The Search for Street Meat

Delhi street food is a curious beast. The city contains some of the greatest variety and most delicious cheap eats known to man and womankind, but the intrepid eater is constantly plagued by the threat of Delhi Belly. A curious and complicated list of rules for safely eating Delhi street food has therefore emerged: Don’t eat street food in summer when the temperature soars. Don’t eat street food too late in the afternoon/evening when it was presumably been sitting out all day, unless you can watch the food being prepared directly in front of you. Don’t eat anything with liquid in it. Don’t eat street meat.

Now, that last prohibition had been annoying me because I love street meats and I therefore determined to tempt fate and find and eat buckets of the most delicious street meat I could find. (I must say, I’ve come to approach street food with a somewhat reckless attitude now, having spending 10 months in Delhi without once being felled by the notorious Delhi Belly. This is probably a result of a stomach well-tempered by eating the best street foods that Beijing and Mexico City had to offer.  And, likely a childhood misspent by sucking on various items found on the mean streets of NYC helped build up my immune system too.)



So, last week I decided to combine my trip to a Sufi shrine (more on that later) with a search for Delhi’s finest street meats. Considering that I was venturing into a Islamic part of the city, I thought it much more likely that competition for street meat would be more robust and delicious—unlike Hindus, Muslims aren’t usually vegetarians. I even did some online research before hitting the streets and learned that there was one particular street in the neighborhood which was renowned for its casual eateries. In particular, all of the online commentators seemed to drool over this place called Ghalib’s. 

 [The hunt for street meat is on! I started here, with a long like of eateries featuring big pots containing delicious smelling things]

 [As you can see, I'm very happy here. The only thing I enjoy more than hunting for cheap eats is eating cheaply (and deliciously)]

[There was a strip of yummy looking places with a bench or two to sit on. But I knew I wasn't stopping until I found Ghalib's]

[I was almost seduced into eating at this place, which smelled like delicious roast chicken. Next time.]

So, off I went and after many wrong turns down dark and dirty alleyways, I finally found Ghalib’s. Now, as you can see, this place is not much too look at. Basically, we’re talking about two guys with a grill and a big clay biryani pot on the outside of a small three-sided room (the fourth side was open to the alleyway) where maybe 10 people could sit comfortably. There was also a fridge with a few beers and cokes were chilling and a printed menu on the wall. No one spoke English of course, but I basically just pointed at what I wanted. 

 [The outside of Ghalib's. Not much to look at, really]

 [Voila! The man behind all of the Ghalib's magic. Could this be Mr. Ghalib himself? As you can see from the line of customers, Mr. Ghalib's culinary skills are much in demand.]

The result? Tender, spicy, dripping-with-fat fresh-off-the-grill melt-in-your mouth succulent bites of meat. (Buffalo meat, I think). Also, not pictured here (sorry) cigar shaped rolls of deliciously spiced goat meat. And, of course, chicken biryani, well-spiced with nutmeg, pepper, cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, coriander, garlic and who knows whatever else. 

The one real setback with this place was that it did not serve any raita (a yogurt based dish common in India) to offset the spice of the food. But, I’m definitely going back soon, and bringing my own yogurt. Now that I’ve discovered the pleasures that Delhi street meat has to offer, wild horses couldn’t keep me away.

And while we're on the subject of Haves and Have Nots...

Considering my post from yesterday, I think it is very easy (and lazy) to view the Have and Have Not situation in Delhi in Dickensian terms--i.e., there are stingy and greedy Ebenezer Scrooge's and poor, selfless Tiny Tims. Truth be told, I'm sure there are folks running around here that are straight up caricatures of folks like that but the reality on the ground is that the interaction between the Haves and the Have Nots is much more nuanced. In my experience this relationship is complicated on both sides by feelings of distrust, resentment and suspicion which have a way of hardening into ugly behavior.

