Last Sunday, I was reading an article authored by an innocent convict, who was acquitted after rotting circa 15 years in jail. The article was a candid memorandum of the atrocities the person had suffered. The physical abuse, mental harassment, unhygienic conditions and horrendous food; all mention in graphic details. After suffering two full years of canteen food - daily - I could indeed connect to his misery.
The article had mentioned that the rotis in the jail used to be such, that many influential inmates used it as a fuel to power their stove, on which, their sidekicks prepared chicken and mutton. 'How true', I observed, correlating with the canteen rotis we push down our throat. If offered to any stray, it will certainly bite the offerer vis-a-vis the offer. The colour of the rotis reassures that the cook is wholeheartedly against apartheid. The texture establishes, undoubtedly, that the cook is thorough masculine, depriving the poor rotis of the feminine softness. A few pedantic colleagues have made it a habit to rub two rotis to shrug off the tons of flour sticking them.
The brilliance of the culinary skills, nevertheless, is exhibited by the sabji in the menu. Irrespective of the vegetable used, the canteen sabji tastes the same. The potato is omnipresent. Salt is ever missing. Thrice a week, there is a serving off mix-veg with a notorious repetition of , Coccinia grandis, beans, carrot or bell pepper. Potatoes are the fillers, anyway. The subtle sourness of tomatoes and the twinge of lemon have become forgotten tastes of glorious past. While the quantity in the plate is substantial, it fails to satify the apetite, for the stomach - like the tongue - prefers quality.
Curry, incidentally, has variety. One day it's arhar, another day it's kadhi, chole, rajma or even moong. The cook being the same, is hence impartial. The curry lacks all essential Indian components viz. tadka, turmeric and coriander. Rajma and chole can certainly be excused. But then, the quintessential softness required in these two is mostly absent. I tried to switch to paneer - falling in for it's gravy - only to realise that my stomach hard booted.
As if this is enough, the canteen tea and coffee mock the very purpose of beverages - to refresh. The tea unmistakably bears an inkling of charcoal while the coffee tastes like sweetened milk. The pepper tea - once I was on the height of experimentation - tastes like granny's syrup and after devouring the soup, one gets bilious a la Chinese dragon.
Jai ho Canteen!
The article had mentioned that the rotis in the jail used to be such, that many influential inmates used it as a fuel to power their stove, on which, their sidekicks prepared chicken and mutton. 'How true', I observed, correlating with the canteen rotis we push down our throat. If offered to any stray, it will certainly bite the offerer vis-a-vis the offer. The colour of the rotis reassures that the cook is wholeheartedly against apartheid. The texture establishes, undoubtedly, that the cook is thorough masculine, depriving the poor rotis of the feminine softness. A few pedantic colleagues have made it a habit to rub two rotis to shrug off the tons of flour sticking them.
The brilliance of the culinary skills, nevertheless, is exhibited by the sabji in the menu. Irrespective of the vegetable used, the canteen sabji tastes the same. The potato is omnipresent. Salt is ever missing. Thrice a week, there is a serving off mix-veg with a notorious repetition of , Coccinia grandis, beans, carrot or bell pepper. Potatoes are the fillers, anyway. The subtle sourness of tomatoes and the twinge of lemon have become forgotten tastes of glorious past. While the quantity in the plate is substantial, it fails to satify the apetite, for the stomach - like the tongue - prefers quality.
Curry, incidentally, has variety. One day it's arhar, another day it's kadhi, chole, rajma or even moong. The cook being the same, is hence impartial. The curry lacks all essential Indian components viz. tadka, turmeric and coriander. Rajma and chole can certainly be excused. But then, the quintessential softness required in these two is mostly absent. I tried to switch to paneer - falling in for it's gravy - only to realise that my stomach hard booted.
As if this is enough, the canteen tea and coffee mock the very purpose of beverages - to refresh. The tea unmistakably bears an inkling of charcoal while the coffee tastes like sweetened milk. The pepper tea - once I was on the height of experimentation - tastes like granny's syrup and after devouring the soup, one gets bilious a la Chinese dragon.
Jai ho Canteen!
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