Nasirabad Kachoras – TRAVELTRUNK.NET

I think my taste buds are prone to sentimentality. They hunger for food that is tinged with nostalgia, which has its own piquant flavor. I don’t recall how old I was when I first had a ‘Kachora’ but I do remember it was pretty much love at first bite. Nasirabad railway station was a stop we started looking forward to in the journey from Ajmer to Mhow because it meant a quick dash to get about half a kachora…,indulgence enough as far as my grandfather was concerned, to be had with tea in ’kulhads’ (earthen cups), before that rocking meter gauge train chugged its way onward. The wheels of time turned and one day I stood seeing off the fiancé at Mhow railway station as he headed towards Nasirabad. Then those wheels turned some more and the railway line converted to broad gauge partly, derailing the journey on that route.

Another train journey gave us – Picture Postcards from Bundelkhand

Railway Station Rendezvous’

So while in Nasirabad couple of days back we see that we have a few hours to spare. The sentimental taste buds start pulling the emotional chords and I find us heading for an early (By my standard.) cup of tea to the station. We cross some immaculately kept churches. One looking very Scottish with it’s stone tower but still at home somehow in that dry setting. (Well it has had about a century to make itself comfortable.) We turn onto a road with no sign post but the railway line right there gives a hint of the possibility of a station’s location and there it is, one of the smallest stations I’ve ever been to, being swept clean with giant brooms. We are in luck! A young man is carting a big pile of fresh kachoras into the station from the dhaba behind where they are being made over wood fire. For two minutes I delude myself into thinking that they are baked! Only my delusions are half baked! We plonk ourselves on a vacated bench at the platform, watch a train pull in and the kachoras are hawked out in small portions.

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We sip chai and savour our portion of memories- warm, crunchy, the dal stuffing rightly spiced, served on a piece of newspaper. The piping hot cuppa although refreshing, is no longer served in the eco-friendly kulhads. I remember Lalu Prasad as Railway Minister redeeming himself in my eyes a teensy-weensy bit when he reintroduced kulhads on the trains. The proprietor of the shop at the station is delighted but I think a little perplexed too, that we would drive to a railway station for old time sake.

Nasirabad is not a one-horse town!

Then we head towards the other more famous shop near the bus stand which serves kachoras – Chawannilal’s. We cross a ‘tonga’ (Horse cart). Oh my God! There are places where they have not been put to pasture! If there was one other thing associated with railway stations, it was them. The struggle to get a trunk on and off a tonga!! The happy cumbersome ride, the sound of hooves clip-clopping early in the morning through deserted streets & the rousing welcome when we reached the grandparents. We ask for directions and are told of a short cut. Always a bad idea but we never seem to learn! At a turn there is a shed where other horses are munching, untethered. The tongas resting at an angle and the drivers sitting around with their beedis. We turn into one of the narrowest lanes, barely wider than the width of the car. I’m sure the residents must have thought that our car was definitely bigger than our brains! Fortunately it’s a short lane. (It is supposed to be shortcut.) The older houses have jharokas embellishing the windows and colonnaded pillars but it seems the masons of today don’t possess the skills to redo them. So they are being smoothened out while being repaired. All the artistic carving will be one day ironed out into a bland cement wall in time.

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Chawannilal’s Culinary Cache

Chawannilal’s shop is right there and bustling. The owner in a crisp white kurta is sitting at the back with an aide, helping make the kachoras. He makes perfect cups of the dough, firmly pats the stuffing in, seals, then rolls them out and finally gently slips them into the massive kadai full of hot oil. (Definitely not baked!) Those half baked illusions of mine evaporate up the fancy chimney forever. Today some kachoras are being shipped all the way to Calcutta. The potato stuffed ones are good too but they don’t stay longer than a day or so. On a smaller wok, at the entrance, jalebis are being made. One guy has a generous helping put on top of his kachora. At the owner’s urging I take a jalebi. It is bite sized, thin, crisp & delicious! I’ve been eyeing the ‘mawa’ cake at the counter and what the heck; now that I’m in a food free fall I have one. Melt in the mouth and rightly sweetened! The cooled kachoras are packed and we have them the next day. They taste even better! Flaky crust peeling off, bits of fennel & coriander popping up in bites of dal, a hint of asafoetida now and then, nostalgia adding flavor, making it warmer, richer and satiating not just the palate. This snack is on my soul food menu, what is on yours?

