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Kachoris for healing!

Disappointed at not finding puris, RAHUL VERMA is more than happy with muttar kachoris

Since I had overdosed on kababs over the last two weeks, I thought I'd have something light and vegetarian this week. The weather was good. A sudden shower had washed away all the dust, and the city looked a bright green. And since green is the colour of vegetables, I made my way to Old Delhi in search of puris and aloo one rainy afternoon last week. I wanted to go to Charkhewalan, for my friend, Rajan, who grew up there, tells me that it's the hub of the trading community. And since you can't beat the fresh puris and spicy aloos in a bania locality, I was all set for a good meal.

Alas, life doesn't always move the way you want it to. I had reached there at around 2.30 pm, and every little stall had stopped making puris for the day. If I wanted a meal of puris, I was told by one genial gentleman, I had to make sure that I was there before 2 p.m.

So I walked out of Charkhewalan — and this is a story that I will have to continue on another day — and moved towards Shyam's shop. I have told you about Shyam before. This is the place in Bad Shah Bullah where you get excellent puris and sabzi. But it wasn't quite my day, for even Shyam had stopped frying their puris. But since the owners are old friends of mine (after all, I am one of their most regular customers), they suggested that I try their muttar kachoris — or kachoris stuffed with peas.

I had never had the kachoris at Shyam's, so I was more than willing, especially since the stomach had been protesting loudly for quite a while. I asked for a plate of kachoris and had a wonderful little meal on that rain-swept day.

Great stuffing

There are three great things about Shyam's kachoris. One, it is a large one, and not the bite-sized kachoris that you get in other places. Two, the stuffing is great: the masalas that the peas are wrapped in are tart and spicy, but not the chilli hot kind. And three, the potato curry that the kachori comes with is just perfect. It's mild and runny - the way the no-nonsense rasewaley aloo is supposed to be.

And this came with tangy methi ki chutney, which complemented the mildness of the aloo. I think a plate of two kachori is for Rs.12, though Shyam's owners insisted on taking ten rupees a plate from me. I had got some kachoris packed for friends, and we had a nice meal of kachoris and gulab jamuns late in the afternoon.

Shyam's is easy to reach. If you are at the Chawri Metro, walk down Chawri bazaar till you reach the point where it meets with Nai Sarak. That's Bad Shah Bullah - and Shyam Sweets is right there, in one corner.

I am going to go back to Charkhewalan for those elusive puris, so you will get to read about it in the weeks to come. But, meanwhile, visit Shyam's for its muttar kachori. It did wonders for my drooping spirits — to say nothing of the grumbling stomach.

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