Eating India

I frequent a dhaba in Pahar Ganj, the dirty, dusty market road in central Delhi. Last year it had a sign, Snoba, or Snarku, or something like that, but this year the sign is gone. I questioned if it was wise to dive right back into the dirty dirty of Indian food, but this dhaba has never done me wrong.

The difference between a dhaba and a normal restaurant is that dhabas bring the kitchen out front. Several men stand about in wife beaters and longees, prepping nans and chipatis for the mud oven and then fishing them out with long metal sticks. A big fat man with a kind face and heavy mustache ladles out the curries and dals---huge pots of simmering, colorful, spicy goodness. Tonight I keep it simple-rice, dal, and a chipati. Its the Indian version of rice and beans.

The secret to this dhaba, and what keeps me coming back, is its the spiciest food I've ever enjoyed the hell out of. In fact, I could say it was on those torn black leather benches I learned to eat--to love--spicy food. At Snarbu, or whatever it is now, you moan a bit with each bite. Then as soon as you've finished the moan, the fire hits. *Oh, this is heaven, moan* *Ah- fire-ah!* Another bite soothes the fire in your mouth, until you've swallowed that one too, and then the fire comes back stronger. So my average meal here is devoured in under ten minutes. I leave with water in my eyes and a runny nose, first because I'm so grateful for such delicious nourishment, and second because there is fire in every part of my face. I like to think it is burning up the dust of Delhi and keeping my sinuses clear.

Does that sound like the top of an onion? "India, spice, dust!" I could add: color! mangoes! temples! Funny how the things we love about a place become so cliche. New Orleans- the music! The food! The culture! It's all true, but its the top layer of an onion. The longer you're in New Orleans, the more you get in there, to the hot middle of the music and the soul and the dance. Returning here, I feel the same. Its digging deeper into a damned big onion. A nation of bright red and lime green, where women where more sequins in a day than our city puts on for all of carnival.