Curry on the Ganges
August 1st 2008 02:00
Got a hankering for the freshest, tastiest and safest curry in India? Look no further than the Ganges. And not just next to the sacred river- on it. On a recent trip to the land of currification, the other half and I took a floating expedition down Ganges, winding our way from Mirzapur in the dust bowl of Uttar Pradesh to Varanasi, the ancient bastion of inner harmony and wandering bovine gods known outside India as beef.
Camping on the banks of the Ganges at night and sailing by day meant the food was prepared by a dextrous crew of four local land owners who ran the business as a side project. Fortunately there was little of the Club Med sun-sea-catamaran flashiness in this entrepreneurial jaunt. The boats were little more than rough wooden hulls, the toilet was the nearest bush on the riverbank, and the ‘kitchen’ consisted of the fourth boat equipped with a small gas burner and a few metallic bowls. Dishes were washed in the Ganges itself so it came as a surprise that during a three week trip, this was the only leg where the ‘Rampant Delhi Belly Runs’ were nowhere to be seen. This phenomenon stands as a true testimony to the fine preparation skills of the crew, the freshest of fresh ingredients and the tastebud-walloping sacks of spices thrown into the mix.
Lunch and dinner were variations of the same vegetarian curry base made using fresh aubergines, ochre, potatoes and tomatoes bought every day by the boatmen from small communities on the river bank bustling with cheeky children playing marco polo nearby in the muddy water with puzzled cows. Vegetables were chopped with careful attention at the back of the boat and an hour before lunch, aromas of sizzling coriander seeds, cumin, green cardamom and the ubiquitous garam masala wafted across the water.
And then, of course, there was the ghee.
Cooking Indian cuisine without the clarified butter staple would be like attempting to prepare Spanish food in an olive oil recession. Just as the Spaniards would quite rightly give you a sharp cuff over the ear for suggesting it, the Indians would condemn you with a slight head tilt- subtle yet effective. Needless to say, as big platters of steaming curry oozing golden ghee and sweet basmati rice were passed around, the munching sounds of satisfaction were rivalled only slightly by the crackling of burning bodies on funeral pyres at the river’s edge. If polishing off your lunch in a funeral home scoots your boot, this is definitely the dining ambience for you.
Sunset settled, the boats pulled up ashore, tents were hammered out and the epic task of preparing dinner on a burning fire of dried cow pats was underway. Methane adds an herbacious edge to cooking and although it’s not entirely unpleasant, the concept takes a little getting used to. Crouched on haunches, the men beat small naan breads into submission and charred them on the fire along with aubergines, tomatoes and potatoes which were then ground down into a tasty paste.
But no meal in India is complete without the saccharine sweetness of a milky cup of chai- the cardamom, cloves and rose water adding warmth to the black tea. Chai is at its best when the water is taken straight from the murky depths of the Ganges, boiled to within an inch of evaporation and served piping hot with sweet biscuits. A belly full of fresh naan, a cup of chai in one hand, a hazy orange Ganges sunset and the soft singing of a funeral across the water as the flames lick the night sky. Some foodie experiences are made to be remembered.
Camping on the banks of the Ganges at night and sailing by day meant the food was prepared by a dextrous crew of four local land owners who ran the business as a side project. Fortunately there was little of the Club Med sun-sea-catamaran flashiness in this entrepreneurial jaunt. The boats were little more than rough wooden hulls, the toilet was the nearest bush on the riverbank, and the ‘kitchen’ consisted of the fourth boat equipped with a small gas burner and a few metallic bowls. Dishes were washed in the Ganges itself so it came as a surprise that during a three week trip, this was the only leg where the ‘Rampant Delhi Belly Runs’ were nowhere to be seen. This phenomenon stands as a true testimony to the fine preparation skills of the crew, the freshest of fresh ingredients and the tastebud-walloping sacks of spices thrown into the mix.
Lunch and dinner were variations of the same vegetarian curry base made using fresh aubergines, ochre, potatoes and tomatoes bought every day by the boatmen from small communities on the river bank bustling with cheeky children playing marco polo nearby in the muddy water with puzzled cows. Vegetables were chopped with careful attention at the back of the boat and an hour before lunch, aromas of sizzling coriander seeds, cumin, green cardamom and the ubiquitous garam masala wafted across the water.
And then, of course, there was the ghee.
Cooking Indian cuisine without the clarified butter staple would be like attempting to prepare Spanish food in an olive oil recession. Just as the Spaniards would quite rightly give you a sharp cuff over the ear for suggesting it, the Indians would condemn you with a slight head tilt- subtle yet effective. Needless to say, as big platters of steaming curry oozing golden ghee and sweet basmati rice were passed around, the munching sounds of satisfaction were rivalled only slightly by the crackling of burning bodies on funeral pyres at the river’s edge. If polishing off your lunch in a funeral home scoots your boot, this is definitely the dining ambience for you.
Sunset settled, the boats pulled up ashore, tents were hammered out and the epic task of preparing dinner on a burning fire of dried cow pats was underway. Methane adds an herbacious edge to cooking and although it’s not entirely unpleasant, the concept takes a little getting used to. Crouched on haunches, the men beat small naan breads into submission and charred them on the fire along with aubergines, tomatoes and potatoes which were then ground down into a tasty paste.
But no meal in India is complete without the saccharine sweetness of a milky cup of chai- the cardamom, cloves and rose water adding warmth to the black tea. Chai is at its best when the water is taken straight from the murky depths of the Ganges, boiled to within an inch of evaporation and served piping hot with sweet biscuits. A belly full of fresh naan, a cup of chai in one hand, a hazy orange Ganges sunset and the soft singing of a funeral across the water as the flames lick the night sky. Some foodie experiences are made to be remembered.
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