What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She’s crying with all her might and main
And she won’t eat her dinner rice pudding again
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
I sympathise with Mary Jane. It wasn’t the rice pudding that got to the child, but the monotony of it. And at this moment in urban India’s culinary history, there are a few things sneaked on to restaurant menus a few years ago that need to be eradicated for the greater common good.
1) Iceberg lettuce: Better restaurants won’t touch the stuff — we have Indian-grown arugula, desi lettuce, and other local spinach/ lettuce variants in plenty. My dislike of iceberg lettuce stems from its poor nutritional value, its almost spooky lack of taste, accompanied by a lack of crunch all too often because it’s been stored too long in some hotel freezer — and the sense of being gypped. Iceberg is cheap. Vegetable sellers and restaurant suppliers love it because it lasts for ages in cold storage, can take abuse in transit, and it’s cheap. If I see a ‘salad’ that has tons of iceberg lettuce, I know it’s going to include shavings of generic Gran Padano, a smattering of elderly sun-dried tomatoes and too much dressing.
2) Coconut cream: This shows up mostly in the many variations on khowsway, the classic Burmese dish, and can be an unpleasant surprise if you’re ordering Thai food from an unfamiliar restaurant. Bad chefs pour on the coconut cream in Thai-style, Burmese or Asian-inspired curries in the belief that this makes the dish seem richer — it does — and in the knowledge that enough coconut cream will mask the poorness of the curry paste or the ingredients. Most of the great Thai curries I’ve had in Thailand were made with freshly ground coconut milk/cream, or with really good local brands, and that makes a big difference — besides, good cooks will use coconut cream as a base, not as the keynote, of a curry. The current trend of adding coconut cream with an over-generous hand is unfair to the chef — if s/he’s used great ingredients, you won’t be able to taste them — and to the consumer — if the restaurant’s using indifferent ingredients, you won’t know.
3) Monterey Jack cheese: This is ubiquitous in baked pasta dishes, bad pizza outlets, and a score of faux Continental buffet dishes. Monterey Jack is the popcorn of cheeses — safe, bland, tasting of nothing in particular, the fancier Noughties equivalent of the Amul cheese that used to rule the Indian palate. What baffles me about restaurants that use Monterey Jack or, to broaden the cheese debate, stick with a safe selection of Ementhal, Brie and Gouda, is that they’re ignoring the massive variety of artisanal cheeses that are now available in the major metros. Monterey Jack isn’t just the safe, boring choice: it’s the criminally lazy choice.
4) Anything-goes sushi: If there’s one food item that’s set to be the chicken tikka pizza of this decade, it’s sushi. I like the experiments — sushi that takes Indian fish, or locally available vegetables, and combines them in classic ways. But too much of the sushi available at restaurants cashing in on the Indian love for this Japanese dish is sadly indifferent — the rice isn’t properly vinegared, it often isn’t the right kind of rice, and the sushi’s been filled with a dog’s dinner of leftover vegetables and fish from the fridge. Or with supermarket salmon, the kind you recognise for its rubbery taste and its eerie orange glow.
This isn’t just gourmand fussiness speaking. The best dining experiences don’t depend on the budget of the diner, or the expensiveness of the ingredients available at your restaurant of choice. Great food, however humble the location, however cheap or expensive the meal, is cooked by chefs who have respect for their basic ingredients, the willingness to use their imaginations, and who have a genuine love of food. The four examples above demonstrate a growing thoughtlessness; they’re typically found in restaurant chains that treat food only as a business, not as a calling. The only way to counter the ubiquity of bad food is to throw a Mary Jane. Say no to the rice pudding. n
Nilanjana S Roy is a Delhi-based editor and writer
