo Rosso and Romaine lettuce leaves on a cold dinner plate and place the salad over them. Garnish with crispy wonton wrappers. It is ready to serve.

Spicy salad dressing Ingredients 100g hoisin sauce 120g peanut butter 40g soft brown sugar 100g sambal oelek 100g ginger, grated 30ml white vinegar 20ml freshly squeezed lime juice 15ml sesame oil Method Put all the ingredients in a bowl and mix well. It is ready. Tip: To prevent the salad from wilting, always carry the dressing separately. —Recipes courtesy chef Aloysius d’Silva, The Tasty Tangles, Mumbai.

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A BYTWO

BY THE WAY SMALL SELFSERVICE RESTAURANTS WHICH REDEFINED HOW BANGALORE ATE TWO DECADES AGO ARE STILL GOING STRONG B Y P AVITRA J AYARAMAN pavitra.j@livemint.com

···························· t 8am every day, Bangalore-based businessman Venkatesh H. stands outside South Thindies sipping his first cup of coffee, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. The coffee is part of a daily ritual that comes right after his morning walk. South Thindies, a self-service eatery in south Bangalore, sells on an average around 5,500 “halfcoffees” a day. A “half-coffee” is 80ml filter coffee sold at `7 (the equivalent of Mumbai’s cutting chai) for those who need a quick caffeine fix. Venkatesh is just one of several customers who spill out on the pavement in front of the crowded snack outlet. “It’s the next step to the bytwo coffee, where one coffee is split between two tumblers for two people,” explains B.M. Dhananjay, who started the place in 2009. This new kid on the block is among the city’s 5,000-odd restaurants, referred to by the generic popular name of a Darshini. These small eateries offer south Indian fare at affordable prices over the counter in minutes. Customers can eat standing at tall tables in the front half of the eatery. The idea of serving “half coffees” came from R. Prabhakar, a distant relative of Dhananjay, who is also credited with having come up with the Darshini concept. After years of travelling the world, Prabhakar helped start a restaurant called Café Darshini, the first joint of its kind with an open kitchen and food-grade

steel, in 1987. Soon after, he shared the concept with another relative, G. Janardhan, who used to run a south Indian restaurant in Jayanagar called Pavithra. Sold on the idea, Janardhan opened Upahar Darshini (UD) in Gandhi Bazaar in Basavanagudi in 1989. UD’s immense popularity started a fad, with several hundred eateries mushrooming across the city, copying the style of functioning and the name —Darshini. “At that time, fast food was the big thing everywhere, so the idea was waiting for implementation in India,” says Prabhakar. It was a concept that changed the way middle-class Bangalore ate. Today, after the initial burst of popularity, a relatively smaller number of outlets have survived. They’ve had to cope with changes in demography and eating habits, and economic obstacles. A concept that will beat the Darshinis as an on-the-go dining option is yet to emerge. The trendsetting self-service outlet UD was 900 sq. ft in size—400 sq. ft was used for the open kitchen space and the rest for a few tall tables for customers to stand and eat at. Since the area was already teeming with old-time eateries such as Vidhyarthi Bhavan and Brahmin’s Coffee Bar, which also served the usual breakfast and tiffin options

such as idlis and dosas, UD could have been a me-too joint. But residents rushed in, drawn in like bees to honey. “Technically, Brahmin’s Coffee Bar was the first to introduce the idea of self-service,” says Prabahkar, of the 47-year-old restaurant. But when Bangaloreans saw a sparkling clean open kitchen at UD that offered sterilized spoons which were stacked in boiling water, a place that promised 100% transparency and hygiene, they took to it. Exhaust fans and kitchen equipment, until then seen only at five-star hotels, were now on display at the Darshini down the road. Images of everything on the menu were tastefully shot and displayed, much like at McDon-

ald’s outlets across the world, and the service was as quick, if not faster, than any multinational fast-food outlet. Finicky customers could also ensure that their coffee was tossed around enough for the right amount of froth or, in draught beer terms, “head” on the surface. “We weren’t serving prepackaged food, it was fresh breakfast that people ate at home. Only, we offered it faster and tastier,” says Janardhan. The pricing was an added bonus. “At a time when other restaurants were serving coffee at `2 , I sold it at `1,” says Janardhan. The idea caught on quickly: The high turnover, lower real-estate investment and smaller staff meant the food was inexpensive,