For another superb Rajasthani culinary journey read- Satiating Nostalgia Under the Winter Rain at Junia

Fact File –

Nasirabad is 21 kms from Ajmer.

Cost of a Kachora –

At the Railway Station – Rs 160 / kg

At Chawannilal – Rs 180 / kg

For more Rajasthani food fables read –

The rain keeps up it’s intermittent pitter-patter as we make our way from Ajmer to Junia. Our hostess & driver for the journey, is a god-loving woman, who insists on driving right upto every temple door en route ( The word fear has been left to all the other drivers to deal with …. swerve/brake in her wake, as she suddenly spots a temple & rushes towards it! ) so that she & all of us along with her, can pay obeisance to the motley lot of deities by the road without getting our hair wet. Vanity trumping piety by just a bit. What it can’t beat is gluttony as we stop & hop across the mud at a dhaba to indulge ourselves in the famous ‘Kachora’ that Nasirabad is so famous for. The best ones I still feel are to be found at the Nasirabad railway station which we would have warm with piping hot tea whenever we would take the train on this route. The train would arrive there right at tea time. But nostalgia has it’s own appetite & so we indulge it with cold kachoras, warm kachoris & guavas from a scruffy looking fruit-seller across the road. The guavas beg to be eaten right away & they turn out to be even more delicious than the Chittorgarh ones, with a hint of tang chasing the crunchy sweetness that only unripened guavas have. So many winters I have sacrificed bits of teeth at the altar of love for this crazy fruit.

Discover Nasirabad’s world famous Kachora in- Nasirabad Kachora: More than a Savoury Story

The sun & wind chase the dark clouds & a beautiful rainbow towards the east as we follow the tail end of the clouds. I’ve always found winter rain to be utterly romantic.( Can listen to November Rain on loop! ) But lets not be narrow -minded about the definition of romance! It can be a delightful ménage à trois between my stomach & food accompanied by winter rain just there…in the background! We reach Junia, a tiny hamlet off the main grid in the Rajasthan circuit, with a small fort almost obscured by the surrounding houses. The narrow lane that leads to our destination has these houses with miniature haveli-like colourful facades. A turn in the lane ends at the gate of Amar Bagh, with the lake & a flaming sunset beyond. Just in time for a piping hot cuppa ready to be had with the remnants of the kachori-kachora on the patio.

The main house at the Bagh has been lovingly touched up & it still feels like a home away from home. ‘Jal Mahal’, the tiny ‘Lake Palace’ on the lake is as delightful as ever with it’s permanent residents, the old tiger heads & House Martins who come out every evening to put up a cacophonous show over the lake, water or no water. It is quite a sight with the setting sun as a backdrop as we sit on the patio by the lake. The perfect place for morning tea, evening tea, afternoon beer…heck, everything! I could spend my entire time there watching the hours unfold. A tree on one side of the floor provides a canopy with branches stooping so low as if seeking the water that is no longer there in the lake. The perils of progress, check dams nearby, seem to have reduced the water flowing into the lake which is a natural catchment for the extra runoff of the rains.

