Nizamuddin 06: Nahari at Moniskda

[NB: This is part of an ongoing series on the Nizamuddin locality of New Delhi. For a brief background, please read the prefatory note.]

Nahari seems to be a recurring theme in this blog, almost a leitmotif. I confess I just love the stuff. Have never taken to Siri and Paya. Somehow, the very idea of head meat or trotters congealing in the cold puts me off. But a steaming bowl of Nahari gives me an almost ambrosial kick on foggy winter mornings. Or even on hot, humid July evenings, it turned out.

I had talked of Moradabadi Biryani in an earlier write-up. In this post, I continue from there. We had just come out of the Biryani shop somewhat undecided. The stuff we bought looked rather dry; the accompanying chutney didn't seem too appetising either. All of us present agreed the Biryani needed some sort of gravy to go with it.

Korma was vetoed outright. I looked for a Haleem-vendor. All I could find was a character selling repulsive yellow gunk from an aluminium Handi. I recalled having tried the same guy's stuff once, many years ago; it was so horrible I had to throw it away after a couple of mouthfuls. So that left Nahari, surely a strange combination with Biryani.

I've had Nahari in Nizamuddin before on several occasions. They have ranged from the OK to the downright insipid. But never yet had I come across anything even close to the awe-inspiring heights of Haji Noora's stuff. This time, I decided to ask around. People uninamously recommended Moniskda Hotel. Even Hanif Qureshi Sa'ab of Ghalib did, albeit after a long, tortuous interrogation why I was insane enough to want Nahari at this hour and in this weather.

Moniskda is located near the Mathura Road entrance to Basti Nizamuddin. After entering, one needs to take a left that goes past Zaeqa Hotel, once a favourite of mine. Past Zaeqa, one comes across a bunch of small eateries, including a pretty indifferent Wazwan shop. Moniskda is located somewhere there; one needs to ask around a bit. Business is usually transacted in the common open area fronting these shops. That's where most tables, chairs, cashiers' desks and all are located.

In the case of Moniskda, much of the foodstuff prepared beforehand was also kept out there; great saucepans mounted on a wooden platform. They sell a wide variety of curries - trotter, brain, kidney, liver, Ishtoo, Alu Gosht and Gobhi Gosht, made from both goat and buffalo. Nahari, however, is exclusively buffalo.

I asked for two plates of Nahari, and was charged Rs. 48. Twenty-four chips a plate did seem excessive, even with the addition of Ghee ka Tadka. Even the superlative Nahari from Haji Noora's cost only fifteen with Ghee. On the other hand, the helpings were substantial.

So how was the stuff? Haji Noora still reigns supreme, no two ways to it. That said, this stuff was pretty good. By far the best Nahari I've sourced from Nizamuddin. The meat was tender, juicy, and flaked easily. Slow-cooking precluded the need for marination. It was thus free of vinegary overtones.

The gravy was full-bodied, richly flavoured, and neither oily, nor greasy, nor excessively spicy. Most important, it was permeated with the taste of the meat. I could also detect clear notes of fennel, fenugreek, cumin, and maybe a touch of cilantro in the Masala used. It also had a sweetish aftertaste. (Did they add a touch of sugar to it?) Incidentally, it formed a surprisingly cohesive combination with the Biryani.

So why do I still insist on the superiority of Haji Noora? Perhaps the explanation lies in that mysterious, elusive quality called 'depth'. It is impossible to render this in words. Let's just say this. The Nahari at Moniskda was competent in every respect - good meat, rich gravy, the right spices, proper stewing time, and so on. But the final outcome amounted to little more than the sum of all these factors put together.

In the case of Haji Noora, on the other hand, the whole was vastly and qualitative superior to the sum of its parts. How so, I have no idea. But I have every belief that even a cursory sampling of the two Naharis will establish the difference between them. Beyond this, I cannot say more.

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Haji Noora

There exist a few select shops which transcend mundane notions of 'good food' or 'value for money'; and attain downright extraordinary heights. Moinuddin Ustad of Lal Kuan does, no doubt about it. As do the dhage wale kabab vendor in Matia Mahal; possibly Ghalib Kabab Corner in Nizamuddin; and even the quirky makkhan wali chai shop also in Lal Kuan. And of course Haji Noora's nahari shop in Bara Hindu Rao. I have been to Haji Noora's shop twice, and my experience has been uniformly joyous across both occasions.

Unearthing the place was a feat in itself. I first heard about it in yet another Rahul Verma article. Some time in October 2006, together with my friend Hemanshu, I decided to try it out.

