Santanu Mitra:

I am a Bengali. We do things with fish that has earned us an enviable place in the gastronomic annals of world cuisine. We eat the whole thing… no waste, no regrets! I, mistakenly, of course, thought that we the Bengalis were at the last stage of evolution so far as eating any other species was concerned. Well, I was wrong. And this I found out, to my immense pleasure, after I ate Newari food. What Bengalis do to fish, Newaris had perfected with the caprine and the bovine. I was in Pokhara when I discovered this busy but slightly frayed eatery run by a Newari lady with a huge smile. The main slab was covered with umpteen bowls of unknown food, all different.

My infectious enthusiasm had the lady standing by my side wanting to know what I wanted. I started ordering bits of everything, the unfamiliar as well. My questions in Hindi were answered by a string of almost intelligible Nepali to my uneducated ears and I slowly started getting into the thick of things.

Jibro! Goat tongue sliced, boiled and curried. A kind of blood pudding that I had last had in a remote French hamlet was also in front of me, jelly-like and almost blackish red. Chohi, it was called, Rakti in Nepali...by this time I was too excited to hold myself back. My eagerness to learn more became a source of amusement to the lady and her army of four young lads. “What’s this then?” I asked pointing to another dish... “Tishya”, was the prompt reply...but what in the name of heaven was it?

My Nepali friends told me that it was the buffalo spinal column, minced, marinated and then fried. This was too good to be true. Vegetarians beware! was my war cry as I tucked in. But there was more, Kachila, raw flesh sushi style, unimaginable in texture and taste, certainly a first in my life. Chatamari, a thick lentil dosa with precooked mincemeat and an egg topping which is then baked on the platter covered with a terracotta cover. Sapunhicha, a bit like the French Honduette or the Scottish Haggis, made by stuffing bone marrow in stomach lining, sewn and fried. It was like a taste explosion inside my mouth. And of course they had Choila, Shekua, Momos and other usual fare that is sold at bus stations all over Nepal.

As a passionate foodie I was overwhelmed to say the least. My curiosity had fired the lady and she was piling bits of this and that on my plate, gratis! I was touched. Later that day it was a very humble but satisfied me trudging back home to my hotel near Phewa. I had learnt that imagination comes with passion. Wisdom with knowing when to stop.