INDIA: TEA FOR TWO IN KOLKATA AND DARJEELING

My chum, Vanessa, amongst other things, buys tea for legendary US deli, Zingerman’s.

It was my announcement, when I was in Ann Arbor last October, that I was going to head up to Darjeeling towards the end of my trip in India, that prompted her to ask if she could join me to see the good stuff being harvested at source.

Who was I to disagree? Particularly when she agreed to turn her considerable talents to organising it.

Which is why, after a short flight and a frankly terrifying car journey we found ourselves pulling up outside the guest bungalow of The Goomtee Tea Estate some 40km South of Darjeeling.

One of the most highly respected tea estates in Darjeeling, Goomtee allows visitors to stay for short periods in their guest accommodation and to join their staff on tours of the plantation and the manufacturing facility.

Before heading up to Darjeeling, Vanessa had already organised for us to join Ashoka Gandotra, a renowned tea taster, for a session of slurping and spitting in Kolkata. Quite an amazing experience as he introduced us to a huge selection of teas, explaining their characteristics and guiding us through the often, confusing terminology employed to grade the good from the bad.

What better then than to help shake the dust from our feet on our arrival at Goomtee than a pot of the real stuff brewed from the leaves selected last Autumn? Lightly coloured with a gentle flavour.

Goomtee accommodates on a full board basis. The food is well known for being simple but delicious and with three square a day and precious little to do but sit in the charming guest quarters, read and admire the astonishing scenery, It is a perfect contrast to the craziness that is Kolkata.

With all meals being vegetarian, supper consisted of simple dishes of eggplant, cauliflower Singara (Bengali Samosa) and Momo, local Nepalese inspired dumplings and breakfasts of Idli (southern Indian rice and lentil cakes) with gently spiced sambar.

Vanessa, with impeccable timing had arranged for us to arrive the day that the garden was planning to begin the first harvest of the new season's first flush.

The first flush is not considered to give the best teas from Darjeeling. That comes in May and June with the second flush. But, the light, almost green, teas make a refreshing, pungent brew which has developed its own following

On our first day, we were introduced to the plantation manager, the imperious Mr Maharesh who announced to the waiting workers that the rain clouds looming overhead would mean no picking on that day. While they headed back to their respective homes, we were taken for a tour of the production facilities.

The next morning, thankfully, the weather improved immeasurably and we headed out to watch the first teas of the season being plucked. The picking is always done by women whose hands, being smaller, cause less damage to the plants. It is, as one would imagine, extraordinarily hard labour, but the workers here are relatively well paid and the garden owners provide housing, schools and health care which makes this an attractive proposition for people heading here in search of jobs from neighbouring Nepal.

That afternoon, we left Goomtee and headed into Darjeeling, some ninety minutes to the North. It is a harmless place to pass a couple of days, but, being full square on the hippie trail, the food options are pretty ropey and aimed primarily at serving neutered “Indian” dishes to French travellers with dreadlocks. In fact, some of the worst food experienced in my whole time in India.

Apart from one horribly early morning start to head to Tiger Hill where we watched The Sun rise over The Himalayas, we spent the majority of our time at Nathmull’s, easily the best tea store in the town. The owner Vijay and son, Girish gave us tastes of some of the best teas from Darjeeling all of which they buy direct from the gardens themselves. We tasted 2007 first flush, second flush, rainy season and Autumn teas from many estates. All different but all having their own distinctive qualities.

With two more days in Kolkata before heading back to the UK and then on to Africa, my short time at Goomtee will find itself very definitely in list of top experiences during the EAT MY GLOBE trip and that morning cuppa may never taste the same ever again.

INDIA: KOLKATA, LAND OF MY FATHERS

Being in India is like having a relationship with a woman that you know is bad for you, but from whom you just can't escape.

She will treat you badly, abuse you and make you feel small and insignificant. Just when you are about to call it quits, she will do something magical and alluring and, just as you have a thousand times before, you will be sucked right back in.

I am in Kolkata and once again, India has sucked me right back in.

After the delights of Goa, I headed to Bangalore.

I hated it. Unless you work in IT or you have become so wound up calling to buy a train ticket from Skegness to Altringham and having to speak to someone half way around the world that you want to fly over and belt somebody, there is no reason on God’s earth to ever go there.

It has all the problems of noise, pollution and hustling and none of the attractions of many other cities in India. If it had not been for very decent South Indian food, my two or so days there would have been a total wash out.

