Gut instinct

On September 15 a year ago, my friend and I were inhaling local food in Hanoi on the last day of our Vietnam trip. This year on that day, I woke up to a collage — courtesy Google Photos —  of a few photographs I'd taken on my camera. One of those photographs was of a full bowl of pho, replete with greens and browns — crunchy leaves and succulent meat — drowning in a sea of soupy noodles. Needless to say, I wasn't prepared for the sharp stab of nostalgia 30 seconds into rubbing sleep from my eyes. Throughout the day, it gradually progressed into an infrequently broken stream of thoughts about the food I have had and the experiences while sourcing and ingesting said food.

 

On our first morning in Hanoi, on September 9, 2022, we were presented with a rather tame breakfast of toast, jam, butter, a piece of dragon fruit each and a bowl of leaves. We had actually requested the famous Banh Mi, which is a Vietnamese sandwich made of a lengthwise split baguette stuffed with meat and veggies. We researched food before we landed in Vietnam. But thanks to a glitch in communication — miming can only do so much when one is travelling without knowledge of the local language — we ended up getting the bread-butter-fruit combination. Refusing to let it get us down, and a tad bit apprehensive about having to explain (poorly) why it wasn't the breakfast we requested, Bijo and I dug in. The toast and condiments weren't anything to write home about, and I had decided to forego the leafy bowl. But, just to shake things up a bit, I snatched up a single leaf and bit into it. Let me tell you, when I say I tasted a small bite of something close to heaven, I'm not lying. 

 

I have come to realise that few things bring more joy than discovering food that suits one's palate. Coming across a book that pleases one's heart is a similar feeling. It's a tie. Anyway, after that one bite, and subsequent agreement of deliciousness from Bijo, that bowl was emptied in minutes. I didn't know what dressing the cook had used, and I still don't know, but I dream of it sometimes. For 'breakfast dessert', something I'm not familiar with but what Bijo has been indulging in over the past year I've come to know, there was dragon fruit. Gnarly skin holding a bright red pitted flesh. I thought we'd have to peel it off with our hands, but just a spoon did the trick. We could simply hold the slice like a container and scoop the fruit flesh out. And my poor taste buds didn't know what to do with the sudden influx of joy.

 

Every single meal or snack on that trip has left a lasting impression on my brain. 

 

We had bun cha for lunch, with beer. Bun cha is a plate of boiled noodles that comes with meat, vegetables and broth. And another bowl of leaves. The next day, for lunch on a launch (noun, not verb, a type of boat and a term we are extremely familiar with in Kolkata), we had a variety of local dishes, including an actual entire fish people could scoop up with spoons and forks. I didn't have that. I'm not fond of fish. But what I did pig out on were a number of dumpling-type things, and meat, and broth, and meat. And rice. I don't know what it is, but rice tasted better there. I hardly eat rice at home, single-handedly skewing the stereotypical stats for Bengali eating habits. But in Vietnam, I could eat that rice all day every day. There was also fruit and a strangely nice tasting tea or refreshment drink post lunch. 

 

We eventually managed to convey our desire and got pho the next morning at breakfast. I taught myself to use chopsticks via a two-minute YouTube video and ate that bowl at a snail's pace. Without dropping food outside the bowl. I was very proud of myself. We'd eat pho a few more times on the trip, with some miscommunication that led the nice aunty to serve Bijo one with egg because we were Indian(?). 

 

Another standout meal that I indulged in included tiny bite-sized pie-like meat-filled, crunchy, well, pies. We discovered it at our staple (yes, for two days) restaurant in Da Nang when I said I wanted to eat something other than pho.

 

The breakfast at the hotel in Da Nang was a buffet that offered gems like bao and wontons apart from the standard cold cuts and such. And coffee. The coffee in Vietnam is a delicacy. But we didn't get an opportunity to try any apart from the free sachets at our hotel rooms. But that, too, was addictive. I brought home a couple of sachets and even tried to find some online, but didn't get any. 

 

We also had fried street food on a stick and I went all out and heaped a variety of differently cooked meat on my plate during lunch on the Bana Hills excursion. I loved what seemed like a broth of red spinach and ate it with rice on our Hue trip, but the dinner at Hoi An had way too many dishes and, sadly, I had to miss out on one or two. However, whatever I did eat was *chef's kiss*!!! 

