Chowing down on chow mein

When Indian restaurants make the claim that they offer Chinese food, they usually mean that they offer Chinese-style noodles – typically chow mein and chop suey. Most restaurants offer some form of chow mein, in veg and chicken options. Besides noodles, the dish will contain an assortment of the expected vegetables: cabbage, carrots, onion, green bell pepper.

On the middle bazaar, just a flight of stairs below the Mall, are a handful of Chinese restaurants that proudly declare they serve “real Chinese food.” They are just tiny holes in the wall, the largest having seven tables, with just enough room to walk down the aisle between. They’re dimly lit and a little dingy, where the occasional cockroach can be spotted dashing across a surface in the dining area. One place has paintings of tigers and dragons on the wall – an awkward copy of Chinese-style art.

Their menus feature momos and a few kinds of stir-fries, but the stars of the show are the noodles. At China Town, my hands-down favorite, there are a dozen kinds of veg chow mein. It starts with regular veg chow mein, then moves to variations based on places: Hong Kong, Sechuan, and Singapore. Then there a variety of different sauces: garlic, ginger, garlic and ginger, as well as regular old gravy. The menu includes numerous kinds of chicken chow mein, as well as one kind made with mutton.

On our first visit, we ordered the veg chow mein, along with a vegetable hot pot in ginger sauce. The stir-fry was pretty good, and the sauce had a really strong ginger flavor that I really enjoyed. The chow mein, meanwhile, was surprisingly delicious. This was due to several factors. First, the noodles were the perfect thickness (actually thinner than the typical chow mein noodle) and consistency, just beyond al dente. Second, they weren’t at all greasy, as chow mein can be both here in India and at home in the States. Third, the veggies were cut to a size similar to the chow mein, so that each forkful contained similarly-shaped bits of food. (They also don’t use green bell pepper, my least favorite vegetable, in their noodles at China Town.) And, finally, whatever they did to season the dish, it was fantastic. I could have easily eaten the entire pot of chow mein by myself.

The next time, the goal was to try two new kinds of noodles. (At Chinese restaurants, I’ve often seen people order two or more varieties of chow mein.) I chose “veg Singapoori chow mein” and “mixed chow mein with gravy.” The latter arrived first, with the noodles in one pot and the gravy in another. The noodles were tinged with a red, spicy, probably tomato-based sauce, while the gravy was a brown, Chinese-style sauce, dotted with cauliflower and cabbage. It was interesting, in a good way. The noodles alone were pretty tasy. I don’t think the addition of gravy did anything for the chow mein, but it seems like Indians like to put gravy on just about everything, so I had really wanted to give it a try.

The Singapoori noodles came out next. I don’t know what makes them Singapore-style, since I’ve never actually had Singaporean food. The most dominant flavors came from the liberal sprinkling of ground black pepper that coated the noodles and from the bits of tomato strewn throughout. We’d had Singapori noodles at another place down the alley called Aunty’s, and the spice-factor had set my mouth on fire, in a mostly tolerable way. China Town’s version did not have as much heat, but they were still really good. Danny liked these noodles best. My vote is still with the regular veg version that we’d had the first time. I think I like my noodles on the simple side, without all the bells and whistles of extra sauces.

Eating at Embassy

There are a couple restaurants in Shimla that I really like and that we go to all the time: Nalini and Alfa. Except for their pizza, which comes with processed cheese and a blah crust, everything Nalini makes is fabulous, from masala dosas to karadhi paneer and garlic naan to burfi. Alfa is a good place to go for a quick bite, and we almost always order the same thing: Danny gets pav bhaji, and I get a veg burger with a smattering of fries and a small vanilla shake.

There is another restaurant I enjoy that we don’t go to as often, perhaps because it’s ever so slightly out of the way from where we usually spend our time and perhaps because it’s ever so slightly expensive: Embassy. It’s a quiet little place, with lots of polished wood, huge windows looking out onto Shimla town, and hand-written signs quoting J. Krishnamurti, among others. There typically aren’t many people there the times I’ve been, so it’s a good place to get a little bit of peace and quiet, along with some gorgeous views and delicious food.