I was exhausted and fed up with India. I was beginning to think it had worn me out and I was counting the days until I headed home to the UK for a brief hiatus before heading off on the last leg of the EAT MY GLOBE journey to Africa and Europe.

Then, I arrived in Kolkata.

I was greeted by my friend, Vanessa from Ann Arbor, who has come over to hang out with me here and in Darjeeling for the next two weeks, and it certainly lifted my spirits to see a friendly face as I walked into the guesthouse at midnight after a long, delayed flight from Bangalore.

It also lifted my spirits to be in Kolkata, where my father was born and the source of so many of the things that have informed the life of Dos Hermanos.

Nothing quite prepares you for Kolkata. It is India to the power of ten. It is more crowded, more polluted, more humid, more, well more everything.

But, just as I was prepared to quit on India, she dragged me back in. With what? Well, the food, naturally.

First thing this morning, cups of strong Darjeeling tea on the terrace of The Tollygunge club to get things moving and then, a short cab ride to Elgin Road and some of the best traditional Bengali food in the city at Kewpie’s Kitchen, a local institution.

Food from Kolkata is like no other in India. Simple and refined with a relative lack of spices compared to many other states, food for a Bengali goes beyond obsession and probably explains DH’s own deep-rooted interest.

We began with a glass of Aampora Shorbot, a drink made with ripe mango, cumin and black salt. Then followed that with vegetarian thalis.

Mounds of rice came with Dahl, Shukta (a mixed vegetable dish cooked with Panch Phoron) deep fried eggplant, Lau (gourd) cooked with nigella seed, Kofta made with spinach and paneer and tiny eggplant cooked in Doi (yoghurt)

We ate, as I have enjoyed doing for the last three weeks, with our hands and used the fresh luchi the waiters brought to the table to mop up the juices before licking our fingers when the plates were clean.

As if that was not enough to send us rolling from the restaurant, we were then presented with the things for which Kolkata is most famous, its sweets. Here, in Bengal, sweets are a cause of many arguments. Are the Sandesh at K.C Das the best? Who makes the finest Payesh? Sweets are a very serious matter in Kolkata.

Our small plate contained a small Sandesh, a pan to help with our post meal digestion and, best of all a bowl of that most sacred of all Bengali sweets, Misti Doi, a yoghurt dessert so redolent of Kolkata that Bengalis in the diaspora will cry at the very mention of it.

I may not feel this way tomorrow, but for now, Me and India are getting along just fine

CHAPTER ONE

Here in the suburbs where it's hard to tell
If I got the bear or if the bear got me

Funny things, Michelin stars. I’m guessing here but I think the majority of the British public who eat out couldn’t give a toss about them or may even have never heard of them. They’re nice for the restaurant as Michelin is one of the industry standards although I think bums on seats may be more important – the two aren’t always linked.

Anyway, I was thinking about matters Michelin after a visit to Anthony’s in Leeds where I had a splendid meal (one of many) that would knock the majority of London starred outfits into a cocked hat. For some very odd reason they haven’t got one, but are still seen as the place to go to in Leeds if you want a top meal. Similarly, the place I visited a few weekends ago with my gastronaut chums Sam and Scott (you remember: more Michelin *** than you can shake a stick at), Chapter One in Locksbottom in Kent lost a star and didn’t get it back which again was odd given the great food coming out of the kitchen there.

It’s an interesting place is Chapter One – not really what I expected at all. For a start it’s big, really big. But on the Saturday lunchtime we were there every table in the airy dining room was taken and some were even turned. Not ours, we were there for the duration (obviously). The menu’s pretty big as well but I was told the kitchen is more akin in size to a large hotel.

I was expecting the usual three course al la carte but the kitchen sent out a couple of extras: a little cup of Petit Marron Veloute – rich, warming and well seasoned - and a small risotto, which came after the first course. Small, but packing a powerful punch (like an ex who I teased mercilessly while tipsy…to my painful regret) it was chock full of unchewy squid, mussels and other good stuff.

My plan was for a light meal: a little salad to start maybe, some lightly steamed fish to follow and a fresh fruit plate to finish but my dining companions twisted my arm and it all turned out very different. I’m glad they did.