 

I am certainly a Have and live my life almost entirely interacting with the Haves. Here are some situations that, for me, exemplify the difficulty in acting as beneficently and generously as Haves might like to:

 

Last weekend I went to visit a monument in Delhi which was about a 15 minute walk from the nearest metro station. In an ideal world, upon exiting the metro station I would have walked to the nearest rickshaw bicyclist, gotten into his vehicle, and enjoyed a smooth and quick ride to the site, enriching the poor cyclist with well-earned wages and saving myself the hassle of trying to find the way and being jostled in a crowded, dirty, polluted walk for 15 minutes. Yes, I would have really like to have taken the bicyclist and it should have been a win-win situation for all. But instead, as I exited the metro station I was bumrushed by about 7 cyclist all yelling at me and trying to hustle me into their seat. I felt overwhelmed and when the cyclists wouldn't leave me alone even after I indicated that I wasn't interested, a little threatened. They were quoting my prices I knew were absurd for the ride and so I felt angry at the idea they were trying to take advantage of what they assumed to be my ignorance because I'm obviously foreign. Plus, I didn't trust that they would take me straight to the site instead of taking me first to their cousin's store (which happens sometimes when you're a white person in a tourist area.) So, instead of taking and happily paying for a service that I wanted and that many folks wanted to give me, I chose the crowded and uncomfortable walk.
 

Our security guard asked my roommate for some money to buy a heater. She refused. She told me, "Two years ago I gave the then security guard a Rs 2000 for a heater, which is too much but I wanted to make sure he definitely had enough. I never saw the heater and I never saw the money again. So, this year I'll just buy the heater myself." Except, of course, my roommate is very busy and buying a heater can be a confusing thing in Delhi. After a few more cold days and nights without a heater she finally just gave the security guard Rs 1000, and emphasized that she needed to see the heater once he bought it.
 

Every morning at a particular traffic light on my way to work young children (none older than 11, I reckon) ask me for money. Many are carrying sleeping infants or have ugly injuries. They're almost always barefoot--even walking on the major streets in this frigid weather. It is so, so sad, but I never give children money because I'm suspicious they're being used as begging tools on behalf of unscrupulous adults, because I've heard that the sleeping infants are usually (and dangerously) drugged to stay asleep during the begging hours and I don't want to encourage that, because if the situation were really that desperate I wonder that they don't also ask the auto drivers also (instead of just the customers), and because of a hundred different reasons as well.  I also don't engage with the children other than a perfunctory head shaking initially because I've learned that if you smile at them, make extended eye contact or speak kindly to them the children won't leave but continue bowing to your feet or showing off their infants/injuries with increasing pathos.
 

So, the relationship between the Haves and the Have Nots is much more complicated than Dickens might have you believe. (Query, Mr. Dickens, whether the real solution to industrial England's evils is Scrooge changing his heart versus having the government implement effective welfare programs?) On the other hand, I do believe that there is far too little empathy in India for the plight of the Have Nots which expresses itself in a lack of respect for the inherent dignity of people. But what I'm trying to say is that while I can imagine the righteous anger and disgust that might be felt by a rickshaw cyclist  when watching a well-monied tourist walk away rather than spend 50 cents on a ride, or by a security guard sleeping outside when refused money for a heater by the person whose cozy house he guards, or by a begging child when blatantly ignored by a wealthy commuter, these acts do not necessarily stem from a lack of compassion but rather from the realities of the complicated and distrustful relationship existing between Haves and Have Nots.

 

Of course, I do believe that it is incumbent on the Haves to reach through this troubled relationship with generosity, compassion and empathy...but it's really not as simple as waking up one morning having shed one's "Bah humbug!" attitude. Personally, being smart, staying safe and hassle-free and extending generosity are three balls I still am learning to juggle.

Parties, death, servants and thoughts on A Christmas Carol.

Last Saturday night, at 2am, I was really pissed off. Despite the frigid weather, my next-door neighbors (the ones in the enormous house with the surrounding wall too high to see over) were having a very big, very loud outdoor party around a fire-pit. They were blasting disco music, Bollywood hits, and 80s pop-songs and all sorts of synthesized music that a tired soul like myself has no desire to hear at bedtime. (And to add insult to injury, the partygoers were apparently passing around a mike so they could sing along in loud, drunken and very off-key melodies).