I mentioned Embassy’s food earlier, when I wrote about their chicken pizza and the bowl of veggies I’d had. The next time Danny and I went in for a meal, I had dal with rice (one of my very favorite comfort foods in India), and Danny had lamb with fried potatoes. There is usually just one person working who does it all: cooks, serves, and sells Krishnamurti books. He also owns the place. Despite the fact that there is a menu, he is happy to suggest something not on the menu – or suggest something entirely different if what you order isn’t available. He told me he would make my rice with cumin seeds, suggested the potatoes and lamb instead when Danny ordered a chicken pizza, and then further suggested tomato soup and banana lassis.

Everything was excellent. The tomato soup came with little croutons that were buttery and still crispy on the inside, even after sitting in the soup while we waited for it to cool. After having plain lassis (basically, just plain yogurt, water, and sugar) at other restaurants, the addition of banana was a welcome change. The rice was fluffy, and the dal had just the right amount of masala (spicy heat). Danny’s potatoes were amazing: absolutely crispy on the outside, and so perfectly cooked that they needed no extra sauces or seasonings. The lamb was tender, having been cooked in a sauce that tasted Moroccan to me (I recognized cloves, but I’m not sure what else was in there).

The bill came to Rs.600 (about US $12), which is two to three times the amount we usually spend for a meal. But we were also aware that Danny’s lamb dish would have easily cost about twenty dollars back home, and so, yet again, we were glad for a relatively inexpensive but fabulous culinary experience.

When farmers get agitated at monkeys

Earlier this week, Danny was invited to attend a farmers’ “agitation,” which was to discuss the monkey problem that was occurring in the villages outside Shimla. Not only do monkeys steal food from humans in urban areas, they take fruit, vegetables, and grains from village farms, thereby ruining crops and the farmers’ livelihoods. When we heard that it was an agitation, we were thinking it would be a rally, much like the Communist rally we had seen a few days earlier: a large group of people, holding red flags, and someone shouting over a microphone. It turned out to be more of a conference – a three-hour long, rather boring meeting with speeches from different members of the community concerned with this particular monkey problem.

It began with a gathering on the main road by the bus terminal. This was because many people were coming in on buses from their villages. People milled about, Danny talked to a couple of them (including an interesting fellow with dreads who was a retired principal), and I baked in the hot late morning sun and watched the vegetable vendors sell their wares. After nearly two hours, we trekked up the hill – very slowly, as the majority of folks were older.

The conference was held in the auditorium at Kali Bari temple. Some men set up a microphone and podium on the stage and hung signs with slogans around the room. There were also journalists in attendance, taking photos and video and also interviewing Danny. All the speeches were in Hindi, so, while I tried to look interested, it was difficult to really pay attention. In fact, I found myself beginning to doze after about an hour or so. Listening to their tone, though, I definitely could tell that there was a lot of frustration and anger about the monkeys (and also feral pigs) that were destroying their crops.

After about two and a half hours, some people came around and passed out snacks: a little plastic cup of chai and two pieces of bread pakora for everyone. The pakora was greasy, and the slices of bread were filled with a little bit of curried potato. It was a heavy bit of food to put into my stomach when all I’d had was toast for breakfast, but it tasted good. After all, how can you not like a deep-fried potato curry sandwich?

When the agitation was over, Danny shook a few hands, and we headed back into town, stopping along the way to look at the goods being sold outside the temple. All in all, it was an interesting experience, though I have to admit I personally didn’t get a lot out of it. I did feel bad for the farmers, though. India’s farmers are faced with quite a challenge from several wild animals, including elephants, which trample crops (and houses!), and tigers and leopards, which kill livestock. There isn’t an easy solution to controlling crop destruction by animals, apart from killing them – which isn’t really the answer, considering that the three mentioned above are endangered. The farmers at this conference would like to see monkeys eliminated through culling or by exporting them to the U.S. and U.K. (which is currently illegal), where they could be used for biomedical research. Current methods, such as relocation and sterilization, don’t appear to be working as well as the farmers would like.

The next day, we were told that, apparently, Danny and I had been on the local TV station.

Indian-style

When we stopped at one of the little hole-in-the-wall stalls near our hotel (the kind that sells biscuits, potato chips, Cadbury chocolate bars, bottled water, individually-wrapped cough drops, and batteries), the man behind the counter asked if we needed any toilet tissue. When I said no, he said, “Indian-style?”