and hygienic. By 2006, Bangalore had around 5,000 Darshinis, with high concentrations in south and north Bangalore, which have a large, traditionally vegetarian population. Conservative in their outlook, these parts of Bangalore were otherwise wary of hygiene standards at hotels. Among the first to grab the baton from UD was Vasudev Adiga, who opened his first Darshini less than a kilometre from UD in 1993, naming it Adiga’s. Son of K.V. Nageshwar Adiga, who started what can still be called the city’s favourite idli outlet, Brahmin’s Coffee Bar, the business was not new to the young Adiga—but he had bigger plans than just running a single outlet. “I started the race, he grabbed the baton and is still running,” smiles Janardhan. Adiga now has 15 branches across the city, three of which are franchises, and plans to open many more on the highways that lead to Bangalore. Seated at his new branch on MG Road, Adiga asks his employees to be quicker. Not more than a month-old, the two-level restaurant, with self-service on the ground floor and dining area with seating on the first floor, is packed during lunch hour. “Adiga’s is now a brand,” he says, but surviving in the industry has not been easy. At the outset, Adiga priced his menu to compete with the thousands of other Darshinis in the city. Enjoying the edge that his brand has, he accepts that prices now are a tad above competition. Bangalore grew quickly in the 1990s, with an influx of immi-

Quick eat: (clockwise from above) Retaining trained staff is a challenge for Darshinis; most Darshini customers pledge their loyalty to the outlet whose coffee they prefer; Adiga’s dosa is a popular choice at all their outlets; and mornings are busy in the Upahar Darshini kitchen. grants from all over the country as the city grew into a hub for information technology. Tastes were bound to change, and called for innovation. The Darshinis began to offer this through menus comprising north Indian food. “It was important to serve to a large number of immigrants and many of them at the time were north Indian,” says Prabhakar, adding that suddenly, everybody seemed willing to move out of the comfort zones of their Udipi recipes to try roti-dal-paneer. The trend is said to have been started by the Shanthi Sagar chain, which also introduced the concept of having two sections, one with a seating space and the other self-service. In 2009, in the midst of a global slowdown, more than 1,000 of the small, independent eateries shut down, unable to cope with the rising real estate prices and labour availability issues. “Even today, our biggest challenge is to keep our staff with us,” says Adiga. “I might hire a cleaner today, and he won’t turn up the next day because another place offers him more,” he says—but adds that the city still has the space and appetite for more outlets.

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Books

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IN FOCUS

History going to press JASJEET PLAHA/HINDUSTAN TIMES

‘The New Yorker’ editor David Remnick spoke to us at the Jaipur Literature Festival about writing history and biography as reportage HARAZ N GHANBARI/AP

BY S U P R I Y A N A I R supriya.n@livemint.com

···························· n the last year, David Remnick has written long, complex feature stories, each running into thousands of words, about subjects as diverse as the uprising in Egypt, the liberal Israeli newspaper Haaretz, and the future of Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin. He also edits The New Yorker, the magazine for which he writes so prolifically—to a degree that is unique in the history of the renowned American weekly, and perhaps in all of contemporary journalism. Remnick is also a conscientious blogger: He blew off a dinner party on the first night of the Jaipur Literature Festival, which started on 20 January, because he was busy writing about the cancellation of Salman Rushdie’s visit for Newyorker.com. Journalists around the world who admire The New Yorker respect and fear this reportorial stamina. Too often, the first question Remnick is asked is how he finds the time to write so much (one he deflects in Jaipur by saying, “I have three children”). But to focus on his productivity is to miss the quality of his journalism and its influence on journalists today. 1994’s Lenin’s Tomb, Remnick’s Pulitzer Prize-winning first book, came out of his work as The Washington Post’s correspondent in Russia between 1988 and 1992. He calls it “a big, sprawling mess” of a book; “I would have hated myself if a book hadn’t come out of that time,” he says. In 1998, he went back to produce a long-form look at a new Russia, Resurrection. But Remnick’s greatest achievement as a reporter is perhaps his gift for writing time and place by writing about the people who inhabit them, and nowhere is this more evident than in his two later

