Food Blog & Travel Diaries : Choo Choo Train

This holiday had so many high points that it's difficult to choose which was the highest of them all and in the language of Lady Whistledown I shall leave it to you dear reader to decide upon that - but getting on to that train was certainly one of them. On one hand we were sad to be leaving our families behind but on the other - both of us were secretly delighted to be getting on to a train after more than a decade.

Trains and I go back a long way. My earliest memory is of the chair car (Delhi to Kolkata) where I was small enough to sleep at my mother's and my sister's feet; the terrifying gangway connection that would never stop swaying (I'm still terrified of it) and Didi would happily skip across it to go to the dining car to meet her 'train' friends, while I clutched at the handhold and watched in despair. I really miss those dining cars. They were such cheerful places and people were happy to socialise. For kids that really meant exchanging comic books. And depending on which side of the dining car, your car was located, you would have to pass the pantry car where if you waited long enough, one of the crew would hand you an ice cream cup. Till recently it was always Kwality's vanilla ice cream and it always tasted better on the train. (Again could be that dose of coal soot and other extra ingredients).

                      (Image Credit: Dining Car Image from TOI Article by Anuradha Goyal )

Image Credit: Lovedale School Picture from Lovedale School Youtube Channel

A few years older took me to Lawrence School Lovedale, a boarding school in the Nilgiris and those were long train journeys much more magical than the ride to Hogwartz. Invariably it was a group of 30-50 children with 2 or 3 teachers as chaperones and what havoc we would create. We travelled ordinary 3rd class - the cheapest and the best - swinging from bunks like a troop of monkeys (mengeese as one of our South Indian teacher was fond of saying), loud catch up chatters and hidden smokes in the stinky loos. Grown up me shudders at the thought of those memories - I would have walloped the kid me with great joy. By the time we would reach school/home our energies would be spent to beatific smiles. My first experience of the famous Madras Buhari's was on one of these journeys. Then there was 'piss' masala in Coimbatore station and raw mango slices at Bangalore. The stations in the south of India always ring out with "kaapi, kaapi, idliara kaapi" and the best Hyderabadi Biryani I have ever tasted were on those trains, wrapped in oily banana leaves - hot as hell, but you couldn't stop eating it. In 1999 I happened to be on a train in South India and I bought the same banana leaf wrapped rice but there was no meat/chicken in it anymore, but it was still delicious. 

By the way, I cooked mustard fish wrapped in Banana leaf for The Slow Fire Chef 

Think we'll get a coupe?

What time do we board the train? So what meals will we get?

No meals!!!! Utter dismay on Amit's face. We won't get any roast chicken?

The Indian Railways roast chicken is one of the best roast chickens I've ever had. They serve you a full chicken that's covered in a brownish sauce with lots of onions and pepper. They also serve some wilted fries, the token slice of carrot and a couple of beans with it that look a little lost in the dish - but what the hell - something to dip into the gravy. It's finger food - actually finger licking food and it's not on any menu. You have to nab the attendant in a dark corner and ask him in hushed tones -"Chicken roast milega?" And when he gives you that wide beaming grin in recognition of a well informed traveller, you slip him a "note" and order a couple (one per head, anything less leads to a tussle and spilt chicken). On one journey to Kolkata - Amit and I went through 5 chickens. I have tried recreating that chicken at home with no success as yet - I do manage the wilty fries though. I make a mean chicken roast using my Grandma's recipe (in case you want that recipe you can find it on the link below )which is a sophisticated version of the railway fare and that Amit is rather addicted to. Maybe I should try dousing it with some Worcester sauce and coal dust and blow some carbon monoxide on it...

So that was one more thing the pandemic ruined for us - no railways roast chicken. 

Watch Roast Chicken Recipe here

Amit and I just adore travelling. Our happy hormones spike considerably the minute we have to board a plane/train/car. I love those luxury bus journeys as well but Amit is a bit iffy about them. We haven't done the cruise thing yet but those off-shore casinos in Goa have put us off ships for a bit. They are crass, loud, damp and serve the worst food you can eat anywhere. Any way - trains are our special place. The minute we get on I set up home. Set out book, writing material (love having pen and paper handy - never know what might be worth writing down) chargers, water bottles, other bottles discreetly placed in dark corners, flip flops, snacking items. If the journey were longer than 18 hours I might even put up family photos but the occasion has not arisen so far. I identify my corner and point Amit to his but he always prefers my corner. Amit is meanwhile busy making friends with the attendants, the TT and any passenger who might look interesting. If you gave me a choice between a flight and a train journey, I would always pick the train journey. It's like a full day break from reality. You have this 4 X 8 kind of space all to yourself, that is travelling across the country, lulling you to sense of security with its constant chugga-chugga. And sometimes if you listen carefully you can even hear what sounds like Zakir Hussain playing the tabla. 

