"Osteria". Atri said.

An osteria is an Italian word. A concept where a person cook in his or her kitchen, and people can come come eat straight out of their dining rooms or whichever part of the house the food will be served in.

The owner cooks as he pleases, right out of his fridge. He might just serve you leftovers. After his family. She might just serve you what she made when she was angry. And he might serve his experimental disaster with a flourish and a fancy name.

Quite a popular concept. Mil Gooptu told me of a Romanian osteria. She didn’t like it one bit. Atri just bought it up this morning. I remember an old colleague of mine from Sula telling me of a Milan-ese( ?? or Milano ??) osteria. Go google it if you want.( you will now… hehe).


I have never travelled abroad. Well… not with a passport. Being my parents daughter… we have sampled all parts of the world in various forms.
Osterias.
My parents have schooled, and then later had worked a couple of years, in Darjeeling. To this day, Darj has fond memories, and they know more allies, ridges, drity lanes and sewerages, short cuts and forest walk in around this hill station than anyone else I know.

When I was 5, and Bhai was 3… we has gone up to Darj with a whole bunch of “family friends”. Apart from the fact that we were given a red and blue umbrella to keep us entertained throughout the trip, I remember them teaching me the word “osteria”. A quiet stolen half an hour, and Ma and Baba walked back their school and college days with us kids. A little Tibetian Aunty. ( I forget her name…. ma will you help if you are reading this??) typical of all hill houses, her kitchen was in the basement. The two dining tables had green plastic table covers. The walls had ittle kids paintings cello taped , some Buddhist ( im assuming) pieces. The furniture was out of a 1950s tea planers bumglow. My 5 year old imagination knew that even then.
After a furious exchange of shrill voices, and hugs and smiles and more shrillness from Aunty… pure joy to see the old couple return with the children, we sat down to lunch. Three school returned kids sat at the next table. And we all slurped soupy noodles , with an extra helping of carrots as I asked for. Straight out of one huge aluminium patila.( dekchi ??). Slopped right into white ceramic bowls with blue and red rims. Another cloudburst outside nade her dining room cosy. Quietly, Baba and Ma expounded on the theory of Osterias. I learnt the spelling. Bhai gave soon enough.

Simla. 1998. Another aunty. Chinese food. We used to go to “Auntys Kitchen “ every night. Baba would come back from work…. And we would trek up 6 kms to this place. Standard… baba would have the chopsuey, ma would have rice in Mushroom Sauce… and we were made to share whatever new thing the parents wanted to try out. :) Diligently as ever in educating us, my parent one night quietly reminded us of the word Osteria.
Sitting in a damp little dark house in a Simla mountain hole…. Osterias sounded like like Spring flowers in Paris at that point of time. This thought was NOT voiced to the parents back then.

ParkCircus. Two osterias. A Tibetian one. Once again. Pe Ma Xianste has no second best to it. We shared many a meal. This had pink walls, lemongrass incense sticks burning at all times, and six tables with red plastic chairs. Very simply stark. Very clean. Very fancy guests from Babas office. Very ta-di-da relatives and whatnot from Ma’s side of the family. Cheap meals. Quiet meals after school on afternoons, when Ma was just tired. A stolen dinner after my much hullaballooed 5th birthday party… just Ma, me and the Uncle there wishing me a happy birthday.

The other was a south Indian “Osteria”. Keralite. Tiny dosas. Tamarind chutney, instead of the usual cocomut. A version of bhisabheli bhaat that I LOVED till the Mother tried to replicate it in her own kitchen. The most unique, and the bestest ;was appams in beef stew. The appams were the fluffiest, softest and smallest ive ever seen. And after much asking in later more grown up and well travelled years… no.. they are NOT to be served with beef stew. Quite unheard of. Yet…. That is how it was. Cooked especially for children , maybe.
There was a Mishtir dokan close by. They made KILLER rasagullas. Baba, or Bhai, young as he was… would often be made to go out at 10 pm to buy a milk can full of them. We had a small-cow-sized dog then, who could down 10 of them in a gulp. Baba and Ma could do a neat 15. And thus a milk can full of them would be just about sufficient. Once baba had gone to this Keralite osteria with me, Bhai, rosogulla- filled- milk can and dog- in-tow to buy Appams in Beef stew. A fair barter had taken place. We of course re filled the milk can on our way back home.