 

Having simped over Vietnamese food for several months, I went to Europe this year and indulged in a starkly different food group. 

 

Ignoring my mother's insistence on procuring chocolates in Switzerland, I concentrated on the free breakfast. Although it was generic, full of cold cuts, juice, coffee, and other common items, the spread was extensive and there was a vast variety of bread things. I reckon I ate my weight in croissants. Because though I have had croissants in Kolkata — stuffed with meat, or cheese, or chocolate — in their natural habitat at hotel buffet tables, they are light as feathers, soft like cotton, have a unique texture and taste divine. With butter. Or jam. Or plain. I wasn't picky. But the croissants at the hotel in Rome had the most amazing cream cheese stuffing. I ate two. 

 

In Paris, though, we didn't get to sample much of the local fare due to a tightly-packed schedule. But we discovered a restaurant serving Oriental food and I gorged on a casserole-type dish that came with its own burner. And a dish of duck meat that melted on my tongue. 

 

Pizza and pasta, which rule my life at home, were more astounding in Italy. We arrived in Rome at 11.45pm, having missed a train from Paris, and then, in turn, missing a connecting train from Torino Porta Susa. Tired after having sat through a day-long journey, and famished, we picked up dinner from an eatery on our walk to the hotel. Ma and I bought a Margherita pizza while my uncles and aunt got salad. 

 

Rome's pizza came in four rectangular slices, and I, who never wastes food (something I take pride in) had to forgo an entire slice. Same with Ma, who said, "Ami aar pizza khabona ekhane!" To which, I had to reply that it was  sort of sacrilege to say such things on the first day in Italy.

 

The breakfast the next day was fairly the same continental spread served at every hotel, but the list was much smaller than that of the hotel in Kriens Mattenhof.

 

For dinner, we went to the eatery from the night before and I had lasagna and a glass of merlot. Fancy!

 

In Milan, we lunched at a cafe right opposite our hotel. I had spaghetti and coffee. For dinner, we stumbled upon a sandwich place that was closed, but since it was co-owned by a Bangladeshi man, we got desi privilege and he served us food.

 

At breakfast, we got a little turned around and believed for a while that it comprised just desserts. But my uncle discovered the meat and cheese on the other side, and I had breakfast the wrong way around.

 

On the second night, however, I was coerced into eating at a restaurant that served Indian and Bangladeshi food. In Italy. Something I strictly follow when travelling is staying away from what's known as 'desi' food — that includes Indian and Bangladeshi cuisine. I rebelled in a small way by ordering biryani instead of plain rice, fish and vegetables. I refused to go back there the second night — a wish that was a pro-and-con thing since Ma and I were delayed on our return from Florence and had to subsist on half an apple each for both lunch and dinner. We got pre-packaged spaghetti bolognese when we finally returned to the hotel.

 

Ma and I had three scoops of gelato each in Venice while we waited for the others to catch up. We also shared a pre-made packaged couscous salad. I discovered what couscous tastes like. It reminded me a little of upma. But there was chicken in it.

 

What book-ended the trip was flight food. On our way to Zurich, the food was quite delicious. There was a sort of meal with chicken, noodles and a chickpea masala cup, and a brownie, apart from juice and coffee. On the way back, though, the food was a huge disappointment. The rice and chicken were bland and there were fewer options. And no brownie.

 

It has been a couple of months since we returned home. In local news, I have re-discovered Thai green curry. And devilled crab. And beef steak. And pad Thai noodles. I have also indulged in instant Korean noodles. Plans have been made, but never realised, of visits to Korean food places that have mushroomed in Salt Lake, Sector V and elsewhere. But I have hope of a November plan to eat at a Korean place on Park Street. I want to try the grill-your-own-food contraption that comes with the food. I saw something like that in Vietnam, but was too scared to attempt to operate it. I have watched a lot of K-drama and Thai drama, and they make it look so easy. I know I'm going to fail miserably. Till then, I shall continue to dream of food.

 

I have written almost 2,000 words on food. It's easy to see what gets me going.