#1 Curry: Escaping the Formal Economy (INDIA - part 2 of 2)

Following the lead of a rickshaw driver is a street food lover's dream. As tradition dictated, I dedicated a final, full day in Chennai to enjoying regional flavors, with an emphasis on understanding the informal street food economy of India. Under Rama's lead I was free to sit back, confident that he would expose me to the best street foods in all of Chennai. Stick with the locals.

We headed out with Rama at 2PM, learning that afternoons and particularly the evenings are the best times for street food. Vendors usually uncover their carts by 1PM to serve the midday rush, staying until three or four before wrapping up for the day. A separate wave of vendors emerge with the last rays of sunlight to operate the evening crowd. Over the melee of impatient horns and grumbling engines, Rama shared with us his insights on Indian street food culture.

The majority of local citizens rely on meals bought off the dusty, sooty roads as an inexpensive calorie source. A basic rice and curry plate costs no more than 20 rupees ($0.40), a third of typical restaurant fares. More formal dining arenas are frequented by middle and upper class Indians to avoid the sanitation risks associated with eating in unregulated settings. As we drove, my eyes followed Rama's sudden gesture down an unexceptional street. "This is the #2 place for beef curry. You can see all the rickshaw drivers are eating here today." True to his description, a slanted row of neatly parked rickshaws formed a golden-yellow block against the monotonous cement background. A congregation of men, heads dipped to their plates, hailed Rama as we passed. Our rickshaw continued on, destined for "#1 curry" (leave it to Rama). Moments later we had sidewinded through oncoming traffic and cut a surely illegal U-turn to park by a compact, wooden blue cart. Despite being shunted off to the side of a three star hotel, the cart was surrounded by locals who prefer quality and simplicity to the bounty of restaurants in the vicinity. Rama ushered me behind the production table, elbow-to-elbow with the slightly startled vendor, to smell the action taking place. I edged in behind the surprisingly clean, well-maintained cart, and found myself catching a unique glimpse from a typical vendor's perspective towards the facing crowd. The curious patrons (more curious than hungry, Rama informed us) smirked or smiled up to me, with curry-filled plates in hand.



INFORMAL ECONOMY
Street vending in India plays out a textbook description of informal economies. While there are no legal government permits to operate and impose minimal safety regulations, vendors must bribe local police 10-20 rupees daily to avoid harassment. Despite the fluctuating conditions of the informal economy, vendors usually make more money than participants in the formal food industry according to Rama. #1 curry vendor dishes out an impressive 300 plates in three hours during the afternoon. At 20 rupees a plate, absent fixed start up costs, the man grosses nearly $120 USD for the shift. Variable operating costs are also lower with the one-item menu. Vending is a typically a family affair, with wife and mother participating in preparing and cooking the food. Unlike small independent restaurants in the formal sector, street carts are not usually passed down through the generations. Instead, many relocating Indians might set up a stall to alleviate debts while searching for other work. The unregulated nature of the street food economy has additionally created an informal credit system for trustworthy customers. Vendors may permit monthly payments for meals, and debts are casually memorized rather than meticulously recorded by pen and paper.

SOCIAL NORMS
In a small village, squeezed into another corner of Chennai, a shy woman was crouched by a circular griddle with her patterned sari wrapped neatly around her. She efficiently ladled and spread the fermented daal batter by her side over the hot stone in a few practiced movements. Minutes later, a thin dosa crepe was folded back onto a banana leaf, heaped with a familiar, spicy beef curry, and thrust eagerly into our hands. Feeling accustomed by this point to eating without utensils, I dug in and enjoyed a remarkable sixth dosa in three days. I had requested that we find a street vendor that "cooked" on site rather than merely dole out foods from industrial-sized pots prepared in-home. Beside me Rama beamed at the clear satisfaction on my face and the success of his mission.

Women are invisible participants in the street food industry. We questioned Rama about the female dosa vendor and discovered that her small set up was not typically intended to serve people outside of her village. Within the village, her role as a street vendor was more akin to a member of the cook crew in a cooperative living situation. A larger crowd, including toddlers and their caretakers, gathered around to watch us mop up the simple meal, wide-eyed in wonder as if to ponder, "Why are these foreigners here eating our humble food?" Humble or not my mouth tingled from its spicy deliciousness. Half of my delight I attributed to the elemental nature of our meal, and the other half to the opinion of my taste buds. Aside from our unusual presence, women are never seen eating from street vendors, much less playing the role of one. Rama explained that it was more comfortable for women to forgo the long stares in the clearly male-dominated environment and pay a few extra rupees to sit indoors. Not to say that women don't love street food as well; a national quality. Social customs differ throughout the country and in Goa and Karola, women feast or serve alongside men under the sun.

BEEF - The edible kind
Another intriguing aspect of Indian street food was the availability of meat in a predominantly vegetarian region. India has a hefty 80% Hindu majority which reveres the cow as the god Shiva's vehicle of transport, i.e. the cows with brightly painted, dual-tone horns, wandering aimlessly through the streets are not for eating. Beef and pork are absent from the handful of non-vegetarian South Indian restaurants, substituted instead with poultry or mutton. However, beef is surprisingly common in curries and stews from street carts, albeit scrappy, sinewy cuts and small cubes of liver; fine by me, I prefer the various textures. The reasoning is purely economical, beef is cheap whereas mutton is not.

SUGGESTIONS
Attach yourself to a local (preferably a rickshaw driver) to experience delicious street food at clean(er) locations. You can be certain that they have sampled every street cart around to find the best. Food vendors fill unexpected pockets around the city and would be impossible to scout out unguided. I had no need for either Immodium or pink Pepto, but bring both for peace of mind.