When I received my first course proper, Jugged Hare with Truffled Potato Espuma, I thought there’d been a mistake. I had what looked like a glass full of potato espuma (like a foam but a bit more dense) and some little loins of deliciously gamey Hare Loin threaded onto skewers. Breaking through the lightly truffled foam revealed a beautifully rich and deep flavoured hare stew. Jugged Hare is definitely one dish that needs reviving in restaurants and this presentation was witty yet still very satisfying. Great stuff.

Luckily, the hare dish was served in a portion size that allowed me to go a bit overboard for my main course which was (deep breath), Roast Fillet of Angus Beef Foie Gras, Cepes Puree, Ragout of Leeks, Salsify and Cepes with Bordelaise Sauce. With a good fist of beefy meat, a large lump of seared liver, a rich sauce and even a contribution to my five a day (that’ll be the ceps and salsify, then) this was a case of minimalism be damned or kicking it (sorry) old school.

As a complete contrast to my beef I tried a bit of Sam’s Poached and Roasted Chicken which showed that the kitchen also had a light touch when needed. Accurately cooked Poulet Anglaise Chicken was cleverly paired with a Pearl Barley risotto in a light consommé.

After that little lot I would have been forgiven for forgoing pud in favour of a cleansing cup of Verbena tea and prescription strength Zantac but my buddies wouldn’t hear of it and egged me onwards and upwards to the Assiette of Desserts, a small portion of all the sweets on the menu. I’m so glad I have friends who have best interests at heart. This was as good as desserts get and reminded me of a similar dish at the late High Holborn restaurant. What was impressive was that wasn’t a duff component in the whole assembly. Everything had just been cooked or had been allowed time to reach ambient temperature. Standouts for me were the Hot Chocolate Fondant which actually had molten hot chocolate within, a zingy Lemon Tart and a well-judged Cheese Cake.

As I said before given the quality of everything we tried, the ungreedy prices, the service and just the general setup of the place I’m very surprised a star wasn’t regained but this doesn’t seem to worry the local folk who obviously love this place and who are, perhaps inadvertently (but I like to think not), giving British Michelin inspectors a great big V sign.

CHOCSTAR SECRET SUPPER CLUB: PETRA GOES ON TOUR

As you know, Dos Hermanos is usually about, well Dos Hermanos. Our hopes, our dreams and our valiant battle towards world peace or a decent Martini, which ever comes first.

Occasionally however, we do like to give a little mention to out chums in this crazy world we call “Blogdom” when there is something interesting happening or they give us free stuff.

Well, what could be more interesting that having a smokin’ hot babe with a predilection for high heeled boots trundling up to your front door, or indeed your back passage with a van full of chocolaty comestibles?

That’s right, Petra “Chocstar” Barran, DH's favourite "Queen of The Cocao" is going on the road and is looking for invitations to bring Jimmy, her ramshackle but reliable old jalopy, to all corners of the UK so she can see what you are all up to. In return you get chance to taste what those of us, in the know, in London have been raving about for the last couple of years.

Her Venezuelan hot chocolate is the best in town bar none. The thick milkshakes with a Maltezer on top are almost as good and I suspect there is a law being drawn up by lardy people everywhere against her addictive brownies.

She hopes to get out on the road in April for at lest three months. So, why not get in touch with her by e-mail (feedme@chocstar.co.uk) check out her website or join the Facebook group she has already set up for the trip?

Right. Enough of her travelling adventures, I am going back to my own little odyssey.

STEAK

I crouch on the carpet
Not breathing just being

A good Steak is like a Dry Martini. A deceptively simple thing to prepare but devilishly hard to get right. I make a decent enough Martini (shaken not stirred - prefer them that way chez moi) because I have complete control over the preparation which basically comes down to making sure everything is sufficiently chilled. I can do an ok steak as well, but something was always lacking. I suspected it was my griddle pan which couldn’t possibly be as good as a commercial device.

I decided to have another go a few weekends ago. I tried a new (for me) butcher, Jack O’Shea, who supplies The Fat Duck. A very friendly chap, he started off with a place in Brussels and now has a shop near Harrods. He can do all manner of cuts for you including quite a few South American ones I hadn’t heard of before like Picana. His website features a video of him butchering a Leg of Lamb to produce several different cuts which made me wonder why we don’t get this sort of stuff on TV instead of the usual celebrity-driven guff.

Anyway, he suggested a 40 day aged Forerib. The beef had come from Aberdeen Angus stock raised in West Cork. The rib was a bit large side with the bone in the middle but he split it for me. He’d got some marrow bones on display so I scored a couple of them too.

