Okay, I know there’s been some epic rain lately, but did everybody and their dog really have to go shopping today? It’s like someone put a giant people magnet in Liverpool and everybody is unconsciously drawing near and getting trapped in the maze of one-way streets.
Not me, I’m here for a purpose. Time for some Indian lunchings.
Finally the car is parked. Seating ourselves since the owner-waiter is on the phone, flicking through the menu.
The Husband decides on a rava masala dosa. I can’t decide between poori with potato curry, or bhatura with chickpeas. Umm… bhatura! I normally like chickpea curry better than potato anyway.
Talking about big decisions. I hate big decisions. I hate not being able to undo them if I get them wrong. Especially when both options are equally weighted with good and bad points.
Pause the conversation, here is my lunch.
I didn’t know bhatura would be quite so… fried. I normally try and avoid oily foods. Oh well! There are two stacked on the plate, huge half-inflated circles of heat-blistered flatbread. Pale creamy yellow to golden on the burns, bumpy like poorly-contacted school books. Each at least twenty centimetres in diameter.
Besides them in a shallow silver oval dish are the chickpeas, snuggled in a thick brown-red tomato gravy.
Smells good. Smells like it’s time to eat.
Tear at the top bhatura. Though the bread looks as if it would be hard and crisp to the touch it’s actually soft. Pop a dry piece in my mouth. Tastes of semolina with a hint of potato. A little bit of chewing, but it’s certainly not tough. A little like roti but softer, firmer, with less stretch.
Ripping a bigger triangle to trawl through the chana chickpeas.
The chickpeas are soft but not mushy, the rich gravy tastes prompting an unplanned ‘mmm’ of pleasure. A harmonising blend of tomato, oil, cumin, garam masala, chilli and who knows what… With the bhatura wrapped around it both taste fantastic together.
I eat. And eat. And eat. And there’s still another bhatura to go.
Eat. Yum. Eat. My fingers are coated in drips of chana, my palms shining from the oil on the puffed bread. It’s gotten cold, looses that perfection and becomes more tough.
A quarter of bhatura and a few spoons of chana left, but I’m done. Conquered. But I am happily vanquished.
Rating:
Specifics: Chana bhatura eaten at Woodlands, Liverpool
Chana Bhatura
Okay, I know there’s been some epic rain lately, but did everybody and their dog really have to go shopping today? It’s like someone put a giant people magnet in Liverpool and everybody is unconsciously drawing near and getting trapped in the maze of one-way streets.
Not me, I’m here for a purpose. Time for some Indian lunchings.
Finally the car is parked. Seating ourselves since the owner-waiter is on the phone, flicking through the menu.
The Husband decides on a rava masala dosa. I can’t decide between poori with potato curry, or bhatura with chickpeas. Umm… bhatura! I normally like chickpea curry better than potato anyway.
Talking about big decisions. I hate big decisions. I hate not being able to undo them if I get them wrong. Especially when both options are equally weighted with good and bad points.
Pause the conversation, here is my lunch.
I didn’t know bhatura would be quite so… fried. I normally try and avoid oily foods. Oh well! There are two stacked on the plate, huge half-inflated circles of heat-blistered flatbread. Pale creamy yellow to golden on the burns, bumpy like poorly-contacted school books. Each at least twenty centimetres in diameter.
Besides them in a shallow silver oval dish are the chickpeas, snuggled in a thick brown-red tomato gravy.
Smells good. Smells like it’s time to eat.
Tear at the top bhatura. Though the bread looks as if it would be hard and crisp to the touch it’s actually soft. Pop a dry piece in my mouth. Tastes of semolina with a hint of potato. A little bit of chewing, but it’s certainly not tough. A little like roti but softer, firmer, with less stretch.
Ripping a bigger triangle to trawl through the chana chickpeas.
The chickpeas are soft but not mushy, the rich gravy tastes prompting an unplanned ‘mmm’ of pleasure. A harmonising blend of tomato, oil, cumin, garam masala, chilli and who knows what… With the bhatura wrapped around it both taste fantastic together.
I eat. And eat. And eat. And there’s still another bhatura to go.
Eat. Yum. Eat. My fingers are coated in drips of chana, my palms shining from the oil on the puffed bread. It’s gotten cold, looses that perfection and becomes more tough.
A quarter of bhatura and a few spoons of chana left, but I’m done. Conquered. But I am happily vanquished.
Rating:
Specifics: Chana bhatura eaten at Woodlands, Liverpool