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2024 went by in a whirl, and here I am, happily occupied planning another short trip!
It’s already time for my annual (or bi-annual) visit home, and true to the approach I shared in earlier posts, I began scouting for a quick detour to somewhere new.
As always, it’s a delicate juggling act between budget and wanderlust—never easy, but totally worth it.
Incredibly, I stumbled upon the perfect place in just a few minutes. (Perks of spending far too much time browsing travel articles, perhaps?) The Ellora and Ajanta caves popped into my mind, sparked by a few surprisingly alert moments in history class. If I recall correctly, they even inspired A Passage to India.
I had considered Ellora and Ajanta before but dismissed them as requiring too much effort. However, after my last trip to Mysore—where a few hours’ drive to the Somanathapura temple with a friend was a breeze—the idea of visiting the caves seemed much more doable. That left me with just one task: reaching out to my friend to propose Part II of our adventures. Thrilled that she agreed, I moved on to my ERP—the Extensive Research Phase—which, let’s be honest, is half the fun.
Remembering how much my husband and I enjoyed the food in Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur during our visit, I decided to dig into the local delicacies for this trip.
From the deliciously cooling lassis to fiery lal maas and the universally loved tandoori chicken, the food was mind-numbingly tasty. So, why shouldn't Aurangabad hold the same promise?
Naan Qaila immediately caught my eye—it sounds like it’s right up my alley.
Vegetarian thali? I’m still on the fence. Sometimes I love them, especially when they feature South Indian gems like more kolambu or avial. But vegetarian North Indian dishes? I’m not so sure. Still, I’m willing to give them a try.
And then—much to my surprise—popped up recommendations for paya!
That instantly took me back years—to my childhood, when my dad used to take us to a restaurant called Café Amin. I still have vivid recollections of their amazing food. Located in Royapettah, it was always bustling, but they had several private rooms where we usually dined. A fascinating detail that has stayed with me is how the doors to these rooms resembled those in Western saloons! It’s funny what stray bits of memory remain etched in your mind.
Near the entrance was a counter with a display of cakes, much like the ones you’d see in diners—huge, vibrant slices that looked almost too good to eat. Everything about that place looked and smelled heavenly.
The star of the show? Idiyappam and paya. Even now, just thinking about it sets my taste buds on fire! On my last few trips to India, I hunted high and low for good paya, but I came up empty-handed.
Another staple that Dad always ordered—back in the days when kids weren’t consulted on what they’d like but were instead expected to share whatever their parents chose—was chicken kurma. (To be fair, I think my daughter was 16 before we started asking her opinion at restaurants. 😄) Dad had one constant request: “a thigh piece.”
I remember searching for chicken thighs in my early years in the US, only to conclude that chickens here seemed to skip leg day—they were generous with wings and drumsticks but no thighs. Image-conscious birds, perhaps? Over the years, I’ve tried to recreate the kurma we had at Café Amin, but I’ve never come close. I haven’t given up yet, though.
After dinner, Dad would always order tea, and we’d take a few sips, savoring the moment. It was the perfect end to a wonderful meal—predictable, dependable, but oh-so-amazing!
Yesterday, I decided I could no longer hold back and resolutely set out to make idiyappam and paya at home. I’d made paya a few times before and, if I may modestly (?) admit, managed to replicate about 80% of the taste I remembered. But idiyappam? That was a whole different beast. Those delicate rice noodles always seemed complex and way out of my league.
I’d tried taking the easy route with frozen idiyappam, but they were a pale imitation of the real thing. During one of my visits to India, however, I stumbled upon a device that promised to simplify the process. Unlike the traditional squeeze version, this one had a twist top that seemed like a time-and-labor-saving marvel. As a true shopaholic who has never met an Indian cooking utensil she doesn’t like, I gave in to temptation and proudly brought it home, dreams of perfectly steamed idiyappam dancing in my head.
And like most of its counterparts, it languished unloved in a corner of my pantry, its presence ignored for years. Until yesterday. Inspired by some random browsing and spurred on by curiosity, I finally decided to take up the challenge: could I, armed with my trusty twist-top invention, conquer idiyappam?
Luckily, I’d also brought back idiyappam flour, which boasted a fairly long shelf life. A quick online search unearthed a recipe that looked surprisingly simple—too simple, even. But I figured it was worth a shot, especially since making paya is no walk in the park.
With determination and a little trepidation, I rolled up my sleeves and dove in. Could this be the day I finally nailed it? Only time (and taste) would tell.
My paya turned out reasonably well, but to my disappointment, it wasn’t quite as good as the last couple of times I’d made it. Perhaps I was too distracted by the idiyappam experiment?
The idiyappams, on the other hand, were a pleasant surprise. They looked amazing—delicate, soft, and almost professional! Finally, the idiyappam maker earned its keep, fully justifying its meager cost and long stint in the pantry.
It was such a satisfying feeling to finally pull it off, and see those perfectly steamed strands on the plate!
All in all, it was a successful experiment—and hopefully a promising sign for my upcoming culinary journey.
I’m looking forward to trying some new dishes while also revisiting a few old favorites. Fingers crossed they live up my memories and taste as amazing as I remember!
One day, I’ll rediscover idiyappam and paya just like we had at Café Amin—the perfect blend of flavor and nostalgia. Until then, I’ll keep searching (and experimenting), fueled by hope and a few extra calories earned in the name of culinary exploration!
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