works, the biographies of Muhammad Ali and Barack Obama, which are also social histories of America. Remnick says he chose to write about Ali because he wanted a “start-to-finish story”, although neither King of the World: Muhammad Ali and the Rise of an American Hero (1999) nor The Bridge: The Life and Rise of Barack Obama (2010), are strictly conventional in that respect. The Bridge captures a man whose biography, some would say, is only just beginning. Remnick’s conversations with Ali, already suffering from Parkinson’s disease, bracket King of the World’s narrative of Ali’s childhood and his career up until his refusal of the Vietnam War draft, without seeming to intrude on it. Race connects both his subjects and the context of these books, but they are discrete entities to Remnick. “There is an American particularity to the self-creation of this man,” he says of Ali. Self-creation interests Remnick. It draws him again, years later, to Obama, whom he finds a puzzle: a junior senator with a slim legislative record who takes up the burden of history, and appears to sweep a nation along with him. King of the World goes over the elements of Ali’s self-creation, understanding Ali by investigating his beginnings as Cassius Clay, as the man who built himself up in opposition to his competitors like Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson. Remnick traces how Ali talks himself into being, as a polarizing public figure, “beautiful, confident, funny, incredibly funny”, as Remnick now says. But that alone would have made the book an incomplete story and an overfamiliar one. Remnick also closely reads the sports writing that rose up around Ali, from forgotten bylines in local newspapers to the way everyone

HARRY BENSON/EXPRESS/HULTON ARCHIVE/GETTY IMAGES

In long form: (clockwise from above) David Remnick in Jaipur; Muhammad Ali and Barack Obama, subjects of Remnick’s biographies.

from A.J. Liebling to Norman Mailer and James Baldwin wrote about the deeply troubling, gladiatorial spectacle of African-American men fighting for the pleasure of a white audience. Remnick does not editorialize the incendiary drama of Ali’s life; it flowers, monumentally, through fact, record and quotation—the small tools of journalism. The assembled picture, backed authoritatively by Remnick’s measured tone, is a moving explanation of what Ali meant to his time, and indeed to his people. Remnick put Ali away when writing his second biography. “Ali was not an intellectual,” he says. “Obama is very much one.” That makes him singular in American political life, in some ways. “You know, if you were in a room with someone like Bill Clinton, he would hold you, look at you and talk to you as though you were the

only person in the room. He would do that to everyone in the room. Clinton is a typical American public figure in some ways. Obama is recessive—different.” The Bridge was an attempt to understand this reserved Obama who now overwhelms the inspirational, reconciliatory, Joshua-generation African-American who practised himself into being on the campaign trail, and for whose electoral victory people shed tears of joy. This Obama is the figure who emerges in an earlier book, against which Remnick is writing in some ways: Obama’s own accomplished early memoir, Dreams From My Father. “That was a genuine question for me,” Remnick says, about deconstructing the writing of a man who is already his own finest chronicler. “That’s why one of the chapters of The Bridge is about that book. It was the sort of book

that enthusiastic publishers would say was ‘well-received’. Here is this kid, out of Harvard Law School, a community organizer in Chicago. His one confidence booster is being elected president of The Harvard Law Review. So what—they have a new one every year. So who is this guy? What is this story about? Why is the parent who brought him up nowhere to be found in this narrative, and the absent parent such a major part of it?” The Bridge is a literary work, not just because Remnick’s writing is elegant. It is an editorialization of Obama’s own narrative, which Remnick links to the earliest narratives of African-American slaves, whose literature is a device of identity. If it seems less politically critical in the succeeding months of the Obama presidency, it is because it was always meant to capture a moment, and not its aftermath. It tells an evolving story and is limited by its time. But taken together with Remnick’s continued examination of Obama and his career in the The New Yorker, it will be an important record of the presidency. Among Indian practitioners of English-language biography—a small tribe—readers may find echoes of Remnick’s practice in Ramachandra Guha’s 1999 biography of Verrier Elwin. While Guha writes as a scholar and

