I smear some white butter over the alu paratha – a stuffed wheat flatbread. It has just come out of the tandoor. The butter makes glistening circles on the bumpy surface. I tear the paratha, steam rises. I can see the stuffing – mashed potato dotted with brown and black spices, green streaks of fresh coriander peeking through. I put a chunk in my mouth and I am in a hot, creamy, flavor heaven.
Dhaba food – ahhh!
Dhabas are the highway diners in India – small, roadside eating joints found along most major highways. Dhabas are enormously popular for the hot, delicious and cheap food they serve. Once primarily thought of as truck stops, dhabas now attract huge number of travelers and dish out mouthwatering food in huge volumes, with great speed and the self-evident taste of unbelievable freshness.
I was sitting in one last summer along one of the highways close to Chandigarh, a small city in northwest India, about 150 miles from the capital, New Delhi and with a direct access to the foothills of the lower Himalayan ranges. It had rained the day before. A moist warmth had settled. The highway traffic was relatively lean.
Eating in a dhaba is a sensory experience and beyond gastronomy alone. Dhabas are kind of about the land and the people. Most of the dhabas look like enormous tin sheds with no doors (barring the few fancy ones). This one was a fairly large structure. The open side looked onto the dusty highway with a view of the trucks and cars whooshing by. Plastic tables and chairs were for seating. Red seemed to be the chosen color. Hindi music played faintly over a radio. Travelers emerged from their vehicles and sat around us. Quick meals were brought out on steel utensils, the food and the travelers were gone soon.
Dhaba food is always fresh and made within minutes of ordering. The food is earthy, delicious, robust and almost explodes in your mouth with flavors that seem strongly rooted in the soil. The dhabas in northern India are the Punjabi dhabas, serving typically Punjabi cuisine. All of them house a Tandoor, a massive clay oven that produces varieties of delicious flat breads like rotis and naans. Hefty looking cooks stir mounds of fresh vegetables in enormous cast-iron kadais(Indian woks) and rows and rows of dough balls repose next to the oven. The air smells of garam masala, chilies, fried onions and tea boiled with cinnamon.
I ordered the popular fare. Stuffed parathas with dollops of white butter on top, saag (greens) with paneer (milk cheese Indian style), creamy lentil or daal, mixed vegetables in spicy gravy. Food arrived in steel plates garnished with fresh cilantro and green chilies, with sides like marinated tart white onions and mango pickles in small steel bowls. Also with tall yogurt drinks in steel glasses. A feast that cost less than ten dollars, looked too pretty to eat and tasted like hot heavens.
I sat on string cot and drank Coke out of a glass bottle. I wiped gravy off the steel plate and licked my fingers. Local music played in the background. lifesize statues of wrestlers stood in front. Posters of Hindi movies covered the walls – faces of victorious heroes thrashing villains stared down. Trucks whooshed by. Children laughed and ran around.
At the end of the meal I spoke to the waiters and the cook. A mini interview of some sort. They eagerly answered.
“Everything is made today. everything is fresh.”
“Are you going to write about us?” The cook said while posing. He was a striking figure.
“We grind the masala fresh every day. Food doesn’t taste good otherwise,” said his assistant.
We paid the bill – close to $6 and emerged from the dhaba with a full stomach. While driving back, I thought of the food and the atmosphere.
A place that makes you feel full and alive – thats what a Dhaba is.