Sadly this journey had none of the usual things - there was no bedding (but my in-laws had given us a pillow and a blanket), no curtains! I pulled out shawls and dupattas to hang up and no drinking water! Amit went scouting the whole length of the train but not a single bottle of water was available. Not even tea/coffee! Luckily I was carrying one bottle of water, a bottle of coca cola and a bottle of rum - so adequate liquids really - we wouldn't be too dehydrated. But for this journey it became a mission for Amit to gather as many bottles of water as he could.

Every time a station appeared (that my app ConfirmTkt informed me was a stop), Amit would be at the door looking for vendors. Ours was an evening train and because of the pandemic, vendors were few so Amit had to exercise his vocal chords to great degrees. I had told him very strictly that he was not to get off the train because most of the stops ranged between 3 to 5 minutes. Being a man, he naturally did not listen to me and at one of the stations I caught him huffing and puffing, arms laden with chilled bottles of water, trying desperately to clamber on to the train that was slowly pulling out, while his unbelted shorts were falling off. Two or three of the bottles that were tucked under his arms fell onto the platform, but we were four bottles richer. ENOUGH! I said. He would've been stranded with no money, no id and no phone! In my mind visions of Amit walking all the way to Jabalpur - following the railway tracks - were playing out - hungry, thirsty, rumless - singing choo choo train, chugging down the track...

He even managed to score cold cold puri & alu from Jhansi and pedas from Mathura and petha from Agra. When you are on a train in north India, eating the puri alu is a must. It is way different from the puri alu you get in restaurants/eateries in Delhi and way different from the same cuisine at Haridwar. In fact I think one can do a five year doctorate program on the Indian puri alu. For instance in Maharashtra and the South, the alu is a semi dry prep, whereas in North India it is a gravy prep. But the ones that you get on the stations across the north are economical yet delicious versions of the same. Very few masalas, lots of green chillies and red chillies and if you are lucky you might find some coriander leaves in it. The dish is probably simmered on slow fire for a really long time so the potatoes break down to bits and the gravy thickens to a slurpy consistency. Again I have tried recreating this potato curry with some semblance of success (you can see the potato curry I do in the moong dal paratha episode) where I bung in the potatoes, tomatoes, green chillies and spice into the pressure cooker along with hing, salt, turmeric - a little ghee and water. It actually comes out quite authentic. In Gwalior we got samosas (my samosas inspired by a street vendor in Delhi, are way better) with sugary tea in kullad (the little clay pots) and swigged them back like shots. Combined with the Coke & Rum, the sugar high was intense and left us singing and chattering into the night. Both of us are lower bunk people - I tend to feel claustrophobic on the upper bunk, with the ceiling of the train touching my nose. And there was no way I was going to risk lying in the lower bunk with Amit on the upper one so we lay head to toe and dosed in between various topics of conversation that were mostly replays of our time in Delhi & Doon and some future talk on what Apu (host mad hatter in Jabalpur) was going to feed us.

Just tell him to get tandoori chicken - Amit snored.

He's making it for you in his air fryer. I mumbled back

Some nice biryani, was another snore

Just sleep now, or eat a kebab

We had actually polished off most of the kebabs and parathas that we had packed from Delhi - which is probably why we weren't too drunk. Food is good. And our TT was also very good. Polite, polished, - he didn't want to check any of our papers or tickets or identity cards. He just smiled, welcomed us and left us on our own. It was like a ghost train - no passengers, no vendors, no early morning calls of "chai garam". But we two kids had fun and when the train pulled into Jabalpur early next morning we had those beatific smiles. This train journey would certainly feature in our train journeys "hall of fame"

Image Credit: Chai in Earthen glasses Kulhad to replace plastic cups article  

Till next time, tally ho !

Semanti 

The Slow Fire Chef