Remnick as a journalist, a few things unite them. Both prefer to narrate their stories at a certain distance from the subject, but neither pretends to be uninterested: Elwin is one of Guha’s major influences, Remnick unmistakably sees Ali as one of America’s heroes, and The New Yorker under Remnick endorsed Obama for US president in 2008. Both write as political liberals, deeply invested in the way history is told in their respective nations. Both couch a talent for muted drollery—sometimes a little too successfully—with quiet sentences and classically linear narratives that leave no room for factual ambiguity, and no chance for second-guessing authorial intention. “I’m conservative on the issue of facticity,” Remnick says. “I am not of the school where everything is a text and there are no boundaries, and the reader will figure it out. Part of this is influenced by the fact that I’m an editor, and feel that if I’m going to ask you to believe Seymour Hersh’s piece on Abu Ghraib in all its facts, then I need that. When I’m calling something non-fiction, it had better be.” “On the other hand, I don’t want to be boring. If I’m going to give you a 15,000-word piece to read, whether as an editor or a writer, I want you to read to the end. I don’t want the reader to go ‘Uhuh, uhuh, uhuh’, lose interest and start thinking about what’s on television or check their email in the middle. I want them to forget about their email, what might be on television, and dream in the space of the piece.”

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GROUND REPORT

The lure of the Jaipur jamboree

MANOJ MADHAVAN/MINT

Rushdie’s absence dominated the mood this year, but young writers and serious readers validate the JLF’s importance

B Y S UPRIYA N AIR supriya.n@livemint.com

···························· t can be difficult to comprehend, let alone enjoy, the fact that the Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) continued in spite of the threats surrounding Salman Rushdie’s cancelled appearances, in person and then on video. In the five days since the festival began on 20 January at Diggi Palace, the Rushdie vacillations dominated the mood within the festival as thoroughly as they did outside. The organizers’ commitment to keeping the show going allowed a weird sense of normalcy to prevail during pauses in the conversation. Those who accuse Jaipur of being too little literature and too much festival have found plenty of corroborating evidence: People climbed walls to see Oprah Winfrey, listened hushed to Deepak Chopra and chased Chetan Bhagat around the palace grounds with cameras and autograph books at the ready. High school students, dressed in blazers announcing the names of Rajasthan’s most famous schools, perched politely on the edge of their seats, trying to be discreet about BlackBerrying during panels. Everyone who poured in continued to complain about crowds. To say “the festival is fantastic”, as Monisha Rajesh does, might seem like a minority opinion at this point. Rajesh is a young London-based journalist who has just finished her first book, an account of 80 train journeys through India. It was her second year at

the festival, and she came back in 2012 after the atmosphere at last year’s festival drew her in. “I had such a good time last year, I had to come back,” she says. “It’s always good to be around people who’re engaged in reading and writing; people who are writing a book or have just written a book, who are like you.” In spite of the no-shows —Rushdie aside, scheduled appearances by Hisham Matar, Annie Proulx and Ariel Dorfman were cancelled for various reasons—the festival remains one of India’s biggest open spaces for serious readers. It would be imprecise to mention the Winfrey gala without noting the full houses for David Hare and Girish Karnad, the rapturous applause for Ben Okri, and the keen attention paid to panels on activists’ prison diaries, Western journalists writing about African countries, and Palestinian politics. “Every year I tell myself, ‘Maybe not this time’,” says Samhita Arni, one of the authors of last year’s Sita’s Ramayana. “And then every year around this time I find myself getting on a plane.” Arni, who wrote her first book when she was 12, has been in the audience at Jaipur for the last four years. She is drawn back, like many, primarily as a reader and not a writer. Jaipur can be simultaneously scary and gratifying for new authors—who themselves constitute a broad category. Debut novelists like Shubnum Khan, a speaker at this year’s festival, find themselves in conversation with a truly global mix of colleagues. Khan, a young South African writer and lecturer of English and media studies, published her first book Onion Tears, a story about three generations of Indian women in South Africa, late last year. “It’s just so good to meet writers you’ve always admired,” she says. But how do you meet them if you’re not on stage with them, or interviewing them for the media, or hanging out at one of the publishing parties that take place off the Diggi Palace grounds every night? In a New York Times col-

MANOJ MADHAVAN/MINT

Spotlight: (clockwise from top and above) Crowds at this year’s festival; authors Aman Sethi and Samhita Arni; and author Ben Okri attended this year’s festival.

umn, Manu Joseph described a moment last year whose outlandishness makes it painfully real: a man, eating something, chasing after the Nobel laureate J.M. Coetzee, saying, “Sir, sir, give me some tips on how to write, sir.” “Part of you is here to meet your heroes,” says Satyajit Sarna, a lawyer who has just finished his novel, The Angel’s Share, to be published by HarperCollins in April. “But I think a much bigger part is hoping for your dreams to come true.” Sarna has been going to the festival for several years now. “It’s tough,” he says, “because a part of it is hermetic and insulated. There is an inner circle that you might break into, but if you’re in, you’re always suspecting whether you’re in.”