About an hour or so before cooking I let the steak come to room temperature and got the griddle pan heating up. Jack suggested that I give the steak a good sprinkling of sea salt a few hours before to help to give it a good char.

When I was ready to cook there was a bit of surface moisture on the steaks which I removed then I cooked the steak for 4 minutes per side. I seasoned it and put it straight in a low oven for about ten minutes to let it rest and warm through. I served the steak with the previously roasted the marrow bones and some lightly dressed watercress.

I have to say this was the best steak I’ve ever cooked and the flavour was up there with the best steaks I’d ever had. Damn, it even looked professional. I knew it was good because I’d made a little horseradish sauce and put out some Dijon mustard and I preferred the taste au naturel.

Sometimes I have difficulty finishing large steaks but had no problems this time. The taste was so clean it made very easy eating and I finished the lot. A glass or two of Finca Valpiedra 97 accompanied it very nicely.

Buoyed by my success, I went back a week later and bought a Rib of Beef to have for Sunday lunch chez Dos Hermanos padre. Served with all the trimmings it was rated a great success. A lot of the cuts on display in the shop looked a bit too well trimmed of their fat which is probably how the good bhurgers of Knightsbridge like it. If you want something with more fat, age etc. they seem happy enough to see what they have in stock and butcher for you. I look forward to returning and seeing what their other meats are like – I’ve already tried their Oxtail pie (mmm...pie) which was excellent.

INDIA: SON OF A BEACH (GOAN EDITION)

If you have been reading along for the last few months, you will know that occasionally on the EAT MY GLOBE trip, I have veered away from my foodie quest and headed off somewhere for a bit of a break.

The last time was in early November where a week in Salvador, Brazil provided a respite from my travels even if I did feel like I was about to be mugged at any given moment.

This time around, a week in Goa offered up a chance rest up from the grind of airports and cheap guesthouses and to stay in one place for long enough that I could actually unpack my unfeasibly large rucksack.

After a bit of net research, I chose the area of Cavelossim in South Goa which, compared to the northern resorts of Calungate and Baga with their large hotels, clubs and hordes of young revellers, is relatively unspoiled.

The small, family run hotel I chose provided a secluded location to recharge my batteries and prepare for the last three months of the trip and the other guests, nearly all from the North of the UK, seem to have been both to the hotel and the area on numerous occasions before and made sure I did not dine alone on any night during my stay.

It hardly feels like being in India, which is no surprise as it wasn’t until its independence from Portugal in 1961 and the influence of its former masters still runs deep in many aspects of the state. In the deep loyalty to the Catholic faith, in the names of the people and, of course in the food with its use of chillies, tomatoes, garlic and vinegar.

Given that it is a tourist resort, the food does tend to be tailored towards the visiting Brits and would probably be best described as “tasty” rather than “authentic”. With the restaurants and many shacks on the beautiful beaches offering up as much western and standard curry house food as they did Goan dishes.

That being said, even though I was taking a break, I still managed to get myself invited to a debate on responsible tourism (where the main problems discussed by locals were “Drugs, Child Abuse, Garbage Disposal and The Influx Of Russian Tourists”) after which we were presented with a thali made by a local guesthouse owner which included such local dishes as Chicken Xacuti, Shark Abotik and pomfret cooked in semolina batter.

Even in the restaurants, there was decent food to be had, with fresh fish and seafood being delivered daily by the local fishermen who hauled their catch along the beach every morning. Most restaurants, including the one in my hotel, offered terrifically made tandoori meats, fish and paneer rolled in freshly made breads and, of course, one of the most famous dishes of Goa, the Vindaloo was much in evidence.

Unlike it’s UK counterpart, where the name of the game is to make it as close to eating hydrochloric acid as possible, in Goa, it shows its Portuguese roots with pork meat being marinated in local palm vinegar, cloves, garlic and chilli (a mix of hot red chilli and milder Kashmiri chilli to give colour) before being cooked slowly to a rich, sharp consistency.

After a much needed diversion of the Sun & Sea variety, I am now very firmly back in the harness and about to eat my way around Bangalore for a few days. But, I am not ashamed to say that I rather fell for South Goa and am already planning a return.

The last picture is to show that it is not just in the race to be an economic superpower that India is in a fierce contest with China.