 

My room is at the front of my apartment, with nothing but a wall of windows to mute the cacophony. It was, in fact so loud that to talk to another person in my room I would have had to raise my voice. I considered getting dressed, marching over to my neighbors, persuading the security guard to let me in, and giving the owners a piece of my mind. But, as I've said, it was very cold outside and the idea of getting dressed to deal with the hassle was particularly unpalatable. So, instead I dragged my blankets to my roommate's room at the back of the house (she was gone on holiday) and eventually--with the help of both earplugs and my noise cancelling headphones--managed to get to sleep.

 

When I woke up in the morning there were emergency vehicles and reports outside of my neighbor's house. Three people had died there in the night, with a fourth in critical condition.

 

Who died? Well, as per usual, bad stuff always happens to the most vulnerable of a household and in this case it was four household servants who apparently, having drunk their fill, went to bed in the wee hours of the morning in a poorly ventilated room with no windows. To stave off the cold they used a coal heater and were slowly asphyxiated by carbon monoxide poisoning during the night. (The fourth man sleeping in the room was found still breathing, and rushed to the emergency room where he remains in intensive care).  

 

The somewhat sensationalist article I read about the tragedy mentioned several times that the servants had been drinking alcohol--and perhaps that fact is relevant in that the men may have not been as sensitive to the danger as they usually would have been. To me, however, the real villain here is the living situation endured by servants--when you have 4 men sleeping in a small room with no windows on a cold night is it any surprise that when something goes wrong it goes really, really wrong?
 

Many servants in India have a really hard life, working 24/7/365 in poor conditions for minimal earnings. (We all remember the case of the domestic servant who accused her employer--an Indian diplomat to the USA--of trafficking, right? In my opinion the US responded appropriately by taking the servant's complaint seriously, but many Indians were totally appalled by the USA's lack of respect for their diplomat, never mind the trafficking complaint by the servant)

 

Another story--my friend lives in a building with one all-day, all-night security guard who sleeps outdoors on a cot by the gate. She noticed lately that he was always wrapped in a blanket and shivering and so offered to give him one of her extra electric heaters to keep by his cot. (Though, how much good that really can do for a person sleeping outdoors I do not know). In any case, the guard refused her offer, telling my friend that the landlady doesn't allow him to plug-in a heater since it uses too much electricity and runs up her bill. According to my friend, this landlady also constantly curses at and insults the poor man in the foulest language imaginable.  For the record, this servant earns about Rs. 15,000 (US $240 a month) and works 24 hours a day with no holidays. He apparently also has 5 kids. (I have no idea how, if he works all the time, he's had time to even father 5 children--I'm chalking this up to one of the mysteries of the world that I do not understand).

 

I watched the Christmas Carol last night and was again struck by how similar the divide between haves and have-nots are in Dickensian England and current day India. (In fact, at one point I had to turn the movie off since it was striking a little too close to home.) I see reflections of those little emaciated figures of Want and Ignorance cowering beneath the robes of the Spirit of Christmas Present all over this city. (And certainly, thinking about these things puts my own grumpiness at  the fact I needed to drag my bedding to another room due to the loud party outside into perspective.)

Random scenes from Delhi

Just a few snapshots from my rambles over the past few weeks....

[The fish market]

[View from a friend's balcony]

[Corner shop]

[Sleeping puppy, sheltered by motorbike]

[Goat having a moment with a motorbike]

 [I have no idea what this is--I just randomly walked by it one day!]

Indian Barbie

Anyone want to know what an Indian Barbie looks like? Well, here you go! (Hint, there are lots of saris involved).

Dogs in sweaters

About 3 weeks ago, when the weather dropped below 70 degrees for the first time I began to notice a very strange phenomenon amongst the dogs in Delhi--all of a sudden the dogs were sporting coats.


Some of the dogs had on proper dog coats, as you see below....

... but many others were simply clad in a small-sized human sweater, which is very cute and very silly looking.

Strangely enough, it wasn't just the pets that were wearing coats, but even some of the well-known street dogs around the way were modeling winter garments (bolstering my theory that the street dogs are semi-looked after by the people who live/work on the streets, such as street guards, vegetable wallahs, etc.)

I find this hilarious because actually--it's not that cold here. Like, these dogs were prancing around in coats when it was in the mid-60s. What wimps!

