Spice of Life| For the love of butter chicken & naan, eat on

Like most true-blue Punjabi households, a lot of our conversations revolve around food. No holiday, travel or festivity goes without due importance being given to culinary delights. For me, propped high up on the gastronomic mantle is the one and only butter chicken, accompanied by its steadfast soulmate the garlic butter naan. The roots of this love story can be traced back to my childhood.

Food at our home was always tasty and mostly simple fare, even for parties, the spread would be prepared by my mother who was a fauji wife and had a treasure of recipes, thanks to ladies’ clubs from the various stations my dad had served at. But anytime there was something big, an anniversary, birthday or the last day before we were shipped off to boarding school after the holidays, the treat at our dinner table would always be ordered-in butter chicken with naan.

When we would be visiting my paternal grandparents, there was this one place that became our go-to for our packed dinner, so much so, the gentleman who used to take our order could soon pre-empt our requirement. It was not a fancy place, but the preparation was outstanding and, in those days, it suited my father’s pocket.

I was all of 14 years, when my first article got published in a children’s magazine, Target. The joy of seeing my name in print was magnified by the encouragement I received from my over-enthusiastic family, and of course the evening was celebrated digging into the amber hues of thick cashew gravy, coating succulent, tender, pieces of non-vegetarian delight (read butter chicken). In my world the only thing that can give competition to this delicacy is a plate of spicy channa-bhaturas.

As newlyweds about 25 years ago, we were once hosting a friend visiting the country from Europe. The gentleman in question had tastebuds like mine and had obviously missed Indian food, for he went all out with placing the order at this fancy place we took him to. By the end of the meal, the guest had consumed way more than our monthly budget allowed and definitely more than what we were carrying in cash (these were days before credit cards were commonplace). Much to our disdain and the burden of our now very light wallets, the meal ended with a hearty slice of chocolate cake and a cup of flavoured coffee to wash it down. So, the last 20 minutes of the evening, I sat making small talk with our guest whilst the husband drove to the nearest ATM to replenish our dwindled resources.

One evening, the husband and I were invited to the home of a British family living in our city, the invite read: ‘Drinks and Bites’. We arrived early, headed towards the well-stocked bar, helped ourselves to some liquid delights, while our host directed us towards the snacks table. It was an interesting mix of fruit, cheese platters, nuts and pizzas, that the husband chose to pass up because he was saving his appetite for dinner. But, within the next couple of hours, the rest of the guests started to bid their byes and leave, we of course followed suit, suppressed our by-now-growling stomachs and profusely thanked our gracious hosts, who had followed the invite to the ‘T’ with a spread of ‘drinks and bites’ (which our Punjabi tuning could not fathom).

On the drive back home, there was sullen silence in the car that only evaporated on spotting a roadside vendor selling a variety of parathas accompanied with a generous dollop of butter, which were devoured by us at an enthusiastic pace. a.jasveen@gmail.com

The writer runs an agri-tourism project in Hoshiarpur