There are two kinds of toilets in India: the squat and the “Western.” The former is, apparently, the bane of Western tourists everywhere. A quick internet search brings up numerous web sites warning the reader of the horrors of the squat toilet. Oh, no – you have to squat to relieve yourself! Avoid this if you have to, even if it means holding it in till you get to a “normal” toilet! (This is actual advice I’ve read.)

To add insult to injury, toilet paper might not be available. Imagine having to clean yourself with water and your hand! The same websites recommend bringing toilet paper with you, just in case.

I know I’m poking fun at something a lot of people are uncomfortable with: the bodily functions that have to do with evacuation. It’s easy for us to ignore what happens in the bathroom, since it’s merely a matter of using a handful of toilet paper, then closing the lid and flushing it all away. We don’t really have to see what’s happening, much less think about it.

For much of the world, however, this isn’t the case. Plumbing can be poor to nonexistent, and so people often have to face the problem of where to do their business and what to do with it afterward. In India, people in the villages without indoor plumbing will go out to the fields to relieve themselves, whereas in urban slums, some people shit in plastic bags, tie a knot, and toss them into the street. Suffice to say, it’s not very sanitary.

Where there are toilets available in India, particularly in public areas, the squat toilet is the most common. It was developed because squatting is the most natural way for humans to evacuate the bowels. (The Western toilet actually requires more strain on the body and can increase the occurrence of hemorrhoids and constipation.) Granted, the public toilets here, no matter what type of toilet, are pretty gross. Often, there will be urine on the floor or on the toilet seat if there is one. A flushable toilet is fairly rare; usually, the handle is broken, and so the bowl is filled with whatever the previous users have left behind. The smell isn’t so pleasant either. I suppose it doesn’t bother most people here, as filthy public toilets seem to be the norm. When I’m using a public toilet, I tend to do the following: roll up my pant legs so as not to get them soaked in urine or whatever fluids might be on the floor, cover my nose which helps with the odor, and carry hand sanitizer which is useful even if there is water and soap available for hand washing (which is not always the case, if the faucet happens to be broken or there just isn’t any soap).

Sometimes when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go – and it’s simply silly to be picky about the kind of toilet you’re going to use. On my last trip, I used a squat toilet while on a moving train, where the bottom was open to the tracks below. It smelled, and the train car vibrated as it made its way toward its destination. I looked at the whole experience as an adventure, even as I hoped the door would stay locked and I held onto the wall of the bathroom with my fingertips. What was I going to do, wait several more hours for a Western toilet with toilet paper at our still far-off hotel?

Indian bathrooms also include a spigot (or, in some cases, a bucket of water) and a cup (usually a plastic one with a handle, though sometimes it’s also just an old, re-used oil container). This is for washing up afterward. In fancier bathrooms which have Western toilets, like the ones in hotels, there is a geyser option, which is either a hose attached beside the toilet or a spigot built into the toilet itself, at the back of the toilet seat. Again, for those of us in the West, the idea of washing yourself after a bowel movement with some water and your hand is pretty unappealing. After having been here for seven weeks, I’ve actually gotten used to it (provided there is a geyser and typically not in a public bathroom setting).

First of all, toilet paper isn’t so good for Indian sewer systems, which weren’t developed to handle the amount of tissue that Westerners use. (The average American uses fifty-seven sheets of toilet paper a day.) Secondly, toilet paper isn’t necessarily good for our bottoms. Not surprisingly, washing with water actually gets one cleaner than by simply wiping with paper. A study in 1964 examined the underwear of 940 men in Oxfordshire, England, and found fecal contamination in nearly all of them, from “wasp-colored” stains to “frank massive feces.” Gross, right? But do you really expect dry paper to properly clean your bum?

I’ve been reading Rose George’s The Big Necessity: Adventures in the World of Human Waste (from which I got the above statistic about toilet paper as well as the study). This book explores everything from attitudes toward human waste to movements towards improved sanitation in impoverished countries to high-tech toilets. (Danny thought it was an appropriate progression from books about food.) It’s a fascinating read that’s sometimes funny, sometimes depressing, and all-around informative. And it’s helped me to realize that washing instead of wiping isn’t such a bad idea after all. After all, I’m going to wash my hands afterward anyway. (This is not necessarily the case with the rest of India and has resulted in movements toward encouraging better hand washing habits to prevent stomach ailments, colds, and other infectious diseases.) The one thing I’ve really had to get used to is being a little wet after using the toilet. But, as with many things in India, you get used to things after a while, even if they’re slightly inconvenient.

