Biryani Diaries

Biryani Diaries 

FOODIE!

Now, for all you who were wondering, I am Indian. With a Malaysian passport. Living in Thailand.

Now that that's cleared up, I have to mention one thing. I HATE Indian food. This is not because I am some pompous, spoilt and an ungrateful kid that hates his ethnicity because it’s not 'cool'.

I mean come on; my gods are elephants and are BLUE! You can’t beat that.

I'm as Indian as it comes. I negotiate whenever possible and even when not possible I try anyway. I do have BO when I don’t use deodorant I have a perpetual belly that even with HOURS in the gym just does go away (I don't even know what a gym is). I have more hair then a mountain gorilla, and similar features in general.

But sadly, the food has never agreed with me. Like some sort of virus it makes my insides turn to liquid, and my best friend for days becomes my butt spray (a small spray used to clean toilets, which we use to clean our bottoms).

Also, I have always been a fan of clean flavours, fresh ingredients and simple cooking. My grandfather always took me to the best Chinese eateries in town. We were fortunate to always live in areas where local fresh produce was available, but this was what we found at our door step. My dad is the biggest foodie I know, so we always were at the market picking up fresh seafood and meats and just doing them simply.

My mum who will kick Gordon Ramsy 14 Michelin stars any day of the week always made an extensive array of food. Indian, but simple, not rich curries that sat in your stomach for days. She is the best chef EVER. Her food was light, aromatic yet went down like jello. I am a pompous, arrogant spoilt foodie today because of her brilliance. THANKS MUM!

So as I grew older and could make my own food choices and demands, I never liked Indian food. The spices hid any essence of flavour. The curries were just well, HOT. Distinguishing what was what was almost impossible when it’s all mixed together in your hands. Vegetables were brown rather than green, every ounce of chlorophyll destroyed by the cooking technique of just hours and hours over the stove.

There is one dish however that makes me smile! It is the KING of Indian food. The cherry on the cake, the dish that when you mention its name to any brown person it just makes people go mmmmmmmmmm and transport them back to that time when they had... The Perfect Biryani.

I am somewhat of a Biryani connoisseur as I have eaten some of the best from all around the world.

I've eaten at traditional Indian Muslim Biryani at a famous businessman's wedding in India (Indian Muslims are famed for biryani as this was a dish brought in by the Moguls). Malaysia also has its fair share of places, but they are dying out, because becoming a gangster and cutting people is far cooler then carrying on family tradition.

So I was told to go to Kolkata to find the best briyani. As Bengal was famed for biryani, I had the pleasure of attending one of Cal's (cool way to say Kolkata) famed restaurateur’s son’s wedding, and there it was. A giant pot of rice cooked over slow fire with spices and heavenly lamb pieces at the bottom. As you can imagine the food selection at this wedding party was not to be messed with. Most hotel buffets didn't have this kind of spread. There was mouth-watering food everywhere. But only a line for THIS one dish.

A sweaty Indian man laboured away serving plate after plate, and as particles of sweat dripped into the biryani to adjust the seasoning I was getting excited. If ever there was a food boner I HAD ONE. At that point nothing mattered except tasting this biryani.

"Little rice, lots of meat"- My standard biryani ordering.

Wow was this great. The rice was like running your hands though a beautiful lady's hair. Silky, smooth and every strain just shinning and running through your fingers. The meat.... ahhh the meat. I'm salivating all over the computer just thinking about it. Soft, fragrant and CLEAN! I was shocked. The best biryani was not full of spices and nonsense. Just a true expression of good, clean and high-end produce marriage with some great wholesome flavours to help them along. The lamb was actually goat, which I'm told is actually much better for this dish. The deep red meat was rich in flavour and usually a little tougher then lamb as they are let loose to roam and eat from the land. Yogurt is added to the marination to soften the meat slightly.

The combination of the golden saffron rice and the succulent lamb pieces was well... I'm speechless

As I sit here and look at this photo I can remember every bite.

What a meal. This was no nonsense biryani. SIMPLY THE BEST.
 

 

Or was it....

Bengal did have the best biryani, but Kolkata has a rival.

A juggernaut to the West.

The small, densely populated, politically unstable and patriotic.

Bangladesh.

Begalis are a beautiful people; warm, kind and hospitable. I have the pleasure of befriending some of them. Although my friends are not what you would call the typical Begali citizens they do share the same traits. I was pressured one weekend to go visit them.

Yes, I was going to Dhaka. Where a can of beer was punishable up to 4 years prison term. Where shopping malls and watching the latest movie was a luxury. Every person who went didn't have a single nice thing to say. Comforting, I thought to myself. What the hell am I going to do?

I was told, however that biryani there is legendary. A certain cook has been serving royal weddings to the who’s who of Dhaka’s house parties for years. This. This was worth going for, my life could be taken after a bite of this famous Biryani but WHO cares. The adventure will be worth it.

