Travelling from South to North Goa, as the villages and the beaches disappear under an encrustation of shops and cheap bars, the ghost of Frank Simoes rides with us. The advertising legend chronicled Goa with a clear if cynical eye, browsing in village bars like “an entomologist in a rainforest” as he noted the rapacity of the new wave of tourism.
The only reason we’re here, instead of drowsing happily in the quieter South, has to do with the legend growing up around a chef from Rangoon who learned his trade in Europe and has been setting the bar higher than all but a handful of his peers.
Baumra Jap started Bomra’s six years ago, and the Candolim road has thrown its tentacles around what was once a civilised oasis. Now the beach and the road have disappeared behind the shops; but the jazz playing on the speakers at the small restaurant — under 40 covers — is restorative, making up for the sound of the traffic. The Goan writer Vivek Menezes has described Baumra’s furious perfectionism, his energy and the control he brings, like a great dancer, to the silent ballet that takes place in the kitchen. Today, he’s standing at the entrance, greeting guests like Orhan Pamuk and other local Goan celebrities, a powerful, intense presence who always keeps one eye on the kitchen.
The Bomra’s menu is both familiar and unfamiliar; what Baumra Jap has done is to take classic Burmese dishes, the memories of a life in Rangoon, and reinvent them with superb results. (He created a Glass Palace menu for Amitav Ghosh, a diehard Bomra’s fan and Goa resident.)
The crackling pork, pomelo and pomegranate salad arrives with a dusting of bright green, flash-fried mint leaves, and it is extraordinary. The pomelo cuts the fattiness of the pork cubes; the pork has a smoky, intense bite that balances the sweetness of the pomegranate, and the mint leaves, a hint of fish sauce, brings everything into balance. Every mouthful leaves a taste explosion behind; this tastes bright, and fresh, like the concentrated essence of the best of spring. The “lightly seared beef salad” tastes better than some of the wagyu I’ve had in Delhi or London, the beef perfect, succulent, partying exuberantly with the coriander, basil and sprouts.
It’s possible to spend an entire page rhapsodising about each dish, from the artisanal tofu to the black pomfret in miso. But perhaps a better way to describe dining at Bomra’s is to talk about the way, days and weeks after you leave Goa, taste memories keep returning. The red snapper — its flesh fresh, sweet, the concentrated taste of the oceans — in a light lemongrass-jaggery broth; the clarified butter streaking through the sesame seeds and bok choy that accompanies the pomfret, like a reminder of home kitchen cooking. I dream of that pomelo-crackling pork salad three days in a row until it comes to me that what I really miss in Delhi is this — the sense of a chef, cooking at the peak of creativity, loving what he does and pouring that love and discipline into every single dish on that menu.
This is rare, to be present when a truly great chef comes into his own, yet another reason I envy those who live in Goa — they can eat at Baumra Jap’s table any time. The rest of us will have to make a special trip; it would be well worth the effort.
Nilanjana S Roy is a Delhi-based writer
