Oh, glory.
Taste & See: I found Little India to be the most charming part of Georgetown. As in Singapore, the vivacious neighborhood was overflowing with the bright colours of Bollywood posters and sari fabric stores, and bouncing to overlapping soundtrack hits. In Singapore, the city is generally modern and reserved; in Georgetown, a bit grungy. Either way, the extravagantly beautiful Little India stands in stark contrast.
And the food- oh, glory! Every corner had a cafeteria-style Indian restaurant with a half dozen regions' foods served up at different stations, the perfect antidote to my inexplicable cravings. Sometimes I yearn for the for mushy warmth of baby-foodesque Indian dishes like Butter Chicken and Palak Paneer, sometimes for the complexity and strangeness of something altogether new. Georgetown offered both lovely versions of the familiar and a few surprises I look forward to tracking down back home.
We spent a good deal of time meandering through town, ostensibly towards a tourist site but more often wandering from one food break to another. One day we had barely finished a bowl of Malaysian-style won ton noodles (Giow) when we passed a catch-all Indian place, brightly done up in greens and yellows.
Who could resist the red-rubbed Tandoori Chicken sticks roasting? Certainly not us.
Served with tamarind & cilantro sauces:
It is practically our tourism duty to consume as much Roti as possible during our stay (or so we told ourselves):
Our last night in Georgetown we traipsed through the rain in search of Sri Ananda Bawan, a hallowed Guide Book destination where we would at last find A's much-coveted banana-leaf meals.
We had been informed that upon sitting down, a slough of vegetarian Indian food would appear on banana leaves before us as if by magic. We made the mistake of doubting the oracle and proceeded to order a "few" dishes. In the mean time, the table began to fill with things we had not ordered . . .
First, the banana leaves topped with scoops of a trio of potato-based veg dishes reminiscent of church potluck fare-- though far more flavourful:
A trio of sauces (from top left, coconut chutney, red garlic sauce, and masala) splashed on in generous quantities:
A basket of crispy Papadums:
Topped off with a few bowls of Dahl:
The food is making A pretty happy at this point. Little do we realize this is merely the beginning of the onslaught.
Out came a Pakora:
The odd Black Pepper Chicken, lightly breaded chicken chunks in a sauce of curry-like consistency, with a flavor I'd expect from a Chinese restaurant:
Two more curries, with ladyfingers (okra) & mutton (here, goat rather than lamb):
One of my favorite dishes consisted of a something like a hamburger-patty made of beans and spices, chopped up into small pieces on a grill & served with a dipping sauce.
We made valiant efforts to consume this feast . . .
I, especially, deserve an honourable mention for foregoing silverware-- even with the soupiest dahl. Following A's lead, I made a little ball of rice and scooped it directly into my mouth with one hand, attempting to imitate A but with a far higher percentage of the food winding up decorating my face.
I was proud of my efforts, but rather delighted to finally have clean hands at the end:
Despite all the food wasted smeared on my face, we were ultimately no match for the banana-leaf feast.
In fact, we ended up with a guilt-inducing quantity of leftovers. All of that delicious food, never to be enjoyed to its full potential . . . how tragic.
I suppose that is what we get for mistrusting our sources. Let this be a lesson to you, dear reader. Traverse the Little Indias of Asia and order to your heart's content . . . but know you will always be left lamenting the fact that your hunger is no match for the volume of glorious food.
