Kochi a major port city by the Arabian Sea on the southern part of India’s west coast. an important spice trading centre on the west coast of India from the 14th century. Occupied by the Portuguese Empire in 1503, Kochi was the first of the European colonies in colonial India. It remained the main seat of Portuguese India until 1530, when Goa was chosen instead. The city was later occupied by the Dutch and the British, with the Kingdom of Cochin becoming a princely state.
A city whose rich history comes from it's ancient interactions with The Arabs, British, Chinese, Dutch, and Portuguese. A city so loved by those who visited and occupied it they all tried desperately to make it their own by naming it after the lands they travelled from.The English claimed Cochin as ‘Mini England’, the Dutch called it ‘Homely Holland’ and the Portuguese referred to the port as ‘Little Lisbon’. But the name that stuck eventually probably describes best how in love with this city the world was - “Queen of the Arabian Sea.”
Kochi was the centre of Indian spice trade for many centuries, and was known to the Yavanas (Greeks and Romans) as well as Jews, Syrians, Arabs, and Chinese since ancient times. A city so rich in culture and cuisine
that it amazed Italian traveller Niccolò Da Conti, who lured by the tales of this fabulous city arrived at it's shores in 1440. He later famously wrote in his travelogue “If China is where you make your money, then Cochin is surely the place to spend it.”
I'm here to meet my friend Sanju, an avid traveller, artist, long time Kochi resident and fellow pyjama enthusiast. He's going to be my guide to all things Kochi. Besides being a man of similar taste, he's also a foodie (as you can tell) and from the looks of it someone who knows half the people in Kochi. He's let me know that we'll be heading to Fort Kochi by ferry. The ferry system connects the islands of Kochi together from Ernakulam to Mattancherry, Fort Kochi, Vypeen and Willingdon Island.An old surviving system which turns out to be cheaper and in many cases faster, than buses.
As I walked through the narrow streets of Fort Kochi, littered by the architecture of the many from the foreign lands who came and decided to plant themselves here, my awe wasn't really for the style of architecture (impressive as they were) or the tales of Kochi's riches that Sanju constantly poured into my ears or even that delicious piece of mango cheesecake I had at the Old courtyard. No, my awe was reserved for that great character of the Indian spirit. The one that never felt a need to obliterate the memories of those who unfairly ruled them and tried to consume their land and it's riches but rather moved on almost seamlessly after the obnoxious guests had left to bigger and better things. In Kochi time stands still, these structures of ancient times merge and fold into the less poetic but more practical architecture of today. You see backpacking tourists gawk and stare and shop whilst the locals move on about their day in that same old ancient hectic pace and somehow you can't throw away that feeling of dejavu, that this is a cycle that's been on repeat and maybe just maybe we're the only ones who've truly understood that.
Being someone who has worked in high end restaurants one thing I've realized is that whilst the food prepared by well paid professional cooks with their choice of the finest ingredients has it's own beauty and finesse, what truly romances my tastes buds are the soulful preparations of the many huddled food joints that lack any pomp or grandeur but are the haunts of the common man out for a good meal. Street food has a soul quotient that no other variant of it can somehow hold onto. It's neither served lavishly or adorned with garnishes that evokes lusty licks from your tongue but almost always delicious and almost always an experience that's unique and to be remembered.
So when Sanju took me to the food place 'Thakkaram' he'd been raving on about my suspicions, were alive and kicking. The place from the outside looked like a feeble attempt at fancy and their motto 'tales of old tastes retold' or some ungodly similar quote did not win my confidence and I felt an inherent need to kick Sanju in the shins.
On entering however I felt my doubts slowly vanish. A little due to the warm welcome given to me by the staff, a little due to the wonderful illustrations that adorned the wall but a lot owing to one of the most articulate menus I've ever read. Yes 'read', it wasn't the design or the uniqueness of it's look but just the beauty of it's prose. Although reading it required a serious reprisal of my Malayalam vocabulary, it was totally worth the effort. Afterall it isn't everyday you hear names of dishes like aatinkal kanalil chuttathu, kozhi massman, kozhi nirachathu and chicken pachamolakarachathu.
Sanju introduced to me to Niyas, the head waiter a kind and gentle soul who patiently explained to me the varied menu which is primarily composed of recipes off the spice shelves of Northern Kerala, a primarily Muslim side of this multi ethnic state and from the looks of it composed of people who have an age old connection to their food. Niyas explained to me that these were old vanishing recipes dug out and restored by their chef's and from what I hear from Sanju the people of Kochi have taken to it like Kottayam achayans to brandy.(better one)
At first came the kozhi pachamulakarachathu served with porotta, a heady, spicy blend of chicken cooked in a green chilliy paste and masala. It surprisingly did not burn a whole in my tongue but wafted it with that tingling in your mouth that only chilli's can give you. Then came the aatinkal kanalil chuttathu served with biriyani rice, a wholesome mutton leg rubbed down with masala and cooked on coal to perfection. Juicy, smokey meat that melted into the moist biriyani rice cooked in a heady blend of masala and ghee. Then when I was starting to wonder how this could get any better, Niyas turned up with an abominable sized aatinthala served with pathiri, a huge mutton head cooked in a savoury pepper filled curry which Niyas says is a house favorite preferred my customers after a long evening of drinking. As I prodded and muscled my way throughthis rather stubborn goats head filled with meaty deliciousness, I couldn't help but think these guys have nailed it. For a state that serves some of the best food I've ever eaten a surprise like this is what I'd never imagined. Dishes that had somehow evaded me in my many years spent here cooked with love and a sense of loyalty I hadn't seen in a long time. Kochi now had my serious attention.
Now after what seemed hours of sweet sweet toiling at this smorgasbord fit for obese kings and begging Niyas not to bring me the grand dessert (a watermelon stuffed to it's brim with icecream), sanju told me that we still weren't done at thakkaram and ignoring my pleas for a wheelchair, took me outside the restaurant and showed me the refurbished bus which they'd turned into a dining area. Where Niyas who seems to have had a call from my mother proceeded to send over tea and pudding.
Sitting there, sipping my chai as it rained in this contraption which I otherwise might've called a little tacky, I had only a sense of gratefulness. The beauty of my state that never fails to show even in the midst of one of it's most bustling city. I revised my visit to the city and played out all the places and people I'd met in these few days. A city where a smile was greeted with a smile, a place where the good of the past and the promise of the future both reside amicably.
