Phuchka: Crispy Devils of Calcutta

You may have had panipuri in Mumbai, or even golgappa in Delhi, but if you haven't tasted phuchka (not puchka) in Calcutta, you have not yet known the ultimate combination that can be prepared with the crispy fried balls. The panipuris I had on Juhu beach in Mumbai were too bland and somewhat sweetish. I dared not touch many of the Delhi golgappas; the notice that some of the sellers were flaunting simply scared me off: 'served with mineral water'! For the record, phuchka cannot be served with mineral water. It would be like serving a dish of biryani without that boiled potato, or serving an egg roll without onions! If you are afraid of water-borne diseases, don't have phuchka. But if you must, have as they serve it here in the east: no mineral water crap. Mashed potatoes, some tamarind, salt, slices of green chili, some decimated phuchkas, chili powder -- all mixed into a granular paste with bare hands. No fancy gloves and all, please. Then bits of this paste are put into phuchkas, one at a time, which are then dipped straight into that container of tamarind water, and served on the small plates that one was holding all this while in one's hand. Well, go on, gobble it up!

Puchkas, like rolls, are everywhere in Calcutta. One master of the art puts his stall at the south-east corner of Deshapriyo Park in south Calcutta everyday. The other day, with dinner with friends due in an hour, I happened to pass him by. Long story short, I ended up having 25 of those crispy devils and spoiling my appetite for dinner!

Roll-Play

In the years 2001-2003, I was a student of class XI-XII in a Calcutta school. The order of the day was to take tutions in almost all the subjects after school hours. My parents were kind enough to spare me of this compulsive madness. However, I could not escape being put under special care in case of Mathematics. Well, let's just say that the subject was never my forte. So every Sunday, I would have to make a 20 minutes journey to a local school teacher's place, who would coach me, along with a dozen others, in Mathematics. Now I found a few like-minded people here, who were not quite in love with the subject in question either. Oblivious of the graveness of our academic endeavour and the concern of our parents, we would indulge in chit-chat, doodling in our notebooks or simply gazing out of the window. And in the midst of all this, throughout those two hours of intense boredom, my only consolation would be the prize that awaited me at the end of the class. 

You see, there was this roll shop nearby -- Orchid. After the classes were over, the few of us would flock there to have egg rolls. Yes, not the fancy chicken, mutton or egg-chicken ones; just the plain and simple egg roll. You see, we weren't rich in those days, and an egg roll every Sunday meant that we had to save from our paltry weekly allowances. But boy, did we love it! Lachchha parota, pan fried to a gentle crispiness on egg, rolled with onion, cucumber and some mashed potatoes, sprinkled with a little salt and lemon juice and served piping hot. We would insist that no sauce be put in there, because that invariably killed the flavour for us. We would blow into the roll, in a bid to cool it down, while not being able to control ourselves from taking the much-awaited first, and in our heads the tastiest, bite, and then usually jump around for a while, because it would invariably still be too hot.

P.S.: The egg roll is found every-single-where in Calcutta. Almost every para has its own roll joint and egg roll forms the cheapest and most basic element on its menu. Its Hot Kati on Park Street, Bedouin at Gariahat More and Campari on Dover Lane are only some of the busiest. And yes, it is best served without the tomato and chilly 'sos'.