The India Chronicles | Highway Eating - 1

"How much longer?", I ask the driver.
"Just 15 more minutes, Maddum...few kilometres only", he says to my reflection in the rear view mirror.

We are cruising down State Highway 17, south-west of Bangalore towards Mysore and onwards to our lovely weekend holiday. An early morning start with no breakfast and a bumpy stop-and-go ride within city limits has introduced me to a new malaise, one that I've so far been unacquainted with - motion-induced nausea. And it's not nice. All I want to do is stop, and eat. The driver has lifted my spirits by telling me we'll soon be stopping at a "famous idlee place" - "Very nice idlees, Saar", he tells my better half. The thought is comforting and I cannot wait.

Almost every Indian highway between two cities has a "famous eatery" on it. The cuisine , ambience and service will depend on the region or state you're in, but if there's an excellent , sure-shot way to sample some of the best local cuisine in India, this is it. The towns and cities that these highways connect will of course have their own "famous eateries", but if you're on the road and on the move, this is your choice.

So on every road trip in the last few weeks and despite the return of the motion sickness on each of these trips, I urged the driver to bypass the famous coffee-shop chain outlets enroute and head to the "famous idli places" - after all, machine-made coffee and bland sandwiches have nothing on authentic south Indian filter coffee and idlis. And each time I was rewarded for my additional effort to keep the bile in (sorry for that imagery). It wasn't just the excellent food and coffee...

... it was also the bustling busy men and women who served us, sometimes wearing uniforms that were an interesting mixture of the new and practical and the old and traditional.

... and the ambience, made special by its local flavour and quirkiness...

But then no India food guide could possibly miss the ubiquitous street vendor, and these highways are no exception.

Each stop a delight for the foodie, for the flâneur, for the photographer. I've been a flâneuse and photographer for years - and although I'm not a foodie, I think I could totally become one if I spent the rest of my life cruising down India's highways. I do not know about the rest of my life but I'm certainly hoping to make a few more road trips and a few more highway food stops here before I return to London. Motion sickness be damned.

The India Chronicles | Bangalore - a quirky slice of home

When an American, a Canadian and a South African unanimously recommend Sethji's for a good home-cooked North Indian meal in Bangalore - a city you are more of a newcomer to, than them - you listen. And then you try to locate the very popular place (the recommendation is backed up by your brother in law and a few friends) - but ideally not when there's a power cut in the area and it's 8PM and dark. Because if you do, you will go around in a few circles in Indira Nagar before you're pointed towards it by a shopkeeper with an air of incredulity that you walked down that street twice and did not see Sethji's. Everyone knows Sethji's!

Then you finally notice it - the faint flickering neon sign on what looks like someone's house, opposite a temple, that announces this modest but famous mecca for home-cooked food and ...er...what's that - art gallery?!

It's your turn to be incredulous now, especially because this is the first view of the er - gallery ...and restaurant that greets you.

But you have no idea, do you? The place looks like a house from the outside, because it is a house. The living room and courtyards double up as the restaurant - a modest affair with plastic tables and chairs and plastic water jugs and a stack of steel tumblers. And the owner of Sethji's clearly has things beyond food on his mind - the walls of the courtyard are the owner's personal 'gallery' - I suspect the 'art work' is done by someone in the family (or the owner himself) but I couldn't find out on this trip.

The moment you sit down on one of the tables outside, a waiter appears with a laminated piece of paper - the menu. You ask for a bottle of mineral water and he almost laughs and then shakes his head - no mineral water here, please help yourself to the filtered water in the plastic jug. The menu is simple - a choice of several stuffed paranthas (Indian pancake-style bread) with a modest choice of accompaniments. If you have a larger appetite, you could order a full thali (platter). You recall that the salted lassi (buttermilk) was a big part of the recommendations but your tummy is yet to settle down to Bangalore, so you desist. You order a couple of paranthas and wait.

You look around a bit more and notice the psychedelic ceiling. You're beginning to get used to this.

Or so you think. Because then you notice the shai'ri (urdu poetry) in English script on the walls, making your amazement peak!

The cursive inscription on the left reads:

"Mein beqraar dil ka fasaana likhun to kya
Dil ka naheen hai koye thikaana likhun to kya"

loosely transliterated:

How do I write the story of my restless heart/
This heart is a wanderer with no destination, what do I write of it?

Ahem.. Profound. Clearly the owner is an indulgent soul - there is also a corner of the courtyard dedicated to 'mehfils' (gatherings around music or poetry performances).

Before it can all sink in, your food arrives - an affair as simple as it gets. An unassuming parantha in a steel plate with an accompaniment of curd in a small steel bowl. You dig in - the parantha is not the best you've had but it satiates your craving for that homemade taste - something you'd be hard-pressed to find in most eateries in India. There are no napkins or paper towels to wipe your slightly greasy fingers on - and after the mineral water, you're hesitant to ask. You look around and figure out why.

When there's a psychedelic blue washbasin right next to the 'mehfil' area, why would you need a napkin? Really, now.

As we polish off our simple yet delicious meal, we realise just how popular this quirky little place is - customers stream in - young couples, lone guys clearly arriving straight from work, foreign expats, even families. And as randomly thown together as this place seems at first glance, it seems to grow on you - all strange art, mushy poetry, plastic furniture, psychedelic ceiling and washbasin of it. The meal barely makes a scratch on your pocket, and very strangely, you find yourself wanting to come back even before you've left.

Somehow it is only in India that you'll find such an incredibly quirky place that is so popular yet so bordering on the bizarre. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why we call it Incredible India. Ah, India. It's good to be back.

Winter sun and fine foods

Q: What is a really, really good way to end a week full of snow and rain and transport disruptions and construction work at home and associated general madness?

A: Hope the Sunday morning dawns bright and sunny, and when it does, you pick up your camera gear, put on your flaneuring boots and head off to the Chiswick Farmers and Fine Foods Market!

click on photos to enlarge

I took the picturesque route down the Chiswick Mall (the posh Chiswick riverside walk down the Thames) that leads to Dukes Meadows. The Chiswick Farmers and Fine Foods Market sits in the Grove Park Farm just beyond Dukes Meadows every Sunday morning, and is a collaborative initiative by the Dukes Meadows Trust (formerly called Friends of Dukes Meadows).

If the sound of a Farmers Market brings to mind visions of scores of stalls bustling with people, then this market is a surprise. It's tiny - with only 10 to 15 stalls at any time but the moment you enter the Grove Park farm your senses are pleasantly assaulted with the smells - fresh fruit and vegetables, freshly baked sweets and cakes, savouries, Moroccan delicacies, freshly ground coffee, flowers, fresh bread, barbecued hetties...

...it's a really tough choice between succumbing and clicking!

And then there are the sounds - friendly haggling between farmers and customers - some of them regular and familiar, some amblers and photogaphers like me, children playing at the adjoining Dukes Meadows play area, and the profusion of pet dogs. I think the presence of a seller dedicated to home-baked dog biscuits explains it.

The proceeds from the market are dedicated towards the conservation of the Dukes Meadows area, which, according to the Trust, has lost its former glory in the last few years. To me it still looks stunningly beautiful and is the perfect antidote to to the city life that I live just a ten minute walk away from this place - an urban life in stark contrast to the overwhelmingly verdant, almost-rural setting of this market. Two hours spent walking here and I'm rejuvenated for the rest of the week ahead.

I'm saving the haven that is Dukes Meadows and Chiswick Mall for another post. This one's all about the Farmer's Market, which deserves its own glory. Just don't blame me if you are hungry now.