Osteria 5. Ma would frequently get in a huff with Babas mad and erratic schedule . it was a usual practice for her to pack two children, three backpacks , and get Babas driver to drive to where she wanted. And Baba would join us in anything between a couple of hours and a couple of days. She was good at it. We knew how to be quick at it. That is how we left a boring Bhilwara one summer. Ma just HAD to show us Chitor, Jodhpur and Udaipur… and couldn’t wait for Babas work to finish. It was hot. A desert festival made the tourists seem painful. My mother located another Osteria. We had the best Rajasthani food ever. A special request for non spicy food. Beans and groundnut subzee. Very watery chaas with mint leaves. Daal with a hint of dahi. And rotis made of Corn.

Punjab. Babas work hours and places, and Ma firm belief that lassi was what would bring about world peace had made Bhai and me cranky, tired and fed up in just 4 days. Our constitutions were not able to down thick buffalo milk lassi, in the drilled belief that it was good for our health, or that rajmah chawal was safest food available in the rurals of the Punjab. To make things worse…. Baba also believed in the power of breakfast. One afternoon, Babas driver, Nandu, a guy who was always sipping from his flask, but was never drunk ; was babysitting us. ( Baba generally trusted his driver more than my mother). The Mother and the Father had gone to explore some high altitutde pass, where they decided that the kids would only get in the way. The driver didn’t exactly TAKE us to the osteria… but he bought back triple tiered tiffin carriers. Hara daal. Bhindi, peas and parwal subzee. Rice. Our first MEAL in about a week. The Daal was thick, yet light. The veggies had a freshness that smelt .... of freshness. Bhai and I slept on some charpoi for about 5 hours after this. Nandu , of course , had needed some time to himself, and to “refuel” his stock.

the Anglo Indian Osteria. Bhai and I would go to Eliiot Road for our Piano classes. That was, at a point of time, just an excuse. For Elliot Road, Ripon Street, and what not... was where we had football matches, basketball matches, guitar jam sessions, church choir pracctise, otherwise street singing fun. It was the perfect summer. right out of the movies.
Bhai and I accidentally discovered this Anglo dhaba/ osteria. An old uncle cooked 5 GIANTSIZED aluminium tubs of 5 diff types of grub each. Jangong Uncle ( the Sooting kids' dad) had told us NOT TO EVER GO THERE as there were truck walas, drug sales, filthy language and "what, man; you eat in MY house no, kids,.. dont go such places else ill rap you ,i swear.." And we went every Sunday and brought back, all the way back to Tollygunj , packed parcels of Rice in Tomato gravy, Beef Mince curry, chicken in Pepper water... and what not. The Mother had totally supported us on this one.
Piano scores, basketball, water bottles, and dirty anglo food. How we marched through the metro station mazes.

There were many other such “osterias” that we have been to. Bangladeshi. Muslim. Bihari. JNU campus . ( yes… my mother knows such shady holes).North campus. Bangalore Iranian food places. “Pakistan” in Bangalore ( just a Muslim colony that the Delhi Rich Brats of the neighboring law School of national repute had nicknamed). A slum in Tardeo ( Mumbai). Tibetian again. Dahod,Gujarat. Deepak and I would frequently steal away to eat at this “masis” place.

The wonderfulest thing about an Osteria…. is that you are eating very creative food. With a touch of “especially for you”. That the person cooking it, is inviting you right it, to eat what he or she is cooking. Not that the food in cooked especially for thy graciousness. Its like saying “come home, join the family for lunch”.

Its food that doesn’t feature in the cook books. It is food that was created right out of a housewife’s sense of economy and prudence. Familiar flavors may be absent, or not in the way you want to. The plates maybe chipped, or of stainless steel.


Of course… if you are the type who would rather have forks and spoons arranged, and fresh linen ware… and don’t ask me what other nonsense….Dont go to an osteria. There is a restaurant around the corner. Have your butter chicken out of a bin, and a batch procesesed naan with it.