Spice routes

It never fails; just as the wise municipalities of Bombay, Delhi and Calcutta issue their seasonal jaundice-and-typhoid warnings, my palate erupts in chaat cravings. The traditional remedy for this in Delhi has been made much easier by the Metro: get on the Yellow Line, take the train to Chandni Chowk and emerge from the bowels of the subway into the heart of Old Delhi.

But at the risk of alienating diehard Chandni Chowk fans, I think the Purani Dilli food experience is overhyped. Yes, there’s Old and Famous Jalebiwalla, Bishan Swarup’s venerable alu kulla, the seasonal and hard-to-find temptations of daulat-ki-chaat, and the grand old chaat bhandars, from Shree Balaji to Nataraj Dahi Bhalla.

What puts me off Chandni Chowk is the strong sense that many of its establishments are now coasting on their names — this is definitely true for Parathe Wale Galli, where the ratio of oil to the paratha drowns out much of the taste, and true of Nataraj, which has been known to serve the occasional soggy plate of dahi bhalla. More than this, it’s the experience; the fly-blown lanes, the crowds, the often brusque and indifferent service.

Many of my corporate friends now commit the ultimate apostasy, going to Haldiram’s for their chaat fix. I love the Haldiram’s chain — it’s the ultimate Indian success story, like MTR in South India, mass-producing old favourites and turning out junk food with the precision of a McDonald’s. And it has a dark, desi back-story — the owner, Prabhu Shankar Agarwal, was recently convicted of attempt to murder by a Kolkata court for planning to bump off the proprietor of a tea stall that was getting in the way of his plans to expand his business empire.

Chaat, golgappas and skullduggery — utterly irresistible. Having said that, the food at the Haldiram outlets can be uneven. The golgappas, raj kachauri and chola bhatura are usually acceptable, but their sundaes and pastries are a poor cousin of the original Nirula’s shakes, and reheated kulchas and pao just doesn’t cut it. The larger problem with Haldiram’s is a problem shared by food court chaat and outlets like Chaat Corner: you can draw up a recipe for your servers to follow, but the best chaat is three parts instinct, one part instructions. Ask Bhim Sainji at Bengali Sweet House in Bengali Market, or watch his hands pause and instinctively correct the proportions of chutney to jeera pani while he’s making a plate of his famous golgappas.

What is often forgotten, with the mass standardisation of chaat, is how seasonal this traditional Indian treat can and should be. In this season, it’s best to stay away from chola bhatura and samosas, tempting as they are; spring snacks should be light on the stomach, and easy to digest.

Chaat is, by definition, never a low-calorie meal, but this is the season for light juices — phalsa, shikanji, with green mango just round the corner-papris made with palak (available at Prince Pan and Chaat Corner in Greater Kailash Market), or kachalu chaat (the best, I should confess, is still in Old Delhi, at Ashok Chaat Bhandar). While Delhi lacks Bombay’s brilliant Swati Snacks, where Gujarati farsaans hold court, Dilli Haat does a passable sabudana khichdi, again perfect for the spring. And if you can find it, the best chaat for summer is the humble kakri or cucumber chaat, lightly spiced wedges of miniature kheeras. I know I should obey the health warnings, but sometimes the palate must be given its due.

Nilanjana S Roy is a Delhi-based writer