As Messi filled the hole in the universe with that airborne goal from his feet, tears rolled down my cheeks. I was touched, thrilled, open-mouthed with disbelief, and punched the air with joy. All the time making sure that the jhal muri thonga did not fly off my hand. Messi’s flawless footwork may bring the world to a breathless halt, but not the fistful of jhal muri that is slowly but surely inching towards an ever-widening mouth.
Like a striker’s kick caught in high speed, the snack reaches its goal in a practised arc, hanging in mid-air for a whole miraculous moment after the fist tosses the mix a good centimetre away from the mouth. One must keep in mind that the fingers should never touch the lips. Nor should one’s digits plunge into the flimsy paper pouch, but tip it over to coax out just enough into the cup of your hand. Not hard, after years of passionate chomping. And it is not a mindless stunt or useless swagger. Jhal muri is often a shared treat, and no one wants another’s hands in the jhal muri, not even those of the closest friends. The pocket-friendly rocket fuel for Kolkata’s heart and mind, jhal muri brings friends close, but only so much.
Jhal muri never fit into a five-star menu
Wherever there are friends, football and hungry mouths together, there is a packet of jhal muri in the melee. The food for passion is etched on the soul, so what if it is barred from the echelons of refinement. Jhal muri never fit into a five-star menu — the reason is that it is too large, too limitless with its jungle of flavours and tumult of taste; it fits into a little pouch made from recycled patrika, but sits determinedly distant from the spotless, white table linen. Every mouthful tastes like rebellion. Jhal muri, did you bring everyone, from the tycoon with tea estates to the wage earner with a coin he had saved, out onto the streets of Kolkata? Did you, the common man’s uncommon food, secretly blend left and right, capitalist and socialist, rich and poor, arthouse and houseful, with one disarming sweep?
Jhal muri vendor turns saviour
Would Kolkata be so great, no offence, your highbrows, but for this humble assortment of puffed rice with a dash of spice and all things nice? Soumyajit Dey
A million hearts beat as one to your triumphant symphony. When herby freshness meets the mustard pungency, a hush falls on the city of the restless. When crunchy rice puff meets soft boiled potato, pleasure escapes down its lanes. And would Kolkata be so great, no offence, your highbrows, but for this humble assortment of puffed rice with a dash of spice and all things nice? There you see the office babu taking a much-needed break before the break in between breaks. Or the housewife stealing a rare minute for herself from the joint family. Or the artist in dire need of inspiration, and income. Hope lights up all their faces as the jhal muri vendor turns saviour, and mixes out a savoury fix for every worry in the world.
The silent crunch of puffed rice relaxes like waves of the sea, the fresh tomato and chopped coriander washes away stress like rain. Its mushy potato and minced onion lull the nerves. This is alchemy, served fresh off Kolkata’s street. The jhal muri is so universal in appeal, yet so personal are its pleasures that I want to carry it with me wherever I go. But will the humble street favourite travel the boundless world with me?
Jhal muri never fit into a five-star menu — the reason is that it is too large, too limitless with its jungle of flavours and tumult of taste; it fits into a little pouch made from recycled patrika @BongMumbaikar/Instagram
What will jhal muri taste like when it lands at Heathrow? I wonder. Will it still taste of the hustle and bustle of Kolkata, the secret ingredient of its spice. Will the countless addas that add a unique twist to the taste make the crossover. Cities like London and New York are hungry for the next revolution in food. I am somehow convinced it is to come from the thonga full of jhal muri. All that the cities have to do is to learn how to tip the thonga over to coax out just enough to fill the cup of their hands. And they will have their revolution, like we do with every mouthful of jhal muri.
Anjan Chatterjee is the chief of Speciality Restaurants, which owns Mainland China, Oh! Calcutta, Cafe Mezzuna, Sigree Global Grill, Hoppipola, Asia Kitchen and more. And yes, he is a foodie! He can be reached at acgenx@gmail.com
