Keepers of the flame

A 12-year-old Mohammad Ismail would rise before the break of dawn to park himself in a corner of the kitchen and watch his father mechanically stir the ladle in a dozen different pots, each containing a different cut of meat. He would then seal the lids with dough to trap in the steam. The aroma of the different meats — pichhota (the tail of an ox), topa (hump), bada paya (trotters of cow and ox), chhota paya (trotters of goat and sheep) and sukha (beef with gravy) — stewing in their own juices, would hang heavy in the air.

Even after half a century, Ismail’s memories are redolent with the smells of the bhel (the meaty preparations in the 12 pots), his senses keen enough to detect any inconsistencies in the proportion of spices and meat. “There is no secret recipe or miracle spice in our food. It’s our consistency and authentic taste that has been bringing back customers to Valibhai Payawala’s Barah Handi for 150 years. My grandfather, who learnt the recipe from an Iranian cook, shared it with my father and he, in turn, passed it down to me,” says Ismail, as he prepares to roll up the shutters of his restaurant for iftar.

Situated in the bylanes of Mumbai’s Bohri Mohalla, Ismail’s shop is amongst many others that, like courtesans from another era, try to lure customers in. Otherwise tired and world-weary, the mile-long stretch from Minara Masjid to Nagpada is a complex maze of gastronomic delights, one that has long earned its place on the city’s culinary map. With quirky dishes like keema ghotala (a minced meat dish) and aflatoon (a rich mawa sweetmeat) on the menu, diners find their way to the restaurants here all year round. But in the month of Ramzan, the place comes alive, especially after dusk, when aromas of spices and charcoal-grilled meat crowd the streets, sending out smoke signals to patrons old and new.

Right under the JJ Flyover stands Hotel Noor Mohammadi, which served its first customer back in 1923. Then a religious bookshop converted into a hole-in-the-wall joint specialising in nalli nihari (bone marrow gravy), founder Abdul Khalid had to sell his land in Sambal near Moradabad and his wife’s jewellery to acquire it. In time, his gamble paid off. By 1985, Noor Mohammadi was a busy sit-down restaurant run by Khalid’s grandson Khalid Hakim.

By 2003, when MF Husain, a loyal customer of the shop, sketched a rooster calling out for its nihari, the dish had long acquired the patina of a legend. The sketch still hangs inside the restaurant, as does the recipe of Chicken Sanju Baba shared by actor Sanjay Dutt on Hakim’s younger brother Rashid’s request.

Usually, the Noor Mohammadi nihari is prepared and eaten twice a day, but given the richness of the dish, in the month of Ramzan, keepers of roza or daylong fasts prefer to consume it before the break of dawn. “When I took charge, I added a few more dishes to cater to a larger customer base but nihari remains a bestseller,” says Hakim, “I want to keep the tradition alive, which is why I haven’t changed anything on the ground floor, and we still cook in the utensils that were used in my grandfather’s time.”

Another venerable Mumbai landmark, the 120-year-old Taj Ice Cream in Bhendi Bazaar also opts for tradition over convenience. Founded by Tayyab Ali Icecreamwala, and now managed by the fourth and fifth generations of the family, this nondescript shop makes nearly 100kg of ice cream every day in flavours like custard apple, mango, litchi, jamun and guava, among others. The ice cream is made in a wooden tub-like contraption in which an inverted copper cylinder placed at the centre is coddled by salt-sprinkled ice. It is in this container that the ice cream is churned by hand. “If we had let go of the traditional way of making ice cream, we wouldn’t have been so successful, and would have lost an ancient method. Perhaps, we would have also lost loyal customers,” says 60-year-old Yousuf Icecreamwala. One of the co-owners of the parlour, Icecreamwala lets slip names like Anthony Bourdain and Sonia Gandhi in conversation, but any allegation of name-dropping is preempted with a — “We’ve been in the business for over 120 years. We don’t need that kind of publicity”.

If Taj Ice Cream is the badshaah of ice creams, Suleman Usman Mithaiwala, near the Minara Masjid, has been an institution for sweetmeats since 1936. From their famous mawa sweet aflatoon to their sugar-free halwa in myriad colours, the shop’s display racks groan under the weight of well-loved confections. Mithaiwala’s humble beginnings, though, can be traced not to sweetmeats but to bakery products such as naan khatai. “This crisp, rustic biscuit is very popular during Ramzan,” says Saaed, whose grandfather started the shop after learning the tricks of the trade from a baker in Pune. Among the shop’s illustrious patrons were actors Nargis, who would ask for phirni on Ramzan every year, and Farooq Sheikh, who would drop by during the holy month for Mithaiwala’s sugary load of gulab jamuns. While Saeed and his siblings attempt to balance the traditional with the contemporary, using social media and accepting orders online, Suleman Usman Mithaiwala still depends on word of mouth.

Given their legendary status, it’s not surprising that many of these restaurants and shops have been offered hefty sums to sell out over the years. Yet none seem too keen to part with their culinary heirlooms. “People still queue up early in the morning for our food, and that is my biggest reward,” says Ismail of Barah Handi, “Two years ago, an 86-year-old man from London came with his great grandson to have the paya. He told me that he was visiting us after 70 years and yet everything tasted the same. What more can I ask for?”

( Sayoni Sinha is a Mumbai-based writer )

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