In spite of the organizers insisting that Jaipur is not a trade fair, the dream often persists, in defiance of reality. “No,” says literary agent David Godwin to the question of whether he ever meets surprise candidates for the next great Indian book in Jaipur. “It’s a private thing, although there are exceptions, of course. The writers I meet here are writers I’ve read or have heard of. It would be different if I were running a workshop or session for young writers, but that isn’t the case.” “You have to be socially present in the run-up to your book coming out,” Rajesh says. “Last year, when I was working on my book, I met someone who was kind enough to introduce me to the editor of Condé Nast Travel-

ler. You end up meeting all kinds of people.” “The festival’s been good for me professionally,” says Aman Sethi, author of last year’s acclaimed A Free Man, his first book. Sethi, a reporter with The Hindu, was on panels this year with Mohammed Hanif and The New Yorker journalist Katherine Boo; his book will be out in the US and UK later this year. “But I’m also wary of the supposed glamour attached to being a writer at a festival like this. As journalists we have a work ethic sort of figured out, and I think it’s important to remember that your job, in the end, is to sit down and write.” In the end, it may be the most useful advice aspiring writers can take away from the frustrations of this edition of the festival. In a year when so many voices have been drowned out, it becomes urgent to find your own, away from the fracas. On the last day of the festival, Sethi was talking to reporters on the Diggi House terrace reserved for

the press. Below, the legendary British dramatist Tom Stoppard was discussing his art on the front lawns, rebranded the Tata Steel Front Lawns for the duration of the festival. The crowd was not quite as overwhelming as it was on the day of Winfrey’s session, but there were no empty seats in the house. From the vantage point of the press terrace, you could look to your right to see Stoppard speaking. To your left, farthest from the stage, was another spectacle: a gathering ring of journalists, camerapersons and other interested parties around a small group of men, standing obdurately, waiting out the afternoon to see if Salman Rushdie would Skype in to the festival, intending to shut it down. Stoppard may have been one of the most fascinating speakers to ever appear at Jaipur, but the crowd was restive. Some people were on their phones, some were turning around in their seats, even the attentive ones visibly uneasy. It was, in many ways, a visual manifestation of the atmosphere that descended on the festival from its very first day: an audience looking over its shoulder for the writers who could not be present, and opponents who had steadfastly refused to listen.

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Culture

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ART

‘Even nothing is something beautiful’ PRIYANKA PARASHAR/MINT

Balasubramaniam’s latest solo exhibi tion is a culmina tion of several conceptual pursuits in his practice

B Y A NINDITA G HOSE anindita.g@livemint.com

···························· lwar Balasubramaniam puts his palms flat against the wall in a small room in New Delhi’s Talwar Gallery and scoops out the fresh white plaster—or at least it appears that he does so—as he talks. The only exhibit in the room is Stone Waves: an installation with 10 smooth pebble-like sandstone sculptures on the floor and a single white protrusion on one wall. Balasubramaniam (Bala) demonstrates, clasping his palms together, how the sandstones have been cast to show what his hands hold—what you would otherwise not see. In the basement is a series of five such protrusions on a wall—all fashioned from Bala moulding clay between his clasped hands, and casting this in plaster. This installation is called Nothing From My Hands, as is the exhibition, the 41 year-old artist’s latest solo show of 20 new sculptural works, which opened on Wednesday as a collateral event to the ongoing India Art Fair in New Delhi. “The absence of the hand will help the person to see the presence of something,” says Bala. “We think of nothing as negative. I am attempting to show that even nothing is something beautiful.”

