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When I was in Banares, India, I was showed me how to pace myself with the eating, how to relax and to let conversation give way to the simple, steady pleasure of devouring some of the most wonderful Indian food I have ever encountered. Gross had practiced his dining art long and hard at Tripthi's where as long as the cooking was like yoga, the eating should be too. A Banares night thirty years ago I looked across the street leading down to Dasashwamedh Ghat and discovered Tripthi's Mewari Bhojnalia. It was situated on a rooftop barsati across from the Central Hotel where I had set up a temporary research office in a dimly lit room while conducting field research on Hindu ascetics for my doctoral degree in anthropology. I could see groups of men sitting around two or three long wooden tables. They were being served an assortment of Indian dishes. A colorful shamiana tent partially covered the restaurant which was illuminated with a strings of light bulbs. I had no idea how to gain access to the restaurant. Nor could I figure out how I had failed to miss the place. After some inquiry and exploration I found a narrow entryway off one of the side alleys, or gallis, that form the matrix of passageways in the older portion of Banares closest to the bathing ghats along the Ganges River. A Hindi sign above the entryway indicated that the Satisfaction Mewari Eatery (Tripthi's Mewari Bhojnalia) could be found upstairs. Bhojan means "to eat" and Tripthi is a sanskritized word meaning satisfying or satisfaction. Mewar refers to the influencial baniya or affluent business caste of Hindus originating in the Rajasthani District of Mewar in western India. Precariously narrow stairs ascended the back side of the two-story building.
I asked in Hindi if I could come and take a meal, and I was quickly shown a place to sit at one of the long tables I had noticed earlier from the Central Hotel. Within minutes Indian culinary bliss wrapped me in her arms and whispered softly in my ear. No menu or chalk board declared what was available, nor how much anything would cost. This was a price fixe, all-you-could-eat Hindi home style ever so divine eatery. A large stainless steel thali plate was set before me with a half dozen or so small stainless steel katoris, or cups, all of them filled with an amazing variety of vegetarian dishes, each one more incredible, more delicious than the other. As soon I polished off a katori one of the cook's helpers came over to replenish the bowl. An endless stream of hot, freshly-baked puffed whole wheat chapatis was tossed onto my thali as soon as the bread came off the wood-fueled open fire. All the vegetarian dishes were fragrantly spiced, yet none were overwhelmed with red mirch chilies. There was sag panir, a common enough dish of spinach greens and mild farmer cheese but, here at Tripthi's, taken way up to another delectable level. The same was true of mattar panir, peas with the same wonderful chewy cheese cut into small cubes, of bitter korella which is like a cucumber but only grown in India, of the curry made from bringel, the purple egg plant, and, of course, bhindi, lady fingers or okra lightly sautéed in ghee with chilies, cumin, and turmeric. Ghee (clarified butter) was used in most all the dishes, and a glob of it was dropped on the chapatis as well. Two or three varieties of buttery dal dishes were spooned onto the thali, and to complement the curries and dals there were unusual chutneys and spicy achars or pickles made from mangoes, limes, and tamarind. No meat dishes were served. Tripthi's was a very pukka (pure) vegetarian restaurant. The cooks were Brahmins in the employ of the Mewari owners. In keeping with their vegetarian tradition no garlic or onion was used in any dish. These are considered rajasic foods that incite the passions. Instead, all ingredients were sattvic, both pure and healthful, resulting in balance and harmony according to the Aryuvedic tradition. While the restaurant itself seemed crude -- roughly built tables, an open rooftop setting, dim lighting, no amenities -- all the brass and stainless steel serving, dining, and cooking utensils gleamed, and the rooftop cooking area, the chula hearth, received each day a fresh coating of a paste of cow dung mixed with water. Every possible effort was made to ensure the ritual Brahminical purity and cleanliness of the place, all of this on a rooftop above the din and dirt of the roadway below, the craziness of the streets. When I could no longer eat another mouthful I was offered some chai and saunf, sweetened seeds and cardamoms. This potentially unlimited feast cost 5 Rupees, which at the time amounted to 75 cents. I never solicited recipes from the cooks, even after dining there so often I became a familiar. I sensed that the cooking area, the open fire, was off limits to me, a videshi foreign-born person and clearly not a pukka Hindu. But the openness and warmth of those who cooked and served at Tripthi's definitely enhanced the food, leaving me with flavor memories of the Divine as found in Indian vegetarian cooking. I have never tasted anything like it anywhere else in India, and certainly not back here in the US.
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