Whether we’re condemning the latest architecture that’s been nestled on the city’s skyline, or lamenting the closure of a cherished 100-year-old Iranian cafe, or maybe whatever calamitous glass, granite, and glistening storefront Prepare yourself for what is being embedded. In the 19th century street landscape of South Mumbai, change is as inevitable as death and taxes in today’s life.
Yet within one of those old Neo-Classical and Gothic Revival buildings that line Old Esplanade Road (now Mahatma Gandhi Road), time stands still. As you enter the arched entrance of the NM Wadia Building, away from the bustling hawkers selling psychedelic mobile phone covers, pirated paperbacks and adult vibrators, a serene calm surrounds you as your hands hold small but cold concrete carved-in marble. Arrive for the balustrade.
You move up three floors to the whimsical and strangely carved iron cage of a 100-year-old elevator with polished wood panels and mirrors to reach the Ripon Club. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t the kind of club where you can drop down for a demanding game of squash or tennis or even the kind where you want to expend some calories in the swimming pool. . It is the refuge of the privileged few who come to indulge in some heavy lunch and the sixth hour nap also known as siesta.
The Ripon Club was founded in 1884 by such Parsi stalwarts as Sir Ferozeshah Mehta (President of the Indian National Congress and often called the father of municipal government in Bombay), Jamsetji Tata (founder of the Tata Empire) and Sir Dinshaw Manakji Petit (philanthropist and philanthropist). Went. founder of the first textile mills in India), and to this day membership is reserved only for Parsi-born people. Hence, it is often referred to as “The Parsi Club” or more affectionately “The Dhansak Club”.
As you swing through the saloon-like half doors, you are greeted by old waiters and even old oil paintings of Parsi gentlemen in a vast open hall. On one side, tables made of mid-19th-century Anglo-Indian Bombay blackwood and marble topped with carved chairs, long sideboards mark the lunch area, while on the other, dusty bookshelves, sink-in leather sofas and rattan seats Rows of planter-chairs call for a post-lunch snooze.
By tradition, most of the people who eat lunch are neighboring residents and businessmen and mainly lawyers and lawyers, whose chambers are located in buildings around the Bombay High Court, which is only a short distance away. The menu is an array of Parsi and Old World continental dishes.
Cabbage Soup, Lemon Coriander Soup, Liver Toast, Chicken Croquette, Steak Onion and Chips, Grilled Chicken, Cutlets and Chips, and long forgotten Parsi staples like Salli Boti, Salli Par Edu, Pulao Dal, Soti Boti Kebab Items’ (sliced pieces of meat and vegetables, scrambled eggs) and sandwiches are offered on the table d’hte menu typed on card paper with club crests.
Normally, very few tables are occupied, but the day you find a dining room full of people and the hoarseness of cutlery and conversations far above normal decibel levels, you realize that it must be a Wednesday that turns money. It’s buffet day.
The current caterer at Ripon Club is Tehman Dumsia, although all these years the club has had many caterers, some who have been disappointing, and some who have been exemplary. Tehman is in the latter category and I have known him and his food for many years.
When I went to “The Club” as a guest for lunch on this special Wednesday or Dhansak day, I starved myself. I wanted to do complete justice to Dhansak.
We’ve settled on one of the tall giant tables since we were six. All the chairs had arms, something I miss in a new restaurant with space issues. Old cutlery was laid out on a white starchy damask tablecloth. The menu card was on a wooden standee. My host has already ordered bottles of chilled raspberry soda. The sun was shining brightly from the windows, I could see the battleships and tombs of palaces like the Bombay University building across the street and the Gothic Rajabai Clock Tower in the skyline announced that it was time for Dhansaka.
The first course, we ordered portions of akuri on toast. Although akuri is a breakfast specialty, I am happy to eat these masala scrambled eggs anytime of the day. On crunchy toast comes the creamy portion of spicy akuri made from fried onions, tomatoes, green chillies, coriander and spices.
As if these eggs weren’t enough, we ordered a portion of Salli-per-Edu. Garnish with green chillies and coriander and stir fried eggs cooked on crispy potato straws. Then a portion of Russian patties. It is a mixture of shredded boiled chicken, chopped chilies, coriander, lots of cheese and béchamel with mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs. It is difficult to understand where European influence ends and Indian influence begins.
While the dhansak was being served at the buffet, my host ordered a portion of aleti paletti, which is offal (kidney, liver, gizzard) and potatoes cut into small pieces and cooked with onions, tomatoes and spices.
After pampering ourselves with these appetizers, we headed to the long dark wood buffet table at the other end of the long hall, where brown rice, mutton dhansak and kebabs were ubiquitous under the domes. Kachumber,
A small queue was forming and we ran to go over it. After filling our plates, we came back to the table. It is almost impossible to find a good mutton dhansak in the city. Ideal Corner at Gunbo Street (Rustom Sidhwa Marg), Mocambo (Firozshah Mehta Road), and Cafe Universal (Fort Market) serve up some of the best dhansak I’ve eaten.
My Mutton Dhansak was served exactly as I like it. Less rice and more pulses. The pulse was dark and white. A thick spiced mix of chana dal, red lentil dal and brown lentil dal with potatoes, tomatoes, brinjal, pumpkin and fenugreek leaves, all mashed with a classical dhansak masala. Serve with ping-pong ball-shaped egg-fried spicy kheema kebabs served with caramelized rice with fried onions.
With a generous squeeze of fresh lime and a spoonful of onion, tomato, green pepper Kachumber, I stir in brown rice in this perfectly fortified lentil with chunky tender pieces of meat. There was silence on our loose table, as each one began to dig into the sink. An absolutely indecent meal for a hot Mumbai afternoon, but extremely satisfying nonetheless.
All that was left to do was find some space in the stomach for the lagan-nu-custard and then find some space on one of those plantation chairs to hang out for the rest of the afternoon.
Kunal Vijaykar is a food writer based in Mumbai. He tweets @kunalvijayakar and can be followed on Instagram @kunalvijayakar. What is the name of his youtube channel? The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not represent the stand of this publication.
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