Think you know your Chinese food fundas? That you can tell the difference between lo mein and chow mein? Or eat a five-course meal elegantly with a pair of chopsticks?

Well, then. See if you can answer this.

From where does chicken Manchurian hail?

Manchuria!

Nope, sorry. While there is a large region in Northeast China by that name, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever run into a Manchurian in Manchuria who eats chicken Manchurian. Or for that matter gobi Manchurian. Or even those fried little pakodas in brown sauce that go by the name of veg Manchurian.

Chicken Manchurian was not born in a kitchen in Manchuria. Or elsewhere in China. It was created for the very first time at the Cricket Club of India in Mumbai in 1975.

A finicky customer, or so the story goes, requested a new dish. So Nelson Wang — the famous restaurateur who at that point catered for the club — rose to the challenge. He started the experiment by frying garlic, ginger and green chillies, just as if he were attempting a conventional Indian dish. But instead of masalas, he then tossed soy sauce, cornstarch and chicken into the pan. The outcome was a novel dish that he christened chicken Manchurian. Forty years later, you won’t find a Chinese menu in India that does not feature a Manchurian or three.

Of course, the tale of ‘How Chicken Manchurian Got Its Wings’ is only a small part of the larger story. The fascinating account of a hybrid cuisine that has finally acquired an identity of its own — Indian-Chinese. Or, if you want to dispense with the niceties and hyphens, just plain, old Chineej.

Chineej is what you get at most neighbourhood restaurants. It is the force behind the unabashedly oily and spicy ‘Hakka noodles’ heaped on your plate, and the crisp and tangy balls of fried chilli chicken. And, of course, the inspiration behind innovations like idli Manchurian, dosas stuffed with noodles and Chinese bhel .

It is also what your cousin from Detroit demands the moment he arrives in Mumbai. “You can get anything in the US,” he twangs. “Goan curry, Parsi dhansaak , dosas. But you can’t get Hakka noodles and chilli chicken. Those guys just don’t get Chinese food.”

Or rather, they don’t get Indian-Chinese food. But why should they?

After all, chicken lollipop and paneer dragon roll, were born out of a unique marriage of cultures. In the late 18th century, a few Chinese immigrants made their way to Calcutta to work in the sugar industry — and by the 20th century a thriving Chinatown was in place. Somewhere along the way, the small eateries meant for the local Chinese population, began to entice adventurous Indians. This was achieved by adding spices like cumin and coriander, splashing the oil around and creating vegetarian sections in the menu.

In the process, crispy corn pepper salt, manchow soup and their siblings were born. Soon sniffy restaurants, street carts with names like Hungry Eyes and Dancing Stomach and savvy housewives, all began to interpret Chinese food in their own ways. My grandmother had a superbly temperamental cook called Karim who made the best spring rolls — kheema rolled into satiny wraps and fried into fat, frilly creations. What was Chinese about them? Perhaps the soy-based dipping sauce.

Chinese restaurants sprang up in the tiniest towns. The existing Madras Cafes and Jyoti Restaurants expanded their menus to include ‘South Indian, Mughlai and Chineej’ and came up with the likes of chicken silly and veg manjuri. Not to mention triple rice, a scorching red combination of rice and noodles doused in ‘Schezwan’ sauce; chopper rice, a sweetish variation on the rice-noodle theme; crispy thread paneer and kung pao bhindi .

As Chineej evolved, so did the shortcuts and formulae. The word ‘chilly’ tagged to chicken or paneer or tofu implies spicy and fried. Manchurian involves a salty brown sauce. And ‘Schezwan’ promises a fiery, red experience. (In fact, ‘Schezwan’ sauce is another Indian invention — a blithe attempt to distil the flavours of an entire, complex cuisine into a single concoction that is then smeared on everything from vada pav to pizza.)

Strangely, till quite recently, we were apologetic rather than proud of this hotchpotch cuisine. I remember being on a constant quest for the ‘most authentic’ Chinese restaurant in Mumbai. Till a close encounter with “authentic” cured me, once and for all.

During a three-week-long trip to China about a decade ago, we overdosed on subtle flavours, the scrapings from intestines and slurpy noodles in beef broth for breakfast. Of course, there were some extraordinary meals, including a 25-course banquet that featured duck beaks and unidentifiable bits of piggies.

Truth be told, though, we were all rather relieved to return to the realm of predictable Hakka noodles and chow chu potatoes.

Triple rice

Ingredients

Noodles

* 200g Hakka noodles (boiled)

* 20g cornflour

* Oil for deep frying

Fried rice

* 2tbsp oil

* 1tsp garlic (chopped)

* 1tsp ginger (chopped)

* 1tsp green chillies (chopped)

* 1 spring onion, white part (chopped)

* 1 small carrot (cut into cubes)

* 2 French beans (long strips)

* 200g rice (cooked)

* 1tsp soy sauce

* Salt to taste

* 2tbsp green part of spring onion (chopped)

Sauce

* 4tbsp oil

* 2 spring onions (big pieces)

* 1 carrot (long strips)

* 4 French beans (long strips)

* 1 tomato (long strips)

* 1tsp red chilli sauce

* 1tbsp tomato sauce

* 2tbsp Sichuan sauce

* 250ml vegetable stock

* 1/4tsp pepper powder

* 1/2tsp sugar

* Salt to taste

* 2tbsp cornflour mixed with 100 ml

Method

1. Noodles: Sprinkle dry cornflour over boiled noodles and deep fry till golden brown.

2. Fried rice: Heat oil in a deep saucepan. Add vegetables along (except green part of spring onions) and fry for a minute. Add rice and soy sauce and fry for two minutes. Add green part of spring onions and stir. Remove from heat.

3. Sauce: Heat oil in a big pan. Add all vegetables and stir-fry on high flame for three minutes. Add stock and boil for two minutes. Add all the sauces and seasoning and boil for a minute. Stirring continuously, add the corn flour mixture and cook for two minutes.

4. Then break the noodles into pieces and arrange on the serving plate. Pour the sauce on the noodles. Spread the rice over the sauce.

Shabnam Minwalla is a journalist and author of The Six Spellmakers of Dorabji Street

comment COMMENT NOW