Parsi Pulav

Mumbai is famous for its food, and although I was still sick and having trouble breathing, I wanted to get out and experience some of the local eats. So last Saturday, I dragged myself away from the comfort of the air conditioned hotel room and wandered the back streets well off the tourist track to find the Britannia Restaurant. I found this place thanks to my handy Rough Guide, which sometimes includes little gems not in the Lonely Planet (meaning they are not on the main backpacker trail). We were just about to give up when we saw this grubby sign with the painted letters nearly worn off. It looked more like a garage than a restaurant; the whole front was open, there was not much resembling décor, and it didn’t look like it had seen a paint brush since it opened in 1923. We were really hungry, and there wasn’t much sign of other options in the area, so we took our chances and went in.

The first sign we were in a good place was a voice from the table near the entrance saying “Hey look. Foreigners just walked in here!” Apparently this was a place known mainly to the locals. We sat down and an old Parsi man came to greet us. (Parsis are Zoroastrians who fled to India from Iran.) He had impeccable British English, and looked old enough to have been around during British rule. Nathan ordered something called a Chicken Sali, a chicken stew with crispy potato sticks, and I got the berry pulav – one of the dishes Britannia is famous for. It arrived and was FABULOUS. A mound of roasted vegetables buried in huge plate of perfectly cooked and sautéed rice was topped with crisp caramelized onions, cashews, and dried zereshk berries that are still directly imported from Iran. We were starving and in need of some really good soul food, and the Britannia didn’t disappoint.

The ambiance of the place was just as satisfying as the food. It was clearly a place that was all about the food and not at all about glitz or pretension. A bit dowdy, but clean. The napkins were printed with the outline of a chicken and the words “There is no greater love than the love of eating.” These were obviously my kind of people. The old man, who turned out (not surprisingly) to be the owner, kept coming by to make sure the food was ok. I was looking for something in my notebook when my food arrived, so I didn’t dive in right away. The old man, Mr. Kohinoor, promptly stopped me and told me to eat first and read later. His reputation was on the line if the food got cold and I didn’t like it! I thought I’d best listen to him, and he can rest assured that his reputation remains intact.

Dessert was in order, so Nathan got the caramel custard, another tasty Britannia specialty. I couldn’t resist the mishti dohi (literally: smoked curd), a Bengali delicacy that tastes a hell of a lot better than it sounds. It’s sweetened curd (yoghurt) made in a small earthen pot and smoked. You have to taste it to believe it. It’s hard to find outside of Bengal, but a friend in Delhi introduced me to it and thankfully showed me the best place in Delhi to get it. I now order it whenever I see it on the menu, which isn’t often enough. Anyway, Mr. Kohinoor seemed impressed that I knew what it was, and his mishti dohi was the best I’ve had.

Mr. Kohinoor kept stopping by for little chats, and often I was reading something when he did. Finally he came by the table, sat down, and said “You must be doing a PhD.” Just like that. To which I had to reply “Actually, yes I am.” He wanted to know where we were from, what we were doing in India, who we were. He told us the entire history of the restaurant, which was opened by his father who took out a 99-year lease on the place in 1923. He also answered my burning curiosity about Bombay Duck. I knew it wasn’t duck, but could never remember what exactly it was. They had it on the menu, so I asked. It’s a dish made of salted dried lizardfish that’s landed on the Bombay docks. He also told me – chuckling - about the American tourists who sometimes come, order Bombay duck, and then complain about the absence of duck on their plates. There was some discussion of the mysterious origins of why the fish is called duck, and a little more about politics and how he’d like to see some other leaders try to run a huge, relatively new country like India. In the end, he concluded that the world will be a whole lot better place when it’s run by women like me. I’m not so sure I’m the one to do it, but I think he might be on to something there.