The one thing immigrants always miss when they are away from the home country is the food. You can live without the noise, the pollution, the crowds. You can also live without the familiar faces and places. But you cannot live without the taste. Indian cuisine is not my top favourite restaurant pick and is neither my first, second, third or even fifth choice. Having said that, I do crave my favorite desi khana. As a Gujju, give me khichdi and I am in heaven. Any which way: with pickles, with gravy potato and brinjal vegetable, with yoghurt and always a side of papad. And as an avowed samosaholic, I have still not found the perfect samosa in the city. The search is on. Though I do not eat it as often, I have to admit when I do eat desi food, I overeat. Butter chicken, dosas, handvo, my ultimate favourite junk snacks of chakri and bikaneri sev, pav bhaji, aloo bhaji and puri, melt in your mouth gulab jamuns are a few of my favourite dishes. I cook it occasionally and going to a desi home generally means it is the cuisine of choice so I do not really miss it. I have ample opportunity to indulge my greed. Another reason to avoid Indian restaurants is because of the unique aroma of Indian spices infiltrating the air especially at restaurants ensuring I leave smelling like a curry shop. Funnily enough it is never an issue in India, I guess the closed environment breeds the smell and it gets into upholstery, clothes, carpeting, jackets and then stays on. New York City is a haven for Indian food enthusiasts with many restaurants. I did get off my high horse and relent by dining at two so far! And both of them were amazing culinary experiences; Jehangir Mehta’s now-closed fusion restaurant, Mehtaphor and Manish Mehrotra’s restaurant par excellence, Indian Accent.
When I first spoke with Jehangir Mehta, I was intrigued by his approach. He serves Indian food with a difference. It is not enough to brand his cuisine as fusion. Eating at Mehta’s restaurants is a personalised experience. I celebrated my son’s 21st birthday at his restaurant and not only was my son surprised I was going desi on him, but I surprised myself too. I had to fill out a questionnaire regarding my son’s likes and dislikes, his favourite music, his quirks and based on my responses, Mehta created a menu personalised for him. As each course was introduced, there was an explanation on why a particular dish was chosen, the significance it has to my son and how he combined the flavors. So there was butter chicken pasta, steak with okra and a scrumptiously different tiramisu. Unfortunately, Mehtaphor has since closed down but Jehangir Mehta’s Graffiti in the East Village is even more well-known and has the same concept.
Indian Accent is a gastronomic adventure. I had read enough about it for my curiosity to be piqued and decided I would bend my, ’no Indian cuisine’ rule for this restaurant. Considering its popularity, we were lucky to get reservation. It could have been a combination of late-on-a-weeknight and my friend’s awesome contacts! Multiple things struck me when I walked into the restaurant. I was amazed at the simplicity in the logo: a ‘bindi’ over the “I” and the giveaway name were the only signs of it being an Indian restaurant. Once we entered, there were no tell-tale decorative pieces from the mother country, no piped shehnai or sitar music, none of the serving staff were remotely Indian and most glaringly, there was not even a whiff of Indian spices in the air. It comes across as an elegant restaurant, slightly upmarket but nothing to set it apart from other NYC restaurants. Until the food started arriving. And it came course after course after course, because my dinner companions and I decided to indulge our taste buds. Talk about fusion with a complete twist. The tastes were Indian, the presentation un-Indian, the approach totally avant garde. Our waiter was an elderly white male who was on his third day at work and he served each dish with the aplomb of a khitmatgar complete with his heavily accented Indian pronunciations.
From the first tantalising appetizer of the potato sphere chaatto the last bite of the makhai malai, we indulged and we ate until we were bursting. The flavours exploding in our mouth, the visual presentation, the dance of the spices on our tongues and the audible groan of satisfaction as each morsel travelled down our esophagus to take up residence in our intestines. Each bite was a treat. Each dish was a revelation. This restaurant more than lives up to its reputation.
Two restaurants, two different variations of our desi cuisine and there is a reason I broke my rule on eating at Indian restaurants. These restaurants break the mould and hallelujah for that.
Now to find that perfect samosa in the city and I will be all set.
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