Christmas in India

How does one celebrate Christmas in India? Well, there is certainly a healthy population of Indian Christians (which I might add, is definitely an overrepresented population in my office), but obviously the vast majority of the country does not celebrate the holiday. There is still a whiff of noel in the air, of course, because most westerners in Delhi are (a) Christmas-celebrators and (b) pretty wealthy compared to the rest of the population. As you can perhaps imagine (a) + (b) = healthy dose of consumerism aimed at such population, so in most of the upscale markets nowadays you do see small shops selling plastic Christmas trees and cheap ornaments. (I myself just purchased two Santa Claus hats today as an impulse buy. What I shall do with them, I do not know).

Other than the small shops selling Christmas junk the atmosphere of Christmas is pretty lacking here. In fact, I think we perhaps don't grasp how much the month of December is simply suffused with Christmasy stuff back home but here there is no Christmas music on the radio (or piped through store speakers), no special Christmas sales, no Christmas TV or movie programming, No Salvation Army dudes ringing their bell outside of my workplace, no Christmas decoration of public buildings (except, I think in some malls). For me this is a particularly striking change from last year as I worked just a block away from the big Christmas tree at Rockerfeller Center and catycorner from the Rockettes show--so I was literally at the epicenter of Christmas touristry.

However, just because there is not a citywide celebration in the offering, that doesn't stop me and my friends from getting our Christmas on!!!

So, here's what we've done:

Decorated a tree! I did buy one of those small plastic trees being sold--I'm sorry, I know my environmentalist creds just dropped a bit. My roommates and I do have an excess of Christmas lights (referred to as Diwali lights, here) which we usually use for our rooftop deck. However, I was at a loss as to what we could use for ornaments--so I decided to decorate the tree with my jewelry (including my sparkly bangle bracelets, which make excellent ornaments). And, as it turned out one of my roommates did have a box of ornaments which she'd picked up somewhere, so all and all I think it turned out quite festive!

Went to a Christmas market! This was being held at the German school and had lots of cute little gift stands. For me, of course, the best part was eating the bratwurst. Mmmmmm, bratwurst.

Held an advent party! Apparently this is a German thing--one of my roommates is German--wherein friends and family all get together on the first Sunday in December to eat, drink, and be merry. My German roommate cooked up a storm and we opened up our roof deck for a brunch party which lasted 10 hours.

 [The food!]

[We gave prizes for the person in the best Christmas-themed clothing]

 

[My favorite party guest]

 [These are my crazy roommates]
 

So as you can see, we can do Christmas quite well without any state support!

Indian tacos

Yes, in case anyone was wondering, this is what a taco looks like in India. A pastry filled with paneer, marketed by a vaguely racist chile cartoon, sold by Domino's Pizza.

Honestly, I never knew how much I crave Mexican food on a daily basis until I came to Delhi...

Hi-tech Fashion

My friend just sent me this photo. Whoever thinks that India's fashion is old-fashioned should check out the below and reconsider.

Party Horse

I saw my friendly neighborhood vegetable cart pulling horse the other day--all done up and ready to party. (Mane dyed and everything!) I wonder where he was heading when the work day was done?

Delhi International Airport

I've taken two international flights in the last 6 weeks and have gotten to know the Delhi airport pretty well. In addition to the usual duty free stores and overpriced coffee shops it has some...unusual features.

For example, there is a live sitar player and band!

Also, you can get your palm read for a very reasonable price. 

 

Coffee is not such a big thing in India yet, so the airport coffee shops need to try a little harder to attract customers. (And who am I to pass up a free tasting?)

And of course, there is the giant metallic Buddha head.

Of course, perhaps none of this compares to the Amsterdam Airport, where I recently spent a grand total of 12 hours. The only thing that made the layovers bearable? The Amsterdam Airport is the only one I know of with a dedicated cheese counter. Frequent fliers, take note.

The Worst Sandwich in the World

I've just eaten the worst chicken sandwich in the world.

This is particularly ironic, because my coworkers have been talking up this sandwich joint for weeks--and it gets a 4.5 star rating (out of 5 stars) on India's version of yelp. (It's hard to get a 4.5 rating, btw--most places don't get above 4.) I even asked my colleagues to recommend to me the best sandwich available at this place, and they recommend this one.

