Soul food on the mile-eating mode

For the stained in engine oil biker, the road is like nectar while the milestones (kilometrestones rather, though there's no word like that) are falling away, in a steady progression or a throttle-locked drone and food and drink are certainly not a priority.

And yet, once you are on the road, there are so many glorious chances to eat and drink "off" it. And literally get to know the state or region you are passing through by eating (and chance permitting) drinking original local fare.

Whenever I am out in the small villages of the Deccan, I never pass the chance to duck into small wayside Tea Shops and sample the assortment on display, the Mirchi Bajjis, the Pappu Vadas, the plain Vadas or even the funnily shaped (and uniquely stuffed) Samosas.

Whatever takes my fancy is soulfood still, even as the Tea I have already asked for is getting ready.

Speaking of Pappu Vadas, 6 of us ended up finishing close to 100 of these, caught up as we were in a small village near Ramappa Temple, owing to engine trouble.

An average Pappu Vada is as big as a cookie, and consists of small hand-shaped cakes of Gram paste( in which chopped green vegetables, onions and green chillies have been mixed) deep fried in oil till Golden (or Reddish) Brown. Across most of Telengana and Rayalaseema, these are yours to stuff your belly with for as less as Re 0.75 each, with as much of Chutney as you want to go along, of course free.

And when you consider that every single village you pass through has Pappu Vadas that are prepared differently with the Chutney varying from being a little sour to being positively fiery, you will know why I am sounding so much like some Cordon Bleu Chef.

Across most of Andhra Pradesh however, when you eat on the road and ask for something you remember (and thus order with a bit of salivation) having eaten elsewhere, do be ready for something that's pretty much different. Most of the Dhabas here are run by locals who have probably never eaten proper Punjabi fare, after all. I mean, your Dal Fry would most probably be anything but Tadka Dal. And the Tandoori Roti could make you wonder if its a Papad. Not that it really matters, when all you are looking for is a edible, wholesome and tasty bite. Which is why, I usually order Tandoori Roti and Dal Fry and leave the rest to the cook's mood and the style of cooking that's par for the course at that latitude and longitude.

And if that Dhaba happens to serve Chicken Biryani, which you order expecting to bite into a succulent piece of Chicken leg and loads of fragrant Basmati rice, don't brain the poor waiter if he gets you a plate of slightly spicy rice with cubes of fried chicken in it. Because, there is Hyderabadi Biryani and there are the Kurnool and Nellore (and so many other) variants.

More grist for your palate, more tales for you to recount, is of course the better attitude.

I am of course not saying that you do not get to eat authentic Andhra style food in Andhra. Sure, you do. If you land up in any of the interior towns in Cuddapah or Kurnool, you are all set for an adventure called Natukodi and what is called the food of the Palegars. Heavily spiced and meant to fill you up, this is an assortment that includes Naatukodi Pulusu, Raagi Balls, Jonna Rotis, Mudda Pappu and Potato and Brinjal curries cooked in the signature interior style. Natukodi Pulusu itself is something that you would either relish or simply end up getting Diarrhea from. After all it usually has more Red Chilly than it has oil and more Chicken than it has onions!

And if you are lucky enough to have a friend in a village, do camp there for a day to know what exactly the hardy farmers usually eat. I once had Naatukodi with Jonna Roti as breakfast, Naatukodi and Rice and Pappu as lunch and then Naatukodi and Chappatis and Mutton Kheema as dinner.

Burp.

Which is exactly why I avoid eating around big towns and do not stop by Dhabas which are certainly not Punjabi Dhabas when riding in Andhra Pradesh.

But then, India is more than Andhra Pradesh and I have been lucky enough to ride around a bit, getting to taste food from places around, on the road.

In Goa for the inaugural Rider Mania ride, Amit and I literally blew a fortune in the designer hotels and cafes ordering up dishes like Shark Pulli Manchu before we realized that these hotels were not meant for hungry bikers. On the way back we did get to relish sea food all along the Goan Coast, with a lovely dinner where we had loads and loads of fried Pomfret near Karwar a mmmmemory that I will never forget. Thereafter, we both realized that there is Biryani and there is Biryani, when we had to make a meal of a dish of rice, raisins, cashewnuts and some pieces of Chicken, on asking for Biryani at a wayside hotel at Honnavar.

(The above-mentioned mmmmemory doesn't get digested owing to the fact that I haven't managed to ride on the western coast thereafter. And however much I ride on the Vizag coast, a night out on the beach somehow never happens!)

And then there was that blessed getaway in September 2005, 28 days on the road when I did not eat at the same table (or Charpoy) twice. Even as I write this, I seem to be reliving the tastes - authentic Punjabi Dhaba food - awesome Dal Fry ( Tadka, with more Rajma than Dal in it) and Rotis all along GT Road, outbound and inbound, the simple Thalis - Roti, Daal, Chawal and Sabji all through Himachal, Tibetan food and Rajma Chawal in Bharatpur, Leh and Ladakh and probably the best Samosas I have ever eaten, in the Kashmir Valley.

Naturally then, I did not enter many sign-boarded hotels while riding back through Rajasthan, choosing to stop and rest at wayside eateries, while the small lads in charge would cook up a rustic Thali. The dough kneaded in front of me, the Chullah lit in front of me and then hot Phulka after Phulka (with a dab of Ghee) landing up in my plate, while the lads would as usual want to know who I am, where I am headed and so on.

Soul food it is, being on the road in this lovely country, the kilometers on the odo as well as the rustic eating and drinking.

Burp.