Sure, poop is gross and stinky, and it ought to be confined to a toilet with decent plumbing. But I actually have no problem dealing with it “Indian-style.” Which means any toilet tissue I do purchase is used toward a runny nose.

Hanuman's birthday

On the day that Jakhu temple celebrated Hanuman Jayanti, we headed up to the mandir in the morning to participate in the festivities. We first went into the temple itself, which was decorated with shiny metallic tinsel hanging from the ceiling and a strand of marigolds draped over every image of Hanuman – and there are a lot of them. We got our tiliks, rose water, and a heaping handful of prasad (the typical hazelnuts and white candy, plus golden raisins). On our way out, we were given a generous helping of halwa in a bowl made of dried leaves (a typical way to serve chaat, as the bowl is biodegradable), along with a couple of large, sweet, cracker-like things to eat them with. The halwa was also popular with the monkeys, while the crackers were enjoyed thoroughly by the Sheru, the temple dog.

We were then invited to sit in the large hall that had just been built (it had been under construction since I was last here in December) to have a celebratory meal. We sat on the floor on a long jute mat and were given tin thali plates. Men with large buckets came around, spooning food onto the plates: first rice, then dal makhani, curry, and channa paneer. We ate with our hands, as no utensils were provided, and I managed to eat without making too much of a mess. (Watching my mom eat rice with her hands all these years helped with my technique a little bit.) It was a fantastic meal, especially the paneer dish, which was delicious. It had paneer and chick peas, with cashews and golden raisins, all in a coconut milk-based sauce. This was followed by a spoonful of kheer, which is better than any rice pudding you can get in the States. (We discovered that monkeys like kheer, too – we found one outside where the dishes were being washed, stealing leftovers off of unguarded plates.)

 

Afterwards, we went out to give the monkeys some birthday treats: apples, oranges, and stale rice and rotis.

When we were done celebrating, we went to sit on the steps that lead up to the temple grounds, while Danny did some observations and asked questions of people that were headed to and from the mandir. There are some fairly aggressive monkeys that hang out in that area, and it wasn’t too long before one of the females decided to try to take a swipe at my glasses. I felt a paw on my back, then a tug at my glasses. Because I wear one of those elastic bands that people wear to keep their glasses on during sports, my glasses more or less stayed where they were – leaving the confused monkey wondering why she hadn’t been successful.

As we were leaving, though, another monkey – perhaps the same one from before – made another attempt to snatch my glasses. Maybe I hadn’t adjusted the elastic band properly, or maybe the monkey was lucky in the angle at which she pulled the glasses. Either way, she made off with my glasses and ran into a tree with them. The prasad-wallah went after her with a packet of nuts and made the trade. My glasses were returned to me with the end of the right ear piece covered in monkey teeth marks – and the prasad guy was nice enough to not charge for the packet. The monkey, meanwhile, sat in the tree and enjoyed her nuts.

Is it auspicious if a monkey steals your glasses on Hanuman’s birthday?

Shimla gets dressed to the nines for Diwali

As Diwali approaches, all the shops on the Mall start to put up their decorations. The most popular are strings of marigolds and garlands of silk flowers. These are hung from awnings, over shop windows, and around signs.

Several shops also put up fairy lights, which twinkle through the evening till the shop closes.

The more high-end shops, particularly the ones that sell jewelry, get especially decked out. One encircled its sign in imported fresh flowers, including gerber daisies, orchids, and roses. Another hung a fancy banner with Ganesh, Lakshmi, and swastiks, as well as a garland with silk flowers, plastic beads, sparkly pom-poms, and golden baubles with Ganesh and “om” on them. In the shop window, a diamond engagement ring sat rotating on a pedestal covered in little electric puja candles.

 

 

 The fountains in the public areas, which typically are shut down, flow freely in celebration, and some even shine bright with festive lights.

At the internet café we go to, the shop’s little mandir was decorated, too, with fairy lights, marigolds, and a tinsel-edged banner.