Outdoors, in the gallery’s lawn area, is a larger rendition of this “nothingness”—almost 5ft-high and carved in granite. For Bala, it was the irony that worked. He wanted to use the hardest of the materials to sculpt nothingness. For over a decade, Bala’s work has ached to express the overlooked, and the invisible. While his art is physical, it is at its core an exploration of a deep metaphysical question: What defines the self? This exhibition takes his engagement further. It is a culmination of several conceptual threads in his art practice, such as casting works using his own body and placing himself between the art and the viewer. Or negotiating the skin as an edge where one’s own physical self ends and everything else begins. In 2004, in an exhibition titled Into Thin Air at the Talwar Gallery in New York, Bala cast a life-sized bust of himself in solid air freshener, a material that slowly evaporates when exposed to air. This dissolution of the self to a seemingly invisible form of matter brought forth some of the tenets of Hinduism and Buddhism. Later, in 2009, in an exhibition titled (In) Between at Talwar Gallery in Delhi, there was Kaayam, an exquisite series of crumpled fibreglass casts of the artist’s body, each seemingly dissolving into the wall. Both works excavated the unseen; the absence of something essential. Nothing From My Hands is even more intimate, with the recurring motif—the hands—driving home the point sublimely. When a viewer studies the sculptures closely, they can see the lines of the artist’s palm: his lifeline and his heartline. Bala borrows liberally from different schools of philosophy, but he isn’t prone to naming any. Questions on the self and the whole from the Advaita Vedanta school of Hindu philosophy run

In search of the beginning: Bala with two of his metal sculptures, which are intricate lattice constructions.

Money for nothing, art for free The Indian Art Fair is hosting several public projects to engage visitors. Don’t miss these B Y A NINDITA G HOSE anindita.g@livemint.com

···························· avigating all 12,000 sq. ft of the ongoing India Art Fair (formerly India Art Summit) can be a daunting task. The fourth edition of the four-day fair, which opened to the public on Thursday in New Delhi, features 91 exhibitors from 20 countries presenting close to 1,000 of the most exciting modern and contemporary artists from India and abroad. But if you’re not there to buy, the fair hosts several spectacular public art projects, including site-specific sculptures and interactive art projects, to engage the general visitor. The 14 commissioned art projects, supported by various galleries and independent art foundations, are at the heart of the art shenanigans. Here are our picks:

A Nest of Frames

Zuleikha Chaudhari (Project 88 and Creative India Foundation) Chaudhari explores the idea of space in her light sculpture: a nest of brightly coloured frames at the fair’s entrance. Viewers are encouraged to walk through the frames, and ponder the idea of architecture as an enclosing structure for the body.

Light Leaks, Winds Meet Where the Waters Spill Deceit Reena Saini Kallat (Palette Art Gallery)

This sculpture is modelled on the gates that demarcate the boundary between India and Pakistan at the Wagah border—its surfaces tightly bound with the red sacred thread used in temple rituals, but also seen at some mosques in India.

Delhi Tent Clemens Behr (artbelowzeroº) The German artist uses the simplest materials to create complex ephemeral architecture, which fills gallery and public spaces with origami-like structures. Working with recycled materials and geometric forms, Behr dreams up installations that

result in subtle confusions between 2D painting and 3D objects. At the fair, he has created a site-specific piece that reacts to ambient shapes and colours.

Translations/Translitera tions Rashid Rana (Lisson Gallery)

Like language, art is also a means of translation. By employing a twofold language, Rana deals with the idea of cultural change and historical transformation. He references Western art history, employing familiar imagery from which ultimately emerges another “image”.

Whenever the Heart Skips a Beat

Raqs Media Collective (Project 88 and Creative India Foundation)

Whenever the Heart Skips a Beat is an animated video which shows a clock-face that features a set of 12 words instead of numbers to represent hour markings. The words are an array of adjectives and nouns that qualify each other, flying across the face of the clock, and producing constant permutations of states of mind Crowdpullers: Reena Saini Kallat’s Light Leaks, Winds Meet...; and (top) the clock face by Raqs Media Collective.

