Archive

Gamadia Colony resident Niloufer Lakdawala recalls the food, customs, professions and facilities of a bygone era. 

If you are searching for the recipe of any dish, you will probably locate it on the internet. But where do you search for those that seem to have disappeared? I can think of many dishes that are either no longer made or have become rare. I have neither eaten them nor heard of them for ages!

The first of those that I miss is masoor ma jeebh. Goat’s tongue was sold at the larger mutton shops. It was cooked with masoor just like mutton and tasted divine. No idea where or even whether tongue is available today. Moondi (goat’s head) was also available at one time. To the best of my knowledge, this meant the bony skull which was used to make soup. Sold at a relatively low price, it was used more to augment the flavor of dal or curry, so one could get the taste of meat without paying the price of mutton. 

Let only the sturdy-hearted read this paragraph. I have eaten and liked choosda nu dhansak. Choosda is the small intestine of the goat. It is very time-consuming and laborious to clean (but obviously) it gave a delicious taste to the dhansak! It was another cheap but tasty alternative to mutton, which many found beyond their means. I doubt whether choosda is available these days.

Soon the mutton shop will do the disappearing act. Whether small or big, half the shop comprised a raised platform where one, two or three goswalas (butchers) sat on wooden stools usually clad in lungis and white vests. From the ceiling hung heavy metal hooks from which legs or flanks of mutton were suspended. In front of the butcher was his dhimru: a solid piece of tree trunk that was a little more than knee high and served as his work table. After customers selected the piece they wanted, he would deftly unhook it and with a heavy stroke of his cleaver, hack off a chunk. His long sharp knife, made sharper by scraping it along a long iron cylindrical file, would artfully clean and chop the mutton. Huge scales would be at hand to weigh the goods. If you want mince, you ask for a softer piece and ask him to mince it for you. He goes chop-chop-chop-bang-chop-chop and voila your mince is ready. You pay him a little extra (all of 25 p I remember) — perhaps for the talent he has just displayed. His left hand would scrape up the meat while the sharp chopper in his right went continuously up and down (on the dhimru). I wonder how the butcher’s fingers never got chopped! All this does not happen in today’s world of pre-packaged, branded meats.

The next thing that wiggles into my memory would wiggle all the way from the fish market to the kitchen. I am referring to levta — mud hoppers found at the seashore or on river banks! Longer and thicker than a finger, black, the nearest comparison would be a mini Bombay duck. The fisherwoman would haul out a handful from her covered wicker basket and dump them in a box that one had to promptly and firmly shut because the levtas were live, slippery and keen to leap out. I sometimes saw a dozen or so hanging in a row impaled on a thin bamboo skewer. But those were not as fresh as the ones that slipped out of your hands and made you run behind them as they tried to slither away.

You put in a handful of sea salt to immobilize them. Then you cleaned them. There was a lot of mud to be removed. After all, they abound in the muddy water of the rivers or along the shore. 

Providentially, levti are still available. These are the baby variety. Tiny little creatures in shape and size perhaps like the teeth of a comb. Wash. Marinate. Fry. That’s it. Levtis have a long shelf life and can be enjoyed as an accompaniment with anything and everything. Ambrosia, in my opinion! I hope they never disappear like the levtas have done. 

Topli na paneeer are delicious! Home-made cottage cheese with a difference. I have no idea how to make them other than that they need tiny wicker baskets into which curdled milk is poured so that all the moisture drains off leaving behind a cookie-sized, white, soft, smooth round piece of heaven. I was told milk had to be boiled with essence of rennet. With great difficulty, I sourced a box of the essence but couldn’t even come close to what I hoped to make. However, years ago the paneerwalo would come regularly down the road holding two metal containers with handles. One had khaara paneer — a salted version, while the other had moraa paneer — bland, without salt, all swimming in whey. If I am not mistaken, the salty paneer sank to the bottom of the container while the mora paneer floated in the whey. Salted or plain, they were a dish to die for. 

Doodh na puff is a tall glass of frothy milk filled high like an ice cream sundae with not more than two teaspoons of cold milk at the bottom, sweetened, cooled and flecked with a pinch of nutmeg. It was a winter delicacy. In the pre refrigerator days, one whisked and whipped the milk and put it on the house terrace or balcony in the chilly winter nights. 

Early in the winter mornings, the vendor would rush with his frothy glasses arranged in rows on a wooden tray which he carried on his head. Sales were brisk because doodh na puffs were a delicacy to be looked forward to and had to be enjoyed before the heat of the day caused the fizz to subside.

The vendor also brought small glasses filled with khariya ni jelly. This is the glutinous liquid that oozes out after boiling trotters. It is then made into some kind of jelly. It looked like congealed oil and somehow I never developed a taste for it. 

Polson was the king of butter. This brand ruled the market till relatively unknown competitors like Amul and Britannia took over. Smoother, saltier, oilier, yellower, tastier… it died an untimely death. Memories lurk in the mind not only of the product but also the gift scheme which was its unique feature. 

The packs of butter came in three sizes small (100g), medium (250g) and large (500 g). Along one narrow edge of every pack was a coupon — a quarter coupon, a half coupon and a full coupon as per the size of the pack. These coupons were collected avidly. Once a year the company issued a booklet offering sundry items in exchange of the coupons. So, you counted your coupons, checked the options available for the number of coupons and went and redeemed them, proudly bringing back something in exchange. What is commendable is the variety of items on offer ranging from a cake of soap to a pressure cooker. The excitement was palpable while counting, selecting and bringing home the "gift.” 

Sadly, when it closed, along with the company went the butter and this sales gimmick. I wonder why they were never revived. 

The chanawalas seem to be headed for oblivion. With their flat round tubs arranged on makeshift shelves holding assorted singh (peanuts) and chana (grams) — roasted, unroasted, salted, unsalted, shelled, unshelled, displayed in heaps lovingly patted down by the chanawala. An earthenware pot with burning embers inside was placed on the piles to keep the goods warm, fresh and crisp. 

  All images created by ChatGPT

The tobacconist has also been relegated to the past. I still remember a vast variety of tobacco and snuff stored in glass cases and sold by weight. Paan (betel leaves), beedis (a type of cheap cigarette made of unprocessed tobacco wrapped in leaves), cigarettes — all were freely available in times when "cancer” and "statutory warnings” had not invaded our lives. 

Another forgotten practice is connected with the caterers at Parsi weddings and navjotes. After the ice cream came a tiny paper tray holding a paan (betel leaf with a filling to aid digestion after gorging on the food served), a tiny red, orange or yellow sweet and one or two cashew nuts.

Investments, real estate, mutual funds and fixed deposits had not become words of normal parlance. Shares were frowned upon. Even bank accounts were not too popular. Hard-core orthodox people preferred to store their cash in their mattresses rather than risk putting it in the bank. There were not as many banks as we see today, and much fewer branches. Safe deposit lockers were rare. However, if a bank offered the facility of a locker it also gave customers the facility of a comfortable cubicle with a huge mirror and a dressing table with drawers for them to preen whilst trying on the jewelry they had removed from the locker. A far cry from the cobweb infested "vaults” of today with pigeon-hole sized lockers in clusters that afford no privacy.