Even our hotel was, of course, in the spirit – especially since the owner and his family live there. A large sticker in the shape of the traditional rangoli (typically made with colored sand) was put on the front stoop. Then, upon returning from a late lunch on Diwali, we found little feet painted on each of the stairs in the hotel, representing Lakshmi’s footprints.

That night, we listened as the children of the owner giggled and shrieked as they set off firecrackers outside the entrance to the hotel, right under our window.

Happy Diwali, everyone, and happy new year!

Shopping for Diwali

Like with Christmas in the West, Diwali, which is happening this weekend, involves a lot of shopping: decorations, gifts, sweets, new clothes. Unlike in the West, the bulk of the shopping happens just a week or two beforehand (instead of months!). The shops in the lower bazaar burst into a explosion of colors, and the street suddenly teems with people jostling each other as they search for the best deals in silk flower arrangements and garlands, blinking fairy lights, candles in every shape imaginable (from tea lights to dogs and cats to fruit and corn), and sparkling banners proclaiming, “Welcome,” and “Happy Diwali.”

There are piles of little clay pots, which will eventually hold oil and a wick to light the way home for Lord Ram, and men sell bags of cotton to turn into wicks. Tables are heavily laden with mithai, including pastel-colored burfi, a fudge-like milk-based sweet (sometimes studded with nuts or given a thin layer of edible silver), and laddoo, balls of dough soaked in sticky sweet syrup. People buy boxes by the kilo to give to friends and family. Hanging from yellow and red awnings are lengths of colored string, from which images of Ganesh and Lakshmi hang in either paper or silver plastic. For children, there are shiny paper hats with noise-makers attached to the top (the kind often found at kids’ birthday parties), with a little straw that hangs down so the child can blow into them.

 

At night, the bazaar lights up with bare bulbs, shining through plastic beaded chandeliers and flower garlands in primary colors, and multicolored fairy lights in the shape of bulbs (both traditional and round), flowers, and stars.

I did a little Christmas shopping myself and picked up a few things to bring home. There were some pretty tea lights for sale, in holders that were decorated with tiny beads and sequins. I also picked up a couple pretty kurtas with silver thread woven into the fabric and metallic edging along the hems – perfect to wear at the holidays when I get home.

The long-cut to the mandir

One afternoon, we decided to take the back road up to Jakhu, where the private cars and government taxis go to take people who don’t want to make the chest-heaving trek up the hill. We ended up finding a foot path that wound through the grass at the top of the hill. It reminded me of hiking at home, although, embarrassingly, it was a difficult hike for me. I got out of breath easily and had to take numerous breaks – which I’m hoping was simply due to my chest cold and the altitude.

 

 

It was definitely a very pretty hike. The hill is covered in small purple flowers, which burst open recently after the rains were over. The air smelled fresh and green. And, occasionally, we spotted a dog, monkey, or bird from where we stood on the path.

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Happy belated birthday, Jake! Hope the next quarter century of life treats you well.

It'll cure what ails you?

Since arriving in Shimla four weeks ago, I’ve been plagued by a bad chest cold. I started off by having allergies, thanks to the amount of dust and mildew in our hotel room. This was resolved by buying our own pillows, sheets, and blankets – because who knows how old and unwashed (and therefore full of dust mites) the hotel’s pillows and polyester blanket were? But then I developed a hacking cough that had nothing to do with my allergies, which was sometimes accompanied by a runny nose and muscle aches. On top of which, I’ve been absolutely fatigued. Waking up in the morning is a chore, and I often feel drained throughout the day.

Perhaps my allergies had lowered my immunity, and perhaps the high altitude has prevented me from healing as quickly as I normally should. Either way, Danny decided it was high time I saw someone about it. There is an ayurvedic clinic up at Jakhu temple, and when we were there this past weekend, we stopped in. I explained my symptoms to Dr. Seth, and she looked at my throat and my nose and listened to my chest. She determined that my illness was not related to my lungs, as they sounded fine, but instead, it was something wrong with my throat.

I received a battery of medicine: a handful of red capsules, wrapped in newspaper; an herbal cough syrup, to be taken with hot water; nose drops; and a mysterious powder in an unlabeled bottle, to be mixed with honey and hot water. I’m not exactly sure what everything does, but they were all free! Dr. Seth said there was no charge. In fact, the bottles say, “H.P. [Himachal Pradesh] Govt supply. Not for resale.” So my guess is that the clinic is government-funded.

