That’s very true. If I get a chance I’ll pop over to see if that anglo- food matches what I’d had in my youth, but the logistics of my two-city existence make that a remote chance. Oddly, I had a small window last Tuesday when I could have been there. I was with friends who had a car, and we discussed it, but we chose Levant (upthread) instead.
This goatherd’s pie of which you speak was another regular on the resort-anglo- food of my earlier years, and I used to quite like it. But, you all must understand that regular Indian food was not a big deal for me then. It was just food.
Freshly made chapatis served hot off the tava (pan)? Routine, night after boring night.
Dal of different types every night? Yawn.
Vegetables of various kinds – leafy, starchy, cruciferous – cooked in myriad ways? Gimme a break.
Fish, mutton, chicken – always on-the-bone – always well-spiced, and always different night after night. I’m snoring.
Freshly made dahi (yoghurt)? Kill me now.
[ETA: And every frickin’ meal had one each of the above, and in some cases two.]
It was in that context that I, ungrateful wretch that I was back then (now I’m just a wretch), embraced anglo- food. It was different.
There was a fancyish restaurant at the top of Malabar Hill in Bombay, overlooking the bay (and the lights of the “Queen’s Necklace” that glittered along the drive around the bay – Marine Drive) that was one of our go-to places for food that was a mish-mash of real Indian – although a weak version – and anglo-. To prove the callowness of my credentials, I’d determinedly order “ham and eggs” there, and for dinner no less. They were just different.