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The next morning & every morning while I’m there we take a stroll in the Bagh, rediscovering old haunts. We go past the tiny Shiv temple, (Where years back I had discovered a small dead bat & wrapping it’s feet around my fingers had proceeded to scare the wits out of the kids around me.) & the magnificent old tamarinds near the ramparts, turn at the step-well (Where we would hang out along with the pigeons, blowing smoke circles into the air peacefully, safely away from twitching noses..) & the banyan guarding it towards the orchard that gives the place it’s name. I discover another step-well, this one with an arched entrance to the steps which is even more ornate. We walk back through the orchard of guavas & lime. The latter fruiting & flowering in equal measure giving the whole place the faintest whiff of sharp sweetness. Fresh & tart. Lunch is the most delicious ‘khata’ I’ve had in a while, perfectly thin & tangy ,true to it’s name, the way its done only in Rajasthan. Its turning out to be one gastronomical trip as in the evening while we warm ourselves around the bonfire, mutton is cooked on open fire by the man of the house. The ‘Laal maas’ made by Thakur Kishore Singhji has always been such a treat. The patience & heart with which he spends the hours required to cook it to perfection can be tasted in every bite. He tempers the fieriness for us & we wipe our plates clean leaving no trace of the perfect thick gravy. Poor Russel, the resident golden hunk doesn’t get more than one tiny morsel as reward for all the doleful looks he has been giving all evening patiently.

There are no traces of the clouds that rained down in the night the next morning & it’s blue & clear & we’re like beached whales still digesting a breakfast of more kachoris & khata, a combination I’ve had for the first time, & stuffed ‘mirchi bhajias’ all washed down with coffee. A surprisingly good fusion. Our reverie is broken by the clamour of jangling bells & the bleating of sheep & goats. A big herd is making the most of the dried lake which is like a grassy rolling meadow right now. Sheep can walk across the length of the lake without lifting their heads much like a lawnmower & they keep up the background din through the afternoon, the sounds occasionally blown away by the breeze. In the evening we visit the ‘chattri’ made in honour of the founding father of the clan. Like all warriors of old there are stories of battles & valor, of a heroic death & an exalted legacy to be followed & honoured.

Discover goats, rain and great food in ht hills this time in- Barot – And the Serendipitous Catch in the Uhl River

Its blissfully peaceful in the Shiv temple. The silver convertible Herald parked under the massive tamarind is long gone but the peacocks are still there in abundance, as skittish as ever & they scatter as we stroll through the bagh. Adulthood has given a quiet burial to a childhood dream of catching one of them. All the running around in the orchard back then would only culminate in spent energy & nothing more, thankfully. We return from our walk to find chilled beer, some more ‘laal maas’ to be had this time with ‘battis’ made by the gatekeeper. They’ve been made on smoked cow dung ( I know how that sounds but trust me that is as authentic as it gets! ) & then dunked, by the looks of it in a bucket of clarified butter, but by God! they are divine…crunchy on the outside & melt in the mouth inside! I mentally apologize to our home cook whose ‘battis’ I’ve thought till now to be the ultimate but these are a notch above. I request one to be saved for my journey back the next day since I’m stuffed till the gills right then but tomorrow is another day! After that leisurely lunch I want to crash out right there on the patio but manage to crawl into my bed somehow. The breeze has taken a breather that night & we have a bonfire outside the main house. There is some company today from the village, rugged sun kissed faces glowing in the fire light, talking about the produce of the season, local politics & village matters & I struggle to follow the cadences of the local lingo & give up, just soaking in the mellifluousness flowing around the crackling fire.

The last morning dawns cloudy & windy & there is rain en route to Jaipur. We stop for one last feast of roadside pakoras although my ‘batti’ has been duly packed along. I quash my reluctance to have fried roadside food & dig in. They are sassy, as only freshly fried, piping hot pakoras can be with bits of coriander & fennel around the chilli, surprisingly not hot at all. Literally saying ‘don’t be uppity!’ Who would want to leave this idyllic life, food heaven & head to the city?! Even ‘Anokhi’ with it’s inviting cafe, coffee aroma wafting around isn’t enticing enough when one is fully fed up, belly full with the delectable charms of Junia.

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Tag: Nasirabad Kachoras

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