The pills go down easy, and the cough syrup isn’t too terrible, though I don’t look forward to drinking it. The powder is spicy, like it’s full of cloves and ginger, and I actually think it’s just a kind of chai (everyone here seems to think chai is a cure-all, so why not?). The nose drops are the worst, mostly because I hate the way the herbal tincture runs down the back of my throat and leaves me feeling kind of itchy there. In fact, I’ve given up on them, since I feel like the drops aren’t helping. I want to believe that these herbal remedies will make me better, but I still have the cough and I still don’t feel great.

We’ll be stopping in again, since Danny wants to ask Dr. Seth some questions for his research. She said she wants to give me something to boost my immunity. I’m definitely interested to find out what new herbal remedy I’ll be adding to pile – and if they’ll even work.

Shopping in the lower bazaar

When most tourists come to Shimla, they spend most of their time on the Ridge and the Mall, where the majority of the shops are higher-end (designer saris and gold jewelry) or tourist-related (resin statues of Ganesh and Lakshmi, woolen Himachali shawls). But follow the road down when the path forks outside of Sher-E-Punjab, and it’s a whole different sort of shopping experience.

The path through the bazaar is narrow, but the crowd is huge. There are little shops running along each side, each dedicated to something different: bed linens, plastic kitchenware, children’s clothes, adult clothes, underwear, sweets, chaat. Because there’s such little space, it’s easy to bump into people and negotiating the crowd is the only way to go from one side of the road to the other.

When Danny and I wandered down to explore the lower bazaar, it was the week before Karva Chauth. On that particular festival day, married women spend the day fasting to ensure the long-life of their husbands, eating only when they see the moon at night. When evening comes, women come out in their finest saris, gold wedding jewelry, and armfuls of bangles – some even paint their hands with mehendi like when they were married. They bring their puja thalis down to the Ridge, make offerings of incense and marigolds, and burn candles inside little, painted clay pots, before going to have dinner with their families.

In the lower bazaar, this meant that many shops were selling oodles of bangles, in a rainbow of sparkling colors and sizes. I stopped to look at the bangles outside several shops. I often didn’t stop for very long, not wanting to jockey for space between the crowds of aunties looking for a good bargain. I also knew that most of the bangles wouldn’t fit over my American-sized hands. When I was able to find a shop that had less people, the shopkeeper would be keen to show me the sets of bangles that cost Rs. 250 (US $5) – which doesn’t sound like a lot, but I was looking for a set that cost around Rs. 30!

The shops were also selling the little clay pots to be used for holding candles or oil. The reddish clay was painted orange-red or gold, with the addition of simple designs painted in black and red. I thought they were quite pretty, but I also knew that something that delicate wouldn’t survive the trip home in my bag.

We wandered further down into the bazaar, to the area called subzi mundi – the vegetable market. This area was jam-packed with shoppers trying to find the freshest, tastiest, and cheapest produce at the stalls lined on either side of the narrow path. There were brown-splotched bananas, green-tinged oranges, apples in yellow and red (Himachal is famous for its apples), kiwis, pears, pomegranates, and persimmons. As for the subzi, there were cabbages, red onions, okra, eggplants, potatoes, cucumbers, chayotes, ginger, garlic, daikon radishes, white button mushrooms, and corn. There were also a couple of people selling spices: black pepper, cumin seeds, cinnamon bark, cardamom pods, and others I didn’t recognize. There were more chaat sellers, as well as people selling a variety of nuts and every kind of achaar (a condiment of spicy pickled vegetables) you can think of, including mango and garlic.

For whatever reason, the Lonely Planet guidebook neglects to mention anything about Shimla’s lower bazaar. There’s nothing about the shops, the vegetable market, or even the restaurants. I’m not entirely sure why this gap in their information exists. The lower bazaar is a great place to explore and to become completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of people trying to get all their shopping done. There are some great restaurants down there, too. (Danny and I had a really tasty paneer kofta at a placed called Deepak. Unfortunately, I then proceeded to get a little sick, but I still think the culinary experience was completely worth it!) I haven’t seen a single Western tourist off the beaten track of Shimla’s tourist areas, which I think is really too bad. They’re definitely missing out.

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Happy birthday, Jessica! I wish I could be at home to have a margarita with you.