This first expedition of ours proved a flop. We had assumed, naturally, that Bara Hindu Rao, the area, would be adjacent to Bara Hindu Rao, the hospital. So we hit the hospital, got misdirected more times than we could keep count of, and finally blundered our way to the Bara Hindu Rao area a good few miles away.

There another anticlimax awaited us. The shop was shut, apparently due to Eid the previous day. We also learnt that a clan feud had engendered a split in the family business as well. A nephew on the distaff has set up a bigger and better-located shop a few feet away. He even calles it 'Al-Noor', which heightens the confusion a good deal.

Thanks to the pains taken then, locating the shop on subsequent occasions posed no problem. And the food there is so wonderful that I, for one, consider myself to have been amply rewarded for all that we went through on that day.

Admittedly, Haji Noora's shop looks less than impressive. A tiny hole-in-the-wall outfit, with an entrance comprising a narrow passage between two raised platforms. The one on the left houses a tandoor for the Rotis; the other one serves as a base for huge steaming saucepans of the right stuff.

Beyond this lies the sitting area. Two long bedsheets - once white, now a dingy grey smeared with Nahari stains - flank either side of an oilcloth stretching across the breadth of the room. Customers sit on the sheets and keep their plates on the oilcloth, to complete what one might call a downmarket Dastarkhwaan.

The tableware (OK oilclothware) they use looks just as disreputable. Both times our Nahari came in chipped enamel dishes and the Rotis in cracked melamine plates. Aluminium glasses and water jugs lined the oilcloth.

The food itself makes up for everything and more. I prefer the 'special' variety of Nahari they dish out, the one that comes laced with ghee. Slow-cooked through the night, perfectly spiced, on either occasion it fully lived up to all our expectations. The meat was soft and succulent, and yet not bereft of texture. The spices made their presence felt, without smothering the rich natural flavour of the meat. Even the gravy was a treat. Even on a fullish stomach, mopping up the gravy with pieces of Roti was a pleasure.

The first time, we paid fifty Rupees for three plates of Nahari and four Tandoori Rotis. On the following occasion, Two plates of Nahari and four Rotis set as back by 38 bucks. Would have been cheap at three times the price. Needless to say, we stuffed ourselves like pigs.

The wonderful experiences I've had there only makes me wonder, what are the conditions that enable and/or impel Haji Noora's to maintain such high standards at low, low prices? Certainly not the high expectations of the denizens of that area. The other outlets there are at best decent, in no way out of the ordinary.

There are a few bakeries there, which sell you rusks for fifty Rupees a kilo. I make it a point to buy half-a-kilo every time I go there. Several sweetshops in the vicinity do a brisk trade. The Sooji ka Halwa I sampled at one of them was good, but not anything to write home about. The tea shops in the area range from passable to downright bad. I remember one shop that gave me tea with a dollop of what they called Malai in it. Forget the tea, even the Malai tasted more watery than the tea one gets at any rural railway station.

Last thought: Must try out the nephew's output some day.

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Nahari at Turkaman Gate

Delhi's climate has long given up all claims to rationality. The unseasonal chilly rains we're facing currently is a case in point. Normally, cold weather in Delhi is something to look forward to. But so unpredictable have things become that most perceive the rains as portents of a gruesome summer that must surely lie ahead.

Making the best of a bad job, a friend and self decided on an impromptu Nahari-hunting expedition the day before yesterday. We devised the plan the previous evening, finalised it a couple of hours later, and set off at six in the morning. Some time ago, I had heard of a famous Nahari shop near Kali Masjid in the Turkaman Gate area. We decided to check it out.

The Masjid itself is quite interesting. It was built in 1387 during the reign of emperor Firozshah Tughlaq, close to his capital city Firozshah Kotla. Razia Sultan's tomb also lay nearby. Situated on a little hillock in what was then open ground, it was later subsumed within the walled city of Shahjahanabad. Habitation sprang up and ultimately surrounded the mosque as well as the tomb. Today, the Masjid has no compound to speak of, at least none outside its walls. Houses, built higgledy-piggledy and perpetually threatening to cave in on one another, have spread like tentacles around and over it.

Finding the shop was no problem. In fact we had passed it on our way to the mosque. The food itself was good, just about; nothing exceptional. Though soft and well-cooked, the meat lacked the rich flavour so essential to good Nahari. Neither did the spices seem to make their presence felt. And at 36 bucks for two helpings and three Rotis, we felt we could get better value for money elsewhere. Certainly not worth getting up at six and squelching through rain, muck, and semi-dissolved horse dung.

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