deep, though. “The moment I articulate something, the moment I sculpt it… its existence is true… or is it not?” he asks, hands flying, his otherwise quiet persona lit up with these questions. Bala speaks of a guru who lived in Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu, close to where Bala was born, who never allowed himself to be photographed. He lived without a name. There was, essentially, no proof of his existence. Bala had met him as a young art student in Chennai and it is evident that this frames much of his artistic outlook. This exhibition also marks Bala’s first-time usage of metal and stone, although he is dismissive of material being a point of discussion. The six metalworks in the exhibition weave in the other conceptual pursuit—the concept of the skin as the edge of the physical self. The metal sculptures are an intricate lattice construction of lines, flowing gracefully with no apparent endings or beginnings, where there is no clear demarcation between the inside and outside. Between Here and There, for instance, is a distorted egg-shaped sculpture that burrows into itself—making the outer skin its inside as well. There are two sculptures titled Knot which are visual puzzles, twisting into themselves in complicated fishermen’s knots. Bala’s engagement with sculpture is relatively recent. Yet he has been so inventive with his sculptural works—material only being one aspect of it—that it would be hard to tell. Trained as a printmaker—which he studied at Chennai’s Government College of Fine Arts, and in the UK and Austria—Bala worked as a printmaker for the first 10 years of his career. Gallery notes describe him as a “self-taught sculptor”, at which Bala laughs. “How can anyone be self-taught? I learn from those around me,”

he says, in all modesty. In the past, Bala has used materials as diverse as wax and pure gold. For the metalworks in this exhibition, he has used cycle spokes (they’re flexible but can withstand tension, he explains). “A medium is just that: a medium to convey an idea. If I think something works as a medium I’ll learn how to work with it,” says Bala, who studied metal welding by attending workshops while he was guest faculty at the art department at Cornell University, US, in 2008. For all the talk of medium, Bala has moved beyond material. He switched from printmaking to sculpture because after 10 years of “going higher and higher”—he draws the analogy of standing on a brick wall—he felt imprisoned. “The moment you use your knowledge to create boundaries, you find yourself imprisoned.” Spread over three floors, and spilling on to the lawn and terrace, Nothing From My Hands is a celebration of Bala’s art and philosophy thus far. Each work is a minefield. But the aha moment is an Untitled sculpture on the first floor: It is the exact opposite, the perfect fit, to one of the five sculptures of the installation Nothing From My Hands. It’s an abyss in the wall—a “nothingness” shaped abyss. In 2000, the art critic Holland Cotter, writing in The New York Times, had called Bala young, savvy and in the middle of a spurt of growth. “It could take him anywhere, but there’s already a lot here,” Cotter wrote. With this exhibition, Bala has reached the anywhere. Nothing From My Hands will run at Talwar Gallery, C-84, Neeti Bagh, New Delhi, till 27 April. For details on other collateral events to the India Art Fair, visit www.indiaartfair.in

A COLLECTOR’S GUIDE A panel discussion at the fair today will tell you why you don’t have to be a millionaire to collect art

n the 1960s, Herbert and Dorothy Vogel, a young couple with a modest income (he was a postal clerk, she a librarian), living in New York City, decided to start collecting art. Not being able to afford the abstract expressionists or pop art—the rage at the time—they stuck to minimal art by young artists in the range of $50-100 (around `2,500-5,000 now). They bought paintings in instalments and soon amassed what is today one of the most important contemporary art collections in the US. The story of Herb and Dorothy (through a documentary by Megumi Sasaki) will open a panel discussion at the India Art Fair today: “You Don’t Have to Be a Millionaire to Collect Art”, moderated by Maithili Parekh, director, Sotheby’s. The documentary will be followed by a conversation with Sonal Sood and Parmesh through the actions of the hour and minute hands.

Living Works of Art

Preeti Chandrakant (Art Projects, Zurich) Joseph Beuys had said that in the 20th century “everyone is an artist”. “In the 21st century, everyone is a potential work of art,” says Chandrakant. Her intervention, Living Works

Shahani, young collectors who follow the Vogels’ model for collecting art. “Collecting art is not beyond anybody’s ability. Both Parmesh and Sonal are in their 30s and have built their collections without spending millions,”says Parekh. Shahani buys range from a few thousand rupees to a lakh. “Much before I started acquiring art, I had been engaging with it, a process which started as early as my school days on my daily walks with my grandfather... and trips to galleries,” he says. It’s a habit that soon transforms into a skill. “Just keep looking and let your instinct rule,” adds Parekh. “You Don’t Have to Be a Millionaire to Collect Art” is one of the 13 panel discussions at the fair’s Speakers’ Forum. Shreya Ray of Art, can be purchased, sold and displayed. Upon a historic first purchase, the artist will publicly describe the formalities of such a transaction, including terms and conditions, packaging, insurance and resale. The India Art Fair (www.india artfair.in) will run till Sunday at the NSIC Exhibition Grounds, New Delhi.