I might also note that this cost 25% more than my delicious daily lunches, which come with a yummy vegetable dish, a well-spiced bean dish, and an abundance of rice and fresh roti.

It was served with a packet of ketchup.

Behold the sandwich!

 

 

There's a lot of things that India does well, but sandwiches aren't one of them.

The Hunt for an Anarkali, or Indian Wedding Wear Would Make a Vegas Showgirl Proud

When my parents come to visit in a few weeks we will be going to an Indian wedding of the son some family friends. Naturally, I'm delighted as I've been wanting to go to an Indian wedding for pretty much the entirety of my life and have look upon this as the perfect opportunity to purchase some awesome Indian wedding wear. I already own a sari, but I also wanted to purchase an anarkali, which is basically an long elegant Indian dress worn over leggings. A friend of mine from work was also wedding-wear shopping, so last weekend we embarked on an exciting Hunt for an Anarkali.

Now, it's pretty clear that Indian women's fashion wholeheartedly embraces bling and brightness, but honestly, I was NOT prepared for the cornucopia of sequins and rhinestones that confronted me in EVERY shop on EVERY dress. Seriously, y'all--anarkalis look like what would happen if a Vegas showgirl and Dolly Parten had a lovechild who went on to star in the beauty pageants.  What I'm saying is--India must single handled keep the glitter and glitz industry in business.

In every store that we went into I told the sales girls, "I'm looking for something very simple, no rhinestones or sequins" and every time they would then proceed to pull out dresses covered in rhinestones and sequins for my approval. I was annoyed at first until I realized that, actually, what they were showing me were the simplest anarkalis they had; there were literally no anarkalis not blinged out.

And it's not just the bling, y'all. The colors of these things are blinding--bright oranges and turquoise and neon green and EVERY color of pink (but especially hot pink). Basically, if it looks like a color your 5 year old might want to dress her Malibu Barbie in, you'd find it there.

Now, I bet you're thinking, Wow, so bright and so many rhinestones--I bet these anarkalis are pretty expensive, huh? And you know what? For once, in India, you'd be right. Anarkalis are effing pricey. I guess I was expecting them to be on the cheap side (like everything else in India) but what I learned is that apparently wedding-wear (even for guests) is crazy expensive in India. (Not surprising, I guess--it's not uncommon here for families to go significantly in debt to pay for a daughter's wedding and families save up for years to pay for these three-day-long lavish events.)

Point is, the cheapest decent anarkali I could find cost about USD$200, and the ones I liked were significantly more than that. So, much as I did actually enjoy the shopping and trying on of the anarkalis--I just couldn't bring myself to drop that much dough on an outfit I could only wear to an Indian wedding or when performing at the Ice Capades.

So, instead I'll try to borrow a second sari from a friend. Plus, now that I've finally figured out how to tie a sari on--no mean feat--I need excuses to practice my new-found skill!

Was that a dead body outside my office?

Last Tuesday, there was a man lying on the street (just off the curb) outside of my office. He was fully covered with a mangy-looking blanket, with only his feet sticking out--no shoes. The blanket was covered with flies. He was lying in the sun on a busy street in the middle of the day, with no one paying him any mind.

I said to my co-worker, "I think that's a dead body."
My co-worker responded, "Nah, he's probably just sleeping."

Let's consider:

Dead Body?	Just Sleeping?
Who sleeps on the side of a busy road?	Who leaves a dead body on the side of a busy road?
No, but seriously—isn’t it weird to fall asleep midday in the middle of the street and cover yourself totally with a blanket?	Actually, my colleague, who lives in the neighborhood, says he passes people sleeping like that all the time.
But, isn’t it possible all of the people my colleague sees sleeping are actually dead bodies too?	Unlikely. How many people can be dying and having their friends dump their bodies off the curb? Indian culture is pretty respectful of the dead.
Ok, sure—but the blanket was covered in flies.	EVERYTHING in India is covered in flies. (Just look at your favorite dosa stand.)
Why would he choose to sleep in a busy road, though? Wouldn’t he find a quieter nice side alley?	Maybe the smaller the street the more likely that you’ll get run over? Or, maybe he worked in the shop he was lying in front of/truck he was lying behind and couldn’t really leave the area?
Ok then, let’s go with “Just sleeping”.	Yup, definitely just sleeping.  That really makes it better for everyone concerned.

