The high point of visiting Vile Parle for me, is a hot snack and goodie raid at Panshikar
Illustration/Uday Mohite
In Mumbai's highly globalised cuisine, and the age of manchurian khakra and noodle masala dosa, you sometimes have to really hunt for high-quality, regional Indian cuisine that stays true to its roots.
The high point of visiting Vile Parle, for me, is a hot snack and goodie raid at Panshikar. Now, this is a chintu-mintu establishment, a shop-cum-restaurant, with barely two to three, no-nonsense steel tables squeezed into the shop space, with four more by the pavement.
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I ordered a Puneri misal pav. I was delighted by its absolutely top notch quality. Puneri misal pav starts off with a layer of poha at the base, over which is placed a layer of matki usal (steamed sprouted beans). Rassa (gravy) is poured over it. Over this, is sprinkled farsan, topped with finely sliced onions and coriander leaves, and a lemon wedge. It's an incredibly delicious - and healthy - snack.
The rassa was quite fiery, but both the poha and matki conspired to tame it. The farsan, with crisply fried sev, peanuts and yellow papdis, lent it a crunchy texture. All garnished with chopped onion, coriander and a dash of lemon, with soft double pav on the side. Every ingredient was so fresh, it brought an explosion of multiple flavours - khatta, teekha, chatpata.
Now, Panshikar doesn't serve chai (or rather, cha-ha, as they say in Marathi), so I ordered a garam masala doodh that came with elaichi and fat badam flecks in a steel mug that grew so hot, you could only savour it in small sips - so much the better. Panshikar outlets are famous for their full menu, but especially the sabudana wada. I have also greedily wolfed down their excellent kothimbir wadi, kande pohe and thalipith, topped by piyush, that liquid shrikhand that thickly glides down your throat.
The waiter brought second helpings of rassa, unasked. I have tremendous respect for establishments that encourage you to linger. Once, I had ordered tea in a Paris cafe, and a teapot arrived. When it was finished, the waiter brought me another pot. But I didn't order anything more, I protested. "Non, madame, c'est pour allonger votre thé," he replied: he had brought me a hot water pot "to elongate my tea." This precious culture of encouraging lingering, has all but vanished.
Inside, Panshikar sells Maharashtrian goodies of every kind, from tel poli, karle chutney and fanas poli to even 'Shrikhand tablets' (!) It is vital to support chintu-mintu establishments like Panshikar, Prakash and Aaswad, who provide high quality, affordable, regional cuisine. You've seen that WhatsApp: when you shop/eat at a small neighbourhood store/cafe you're helping pay for the tuitions, music or football lessons for the owner's children, rather than subsidising the foreign holidays of the big chain owners. Valid, even with a pinch of salt.
But, it is also the community around Panshikar that is so special. At its entrance is an adopted stray dog, who won't budge till she gets her favourite pedha. The nukkad paanwala, Lakshmi Paan Bhandar, has vanished from more gentrified areas. There's a poster saying 'Daru sodava' (to give up drinking) with a mobile number. And, in the balconies above, still flutter gaily, akashbuttis from last year's Diwali.
Meenakshi Shedde is South Asia Consultant to the Berlin Film Festival, award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. Reach her at meenakshishedde@gmail.com
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