With everyone in my family and friends panicking and laughing at me going to this third world megacity, which is famed for corruption, riots and all round chaos could stir up at any min, I was off.

Boy, was everyone wrong. Dhaka is a beautiful city. Cleaner than most cities in India. Definitely poor, but it has charm. The architecture is amazing. Although some are rundown, the new buildings can rival many cities around the world. The people are beautiful. Bengalis are just an amazing race, the ones you meet are very educated, their interest is not how cheap you buy a LV bag or who's humping who. They're well versed in politics, art, and literature. They're aware of their surroundings. Political debates are rampart, and business and social lives is tossed around like a softball. Amazing. I was taken aback.

But I was here for one thing. As much as I loved these guys, I wanted my biryani damnit!

But first, we were treated by the queen of all things crustaceans famed lunch. As beautiful as the people are their women. Feisty, powerful and downright beautiful; Bengali women run the country (leaders of both political parties in Bangladesh are women). My awesome friend whose father is in the shrimp business was so sweet to surprise us all by hosting lunch. This in Dhaka was a big deal I am told. As after she announced it, that's all people were talking about. Like heroin addicts knowing they're going to get their next shot, I was amazed. How good can their shrimp really be? I mean Bangladesh surely cannot beat my beloved Thailand when it comes to all matters prawn related.
 

 

 

I must apologize for the lack of photos, but I was incredibly hungover. Moving and speaking was a hassle, so this was the best I could do. Bengalis love their food spicy. That scared me more then Freddy Krueger as a cuddling buddy. I cannot eat spice. A micron of chili will kill me. Literally. Dead.

 

I had to explain this to my beautiful host, and boy did she come through. The dishes were beautifully spiced BUT NO HEAT. I nervously scrambled and ate each bite. Like a solider treading on a mine field I traded carefully. In the back of my mind scared to death that I was gonna stumble on something hot and just fall on the floor having a fit and embarrassing myself. But it never came. Bite after bite I was smiling. The hangover was gone in the distance.

Have I found a cuisine that was ethnically Indian, but just so wonderful to eat?

Indian cuisine tailor made for me.

 

The GIANT prawns looked like some genetic project gone wrong, but in a good way. Huge, soft and sweet. They were like eating pieces of lobsters. So good was this meal that one of the guests almost died. Literally choked on a Jumbo prawn and had to have the Heimlich kicked out of him.

WOW. There was fish as fresh as the ocean. Prawns that made you think you were eating candy.

Perfect meal, you bet your ass it was.

THE BIG DAY:

On our last day, severely hungover slummed in one of my friend’s couches they said we got it. The famed shop that sells biryani to royals, the rich and shameless was sending over 5 packets of goodness. But that wasn't enough. My friend's chef would be making us his version as well. (That's Bengalis for you. You ask for one, they will give you two just so you go home satisfied).

So dehydrated, hungry and sleepy, we anxiously waited for this wonder meal. As the army (no exaggeration the typical Bengali house has roughly 100 people working in it!) of servants scrambled to make sure everything was ready, we sat down. One of our hosts explained all the delectable things that were on offer. In my pure moment of ecstasy I forgot to take any pictures and dug in.

I know. I'm an idiot.

If you saw the pictures you would be booking flights to Dhaka as we speak as well as drooling, dancing and maybe, just maybe, having multiple orgasms.

But hey, maybe I'm doing good for Dhaka tourism board by just describing these dishes so you can go see them for yourself.

The biryani I was surprised was like nothing I have ever seen. Their Biryani was white and light brown. Not golden. There were raisins which sometimes is added.

But Pale?? This is why the Aryan race is boring, white just means nothing. No flavour, no character and no taste.

The rice was sticky, almost like Japanese rice. To tell you the truth I was disappointed. Was this like the emperor’s new clothes, has this man been cheating all these people by claiming white rice and lamb was biryani. How do I tell them? My friends who I thought were educated and intelligent have finally fallen for the greatest con.

Then I ate a bite. A burst of flavour in my mouth. I was almost shocked. Like when you get spanked and you actually enjoy it. This was work of the devil, voodoo or just a great chef. The rice was delicately spiced, the experience is very difficult to put into words. If you ever have Indian food its usually a bombardment of spice and chilies in your mouth. Identifying each flavour is next to impossible. This was not the case here, you could feel the flavours tickling your tongue individually. It was like a drug, you just needed more and more to satisfy the craving. This man was not a con job, he was a genius.

To accompany it was good old farmed chicken. None of this over size rubbish we get in the modern world. Where the chicken is big and tasteless and have more hormones then a 16 year old teenager. This was made in a tomato-based gravy and lightly spiced. The two together was better then having a orgy with 10 Victoria Secret models when Brazilians were in trend. Just fantastic.

In one's life you must experience this. It will bring you a whole new perspective on Indian food. When my Bengali friends told me food in Dhaka was good. They lied.

IT IS BRILLIANT!

Special thanks to all those who made this trip so special. Your hospitality and kindness were second to none.