The sky is a vivid inky blue. At 6.45 p.m., it theatrically frames the multi-domed Thousand Lights Mosque. The sun goes down, and the muezzin’s call to prayer begins.
It’s the fourth week of Ramzan, observed by Muslims worldwide as a month of fasting. It gets darker, and then suddenly begins to rain. We gather under a generously wide arch that serves as an entrance to the 19th Century mosque and watch volunteers hand out dates, glasses of water, and bowls of nombu kanji, ladled from large shiny vessels as Iftar begins.
Chef Arul Santhosh leans forward to whisper that the nutritious gruel is an ideal way to break a day of fasting. A combination of rice and lentils, it’s spiced with biryani masala, which gives it, its unique flavour. Further down Peter’s Road, a 10-minute walk away, we pause at Ameerunnisa Begum Sahiba Mosque, where the nombu kanji is being handed out to anyone who wants a meal. Chef Saravanan emerges with a jug filled with piping hot kanji, which he pours into little paper cups for us to taste. It’s unfamiliar, but unexpectedly comforting, laced with finely-chopped ginger, chunks of tomato and a gentle smattering of green chillies. The rain, which had paused briefly, begins again as we dive into a car and drive towards Royapettah.
An hour earlier we had gathered at The Park, Chennai, over bowls of rich haleem topped with golden-brown onions and slices of lime. Over the past couple of weeks, the two chefs aided by Darshini Ashok, the curator of the walk, travelled across the city to research Chennai’s unique Iftar traditions. As we spoon up haleem, brought in from Fisherman’s Fare, the restaurant that first made haleem mainstream in Chennai, the team argues good-naturedly about the best in the city. (The Park also makes a sophisticated, creamy version, by the way.) There’s no conclusive contender, though everyone agrees that Hyderabad’s legendary Pista House’s new Triplicane franchisee is definitely worth checking out.
Now, all squashed cheerfully together in a car, en route to MR Sons Bakery, famous for its ‘Ande ki Mithai,’ a baked egg-centric dessert, Darshini, between a bout of giggles, tells us how she and the chefs — resplendent in their white coats — navigated their way through Zam Bazaar by intently sniffing the air and following the best scents. As it turns out, the rather prosaic-looking bakery is a great find. Because, between its deceptively dreary shelves, filled with slices of staid cakes and cookies, there’s a beat-up tray filled with their signature dessert: Ande ki mithai. The advantage of having chefs show you around quickly becomes obvious, as Chef Arul gently teases the recipe out from the chatty staff. “They beat the egg whites till they’re fluffy, then add flour, khoa and nuts.” The mixture is sweetened with honey before it’s baked for an hour, till it sets to a pleasingly wobbly consistency. They make about six trays a day, each weighing six kilos, and by the time the shop closes, they’re always sold out.
We walk through Zam Bazaar, stopping at intervals to investigate little ramshackle shops selling a bewildering, and completely unrelated, collection of goods: loofas, Sarsaparilla syrup, brooms and an astonishingly wide array of macaroni. After much careful consideration — since the area is full of biryani joints — the chefs have chosen Amirunissa, based solely on the powerful fragrance of their biryani. The little space, fronted by two massive vessels blackened by age and thousands of hours over wood fires, has a sign in front announcing that they use “Leghorn country chicken”. Considering this is a breed originating in Tuscany, Italy, that seems unlikely, but some quick Googling throws up an old article in The Hindu that throws some light on the mystery. It’s more likely the Namakkal Desi Chicken, which is “a combination of four breeds of chicken that includes two Indian native birds — Naked Neck and Kadaknath — and two American and English cross varieties — White Leghorn and Rhode Island Red.” Handing us plates piled with biryani, Chef Saravanan says Amirunissa’s signature is using massive pieces of chicken. “They cut each chicken into four. So every customer gets a quarter,” he says. The cook says he makes about 400 kilos a day; a number that sounds quite incredible, till he mentions that they also have a couple of other outlets. With long grain basmati rice and meat that practically falls off the bone, the biryani is skilfully-made, and competitively priced at Rs. 70 a plate for chicken, and Rs. 110 for mutton. The mutton is the better of the two, and it helps that the service is impressively attentive.
In the mood for dessert, we walk to Basha Halwa Wala and scrutinise their menu. There are some truly baffling entries, including ‘Bitrot halwa’. So when we see ‘Damka Roat’ we assume it’s just another spelling mistake. Fortunately, the chefs ask them to pull out a tray because it’s spectacular: a fudgy baked concoction of suji roasted with ghee, then blended with khoa before being baked. However, what makes them truly endearing is their flashy website, which the staff suggest we look at. Proudly advertising their wares, they describe their beetroot halwa as “delicious excellence”, which sounds like a hyperbole — till you see what they call their milk khoa: “Voluptuous desire of addiction.”