Making "Spicy Tea": Reunion, Masala Chai, & Recipe (INDIA - part 1 of 2)

Rama, our rickshaw driver, approached the tea vendor cheerfully, pulling out a packet of Masala spice powder he had bought seconds ago from the grocery mart across the street. We had been on the lookout for Masala chai since morning and throughout the early afternoon. "If we cannot find spicy chai, we will MAKE it!" was Rama's undeterred response. Nothing is impossible for this slight, elderly man, contrastingly impish in spirit, yet utterly venerated by all rickshaw drivers in the city. After a few pleasantries with the "chai wallah" in the local Tamil language, a separate pot of chai was spiked with the fragrant, coarse-grey powder, specially prepared for our group of four. A few minutes later we were concentrating on sipping the scorching spicy liquid, each of us brimming with peaceful contentment.



Masala chai is an Indian beverage of strong black tea, hot milk, a mixture of spices, and of course a healthy dose of sweetness. The term "masala" refers to any combination of spices, usually used in curries, teas, or dessert, and "chai" is the generic term for tea. Masala chai was birthed out of traditional Indian Ayurvedic medicine as an herbal remedy for wellness. Ayurvedic medicine discusses health as the flow of fluids throughout the body and the characteristic heat from the "warm" spices found in masala chai (ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, peppercorns etc.) are utilized to strengthen the body's internal flow. Today, masala chai continues to be popular in the North but is less common in Southern regions.

Although the summer season was just upon us, and the feverish air plastered sweat to our neck and faces, the Indians seemed to enjoy adding more heat to their bodies in the form of boiling beverages (chai and filter coffee drunk throughout the day) and piping curries fresh off the stove. Periodically, Rama would stop at another chai vendor to request our special order and revive the radiating heat of spice in our chests; each time refusing our rupees. At the end of a packed seven hours, we had been treated to three glasses of chai. In parting, Rama promised to bring back the masala powder for more chai the next afternoon.

RAMA
Two years ago, my sister met Rama on her similar voyage around the world. I recall receiving her excited email about meeting a remarkable man in India who continues to be one of the most interesting people she crossed paths with during her global journey. Before reaching India, I received another email from my sister urging me to contact Rama. Without too much agenda, I warily poked around a cluster of rickshaw drivers (rickshaws are mini, open taxi-buggies run by pushy operators notoriously for indirect routes and constantly changing fares) and asked if anyone knew of Rama. A wrinkled gentleman in a pale pink collared shirt stepped forward and announced "I'm Rama" as if having expected me to appear the entire time. I smiled in wonder at our reunion as I leafed through his sun-stained stack of letters from grateful travelers abroad, including two photos of my sister and a red christmas card in her handwriting.



In the dog-eat-dog world of tourist transportation, Rama's generous and relaxed attitude was a heartwarming anomaly to encounter. He even managed to make chaotic Indian traffic appear tame as we rolled through the sooty streets of Chennai at a leisurely pace. Within minutes of our meeting, Rama adopted my friends and I as his daughters, asking first for our permission before lighting his cigarette and protecting us from greedy salesmen at government-commissioned souvenir emporiums. Before sending us off at the end of the day, he left me with a spare cell phone, complete with a new sim card, to contact him tomorrow.

TEA VENDORS "Chai wallahs"
Franchises and multinationals aside, chai stalls are as common to India as Starbucks are to Manhattan. My first cup of tea in Chennai, however, actually came from a water (tea heater) strapped to the back of a bicycle. Noticing the hesitation in my step, the vendor ushered me forward and proffered a cup, barely a mouthful in a flimsy plastic container. The tea was hot and sweet and surprisingly potent for it's minimal quantity.

The tea found in more permanent stalls throughout the city is prepared in a ceremonious manner. Each cup is "performed" individually, starting with a few good spoonfuls of sugar. Milk, simmering gently in a large metal stockpot is scooped next into the glass cup, two-thirds full. The boiling liquid never manages to bubble over despite the constant exposure to heat. Finally, a linen filter bag packed with black tea leaves is gently bounced in a conical filter mid-air above the cup of milk, allowing the residual liquid of highly condensed tea to runoff and immediately stain the pure milk into a rusty tan. The contents of the cup are dumped into a handled, tin cup and swiftly pulled to a distance above the vendor's head in a thin fountain down to the awaiting glass below. The liquid is drawn back and forth several times until the boiling chai is sufficiently mixed and barely cooled. I managed to drink a lot of chai in India even before meeting Rama. Each time, I was offered a cup of either cheap plastic, hardly meriting the status of polymer, or a stunted paper dixie cup. To my amusement, in the last two days spent in Rama's company I was spared the disposable demitasses and instead offered oversized shot glasses received by locals.

Enjoy chai in any weather and at any time.


RECIPE
Here is my favorite recipe for Masala Chai taught to me by a friend a few years back.

Spicy (Masala) Chai
(serves 1 - multiply the recipe by the number of cups of tea desired)
- 1 mugful of cold water
- 1/2 inch fresh ginger, chopped
- 2-3 pods of green cardamom (available in spice section of most markets
- 1/2 stick cinnamon
- 1 inch piece of lemongrass, chopped (optional)
- 1 black teabag (such as Lipton) or 2-3 tsp loose leaf black tea (Ceylon)
- milk and sugar to taste
*Place all spice ingredients in a plastic ziplock bag; crush with a frying pan or hammer to break apart cardamom pods and release juices from ginger
*Dump into water and set over the stove. Add tea(bag) and bring to a boil, uncovered
*Once boiled, pour in milk and sugar to taste. Return to stove and bring to a second boil (do not let the milk foam over)
*Cover and set aside 10-12 minutes for flavors to strengthen before drinking (or enjoy immediately)