Imagine going off to sit six-hour exams fortified by brain food such as badaam-ki-golis, small almond balls made by soaking the nuts overnight, grinding them with sugar and cardamom and finally covering them with varak, real silver tissue. A whole culture wrapped in silver paper -- more trouble must have gone into making the delectable morsels described in A Taste of India, by Delhi-born Madhur Jaffrey, than the exams themselves. This was my wake-up call to the sumptuous, complex, seductive flavours of regional Indian cooking and to the breadth and depth of the cooking. Other than France, I can't think of a country where food is so intimately connected with every facet of life, where food is a resource, a philosophy, a medicine and always a delight.
Not that I could find such food in Toronto back in 1985. Greasy-spoon Indian--hot, medium, mild curries -- still prevailed, and I loved it. You see, I'm a curry maniac. (I know speaking of curry is no longer politically correct but it's the fastest way to describe the astonishing blend of spices that defines all Indian food.) With the first mouthful of cardamom, cumin, cinnamon and more spices than I can identify off the top of my head, I'm addicted--I lose all control and continue eating, even after my appestat is flashing signs saying "full up, full up."
While nouvelle Indian, a free-ranging fusion of Indian regions and Western influences, was getting raves in Europe and New York--and Vancouver, where Vikram Vij opened his eponymous restaurant --Toronto lagged. No more.
Amaya, open just a few weeks, is revelatory, with a menu of eye-popping palate pleasers, as well as takes on familiar dishes that change some of my perceptions of Indian food. Item: Mango chutney isn't a sweet, chunky condiment but a little pot of sweet and sour juice. Item: Lamb vindaloo isn't a furnace blast of chili nor is it exactly Indian. It probably tastes closer to the original sweet-and-sour meat dish the Portuguese made with vinegar. When the Portuguese colonists couldn't find vinegar in Goa, they used instead black pepper, tamarind and chilis. Now chef Dinesh Singh Butola uses vinegar and chilis and the result is not so much a subdued vindaloo but a subtler peppery bite to the rich purplish stew.
Butola, who comes from Garwhal in northeast India, has rubbished the notion, which I once mistakenly clung to, that Indian food might lose its soul if it became influenced by Western mainstream taste -- those bad memories of pallid curry sauces linger. Not here. Instead, a talented chef is creating new and unusual flavours to savour.
Tonight I'm with a couple of fellow curry maniacs and the moment we step inside the simple whitewashed room with blond panelling half way up the walls we bond to the modern aesthetic. No reference to the Raj or Taj Mahal. Instead, white tablecloths, candles and a short but intriguing menu. And a light touch: Don't forget the curry martini.
How difficult it is to pick among the first courses -- but our first order is a knockout: rajasthani bindi, an airy pile of deep-fried and mango-crusted skinny strips of okra with the liquid mango chutney. I also love the harra kebab, round spinach fritters with a creamy cheese stuffing, and a plate of pakoras with such familiar favourites as paneer, deep-fried cubes of soft cheese, mushroom and spicy onion.
We simply can't make our minds up about the second courses. A tandoori-roasted duck breast tempts -- the smoky taste of tandoori-roasted food, like our butter naan tonight, is an enduring favourite in the West. We plump for patrani machchi, halibut-wrapped in a banana leaf and lapped with an irresistible pinkish sauce that contains a blend of 21 spices and mint and ginger. "What else is in this?" we ask our excellent waiter, Korum, and he says coconut milk. The seamless blend of ingredients makes it hard to identify them properly.
Chettinad chicken is a very hot South Indian curry with curry leaves, tomato and grated coconut. To sop up the juices, we order a spin on rice -- brown, wild blended with basmati, the rice that astonished foreigners because the Indians cooked it so each grain was separate from the others.
We're now surrounded by half-empty plates. Oh dear, Indian food has done it again. We've ordered too much! This is the danger of curry mania, which, if unchecked, may lead to orgy, even guilt. Even so, we feel we must test cardamom grilled pineapple with ginger ice cream -- but it isn't gingery enough -- and enjoy a garam masala truffle -- one of the marvellous ways they're using healthy dark chocolate nowadays.
Only downer: no Indian wine (which, since I inquired about it, is now on the list at Tabla wine bar) but almost everything else, fun cocktails to single malts. My fellow diners prefer red wine and Lynn Stimpson, the helpful manager, advises a lively Languedoc, but for myself, I like effervescent Kingfisher beer with the food.
Amaya has about 40 seats and they were full tonight. I wonder whether co-owners Derek Valleau and Hemant Bhagwani haven't underestimated the number of curry maniacs in Toronto. Although I'd love to come back and order lamb shank xacutti, I wonder whether I'll be able to get in.
-Food for two plus tax, $85.
Gina Mallet, National Post
We simply can't make our minds up about the second courses. A tandoori-roasted duck breast tempts -- the smoky taste of tandoori-roasted food, like our butter naan tonight, is an enduring favourite in the West. We plump for patrani machchi, halibut-wrapped in a banana leaf and lapped with an irresistible pinkish sauce that contains a blend of 21 spices and mint and ginger. "What else is in this?" we ask our excellent waiter, Korum, and he says coconut milk. The seamless blend of ingredients makes it hard to identify them properly.
Chettinad chicken is a very hot South Indian curry with curry leaves, tomato and grated coconut. To sop up the juices, we order a spin on rice -- brown, wild blended with basmati, the rice that astonished foreigners because the Indians cooked it so each grain was separate from the others.
We're now surrounded by half-empty plates. Oh dear, Indian food has done it again. We've ordered too much! This is the danger of curry mania, which, if unchecked, may lead to orgy, even guilt. Even so, we feel we must test cardamom grilled pineapple with ginger ice cream -- but it isn't gingery enough -- and enjoy a garam masala truffle -- one of the marvellous ways they're using healthy dark chocolate nowadays.
Only downer: no Indian wine (which, since I inquired about it, is now on the list at Tabla wine bar) but almost everything else, fun cocktails to single malts. My fellow diners prefer red wine and Lynn Stimpson, the helpful manager, advises a lively Languedoc, but for myself, I like effervescent Kingfisher beer with the food.
Amaya has about 40 seats and they were full tonight. I wonder whether co-owners Derek Valleau and Hemant Bhagwani haven't underestimated the number of curry maniacs in Toronto. Although I'd love to come back and order lamb shank xacutti, I wonder whether I'll be able to get in.
-Food for two plus tax, $85.
Gina Mallet, National Post
