When it comes to Parsi food, old Bombay is a gold mine. There are
numerous establishments – some well known, others not so famous – that
offer the various culinary delights of the community to all and sundry.
To be in South Bombay, and not sample Parsi food therefore is nothing
short of sacrilege. Having sinned enough already, I am in no mood for
another act of impiety, so off I go on a hot, humid afternoon for my
pilgrimage.
My first stop is Britannia and Company; housed in
a heritage building of the iconic Ballard estate, right behind the
Bombay Stock Exchange; the café-cum-restaurant has been around for close
to ninety years and is easily one of the most famous symbols of Parsi -
Iranian food in Bombay. Set up in the early nineteenth century by a
family that migrated from Iran, the restaurant started off by selling
Iranian delicacies to the British officers working in the area. The
owner’s subsequent marriage to a Parsi lady ensured introduction of
famous Parsi dishes in the menu. Today the place is as famous for its
salli boti as it is for the berry pulav, and its crème caramel as
authentic, as Pallonji’s raspberry (a Bombay staple drink served in cola
style glass bottles).
Run by an identical looking
father-son duo, the cafe is delightfully personal – the elderly father
insists on taking orders himself, making small talk, and even offering
you his signature drink in his signature style, “To beat the Mumbai
heat, have fresh lime soda sweet”, he tells me. I am totally floored by
his charm and ready to order everything he recommends when my pragmatic
husband intervenes and we end up ordering only two items – berry pulav
and salli boti. Dejected, I look around.
The place looks every
bit of the Parsi-Iranian cafés I have only seen in movies until now.
The bentwood tables and chairs, imported from Poland shortly after the
café opened are still intact, as is the grandfather clock and the three
mounted flags on the wall (Indian, British and Iranian). Along the
service windows rest sacks full of raw material and crates of Pallonji’s
drinks. The other items that adorn the place are: a huge fridge,
plastic containers (used for takeaways) and signboards warning us
against arguing with the staff.
Our food arrives in no time
and I promptly dig in to the aromatic pulav. The mild rice of the pulav
is contrasted perfectly by the flavourful gravy on which the rice sits;
the tiny tart berries sprinkled over the rice add another layer of
flavour to the dish. The berries, incidentally, are still imported from
Iran. While I am enjoying every bite of the mild Iranian pulav, my
mutton-loving husband is busy tucking into the food of his dream – salli
boti, a dish made out of chunky pieces of mutton topped with a generous
dose of fried potato juliennes, accompanied with the thinnest and
softest rotis I have ever seen. We eat in silence and wipe the plates
clean in less than ten minutes. I am now dreaming of the wobbly crème
caramel but husband has other plans to fulfill my sweet craving. I bid a
reluctant adieu to one love of my life, to follow another.
By the time we leave Britannia, the gentle sea breeze has started to
flow into the Victorian Bombay and we walk along the fort to reach a
nondescript building at Churchgate where our dessert awaits us.
It
is easy to miss K Rustomji, one of the most popular ice-cream joints in
south-Bombay, if you have not been there before. Situated in a corner of
a nondescript, vacant building, the shop is not marked by a fancy board
or an illuminated hoarding but by the large number of people awaiting
their turns to pick up their favourite flavour. The place looks far from
inviting but boasts of a mind-boggling variety of ice cream, ranging
from the regular vanilla and strawberry to muskmelon and kokum (over 45
in all). I settle for nescafe while husband, a true connoisseur of sour
and tart flavours, chooses kokum.
Unlike the gentleman at
Britannia, the man at the counter here looks bored and disinterested.
The look on his face kills my curiosity about the history of the place
and I promptly retreat into my shell. The ice cream, thick slabs
contained only by paper-thin wafer sheets, however makes up for his
disinterest. It is luscious, flavourful and really, really creamy. We
soon join the crowd laughing and licking the sweet liquid flowing down
our hands, totally in love with the bawas and their food.
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