 
So, "Just Sleeping" it is.

Salon of Terror!

As many of you know, I got my hair cut very, very short before I came to India. I've spent the last 8 months growing out that bad decision, which had resulted in a long and mangy mullet-like situation. Clearly, it was time to visit the hairdresser.

Now, I considered going to my usual place when I was back in NYC 3 weeks ago but ultimately decided against it because (a) they were the ones who gave me the not-so-great haircut to begin with and (b) a cut at my place in NYC is 10 times as expensive as in India. (Nope, that is not an exaggeration. Literally, 10 times as expensive). So, with no small amount of trepidation--India is, after all, a country filled with women with lovely long predominately straight hair--I went last Saturday to the salon.

Now, I don't want you all to think I went in blindly. Quite the contrary, I did my research both in terms of crowd-sourcing friends and internet reviews. Ultimately I decided to go to the Martina Wu Salon on the recommendation of an Iranian friend here with curly hair. "Go see Martina," she told me "My curly hair was very happy."

So, to Martina I went. But, things took an immediate wrong turn when I walked through the door and without any ado they ushered me to the hair washing station. NO, WRONG!!! Curly hair is not meant to be washed wet--any good salon knows that curly hair should be cut dry in order to see how the curls will fall. At the very least the stylist actually cutting your hair should see what you look like with dry hair so she can get a sense of how tight the curls are, etc. This is VERY important because otherwise a stylist might cut wet curly hair thinking it's like straight hair--i.e., what you see is what you get--without realizing that about half of that length is going to be sucked up by the ringlet.

Things were not off to an auspicious start. And, to make matters worse the fellow washing my hair did two further unforgiveable things.  First, he dried my hair by vigorously rubbing it with a towel, NO WRONG AGAIN--HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD OF UNCONTROLLABLE FRIZZ YOU TOWEL-DRYING MANIAC!!! Then, and I shudder to tell you all this, he took out a comb and combed it. Combing, my beautiful curly hair--which hasn't seen the like of nary a comb or a brush for about 20 years (since I realized the cotton-ball head is not a good look for anyone)--I could have cried!

With the integrity of my curly hair having been violated, I was left, wet and somewhat overheated (because there was no AC on the salon) in the chair of execution, er, the stylist's chair. Adding insult to injury, some fool decided it would be a good idea to keep a Maroon 5 song on repeat.

Then Ms. Martina Wu made her appearance.

She picked up scissors and made a pass at my hair. "NONONONONO!" says I "Let me tell you what I want." And so I explain that my hair is curly, and that I'm not fond of the mullet situation going on, and than I showed her a picture of my with a haircut I liked from about 3 years ago.

Says Martina Wu, "It can't be done."

Now, to be fair, I think Ms. Wu was probably correct--my hair is still too short to obtain the length and fullness of the hair in the picture. But still, I had to believe things weren't quite so dire. So, Martina and I spoke for the next 5 minutes about what could be done, and then she gave me what may have been the fastest haircut of my life. And then she let some of her crazy minions loose on my hair with a blow dryer before sending me out the door.

Ok, now to be fair, I actually think that--disastrous blow drying styling aside (not that that matter much because after the tragic combing event there was little that could be done to preserve the sanctity of the curl) the cut is not that bad. It's even...cute. (Well, you can judge for yourself from the photo above.) But the whole experience was so traumatic, I think it may have turned my hair gray.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Happy Thanksgiving to all my my faithful readers! I sure you're all wondering what I did this Thanksgiving... well, I'll give you four guesses:

a. Worked all day.

b. Took a moment to remember everything in my pretty awesome life that I'm thankful for, including the fact that I didn't get stuck at Penn station waiting on train cancelled due to snow storms.

c. Ate a delicious Ethiopian meal at the Ethiopian Embassy in Delhi (pictured above) with a bunch of French and German friends.

d. All of the above.

Of course, (d). What can I say? Even without turkey or pumpkin pie (mmmm, pie) Thanksgiving can be pretty awesome. I can't wait to see what Christmas in Delhi is like!