Donne Lamb Biryani

THERE ISN'T A PALETTE MORE DIVERSE THAN AN INDIAN ONE. AND YOU'D BE HARD PRESSED TO FIND THAT KIND OF VARIETY FROM JUST A SINGLE SECTION OF THE COUNTRY ANYWHERE ELSE.

Wait for it...

One of the earnest ideas behind The Permit Room is to introduce people to the sheer variety of traditional South Indian cuisine, but with a modern-day take on it. Essentially it's recipes from your ajji's (Kannada for grandma) kitchen, but served in a rather modern, and also cocktail-friendly form. Your ajji may or may not approve.

Thindi Tales is an attempt to take you one step deeper, the equivalent of getting you to eat meals with your fingers, and hopefully help you appreciate south-indian cuisine in all its gastronomic glory. 

If you’re from Bangalore and a lover of all things rice, chances are you’re more than familiar with this dish. While biryani itself has a long and glorious history, the Donne Biryani is special to namma ooru. 

The Dish

We’ve kept it pretty true to the classic, and added a little delight via detail.

Ufff. Just look at it.

There’s the biryani, the gorgeous cuts of lamb, the sides, and did we mention the mouth-watering cuts of lamb? We did? That’s ok. It’s worth mentioning twice.

Pretty much everyone (with any decent taste in food) knows what biryani is.
But what exactly is a ‘donne’?

A Little History

‘Donne’, (pronounced dhoe-nae, like watch me whip/watch me naenae, but with some stress on the ’n’ like ‘nuhhhh’), is nothing but big, huge cups or bowls made from the Areca Palm leaf. 

That’s pretty much where the name for the dish comes from. And while the style of the biryani is slightly different too, that’s an inside secret we aren't at liberty to share.

Also, eco warriors will agree that the best part about traditional recipes and dishes is that our ancestors always found some way to keep it real with nature. That’s why, apart from biryani consuming purposes, these kind of bowls and plates are making a comeback because of their eco-friendly disposable abilities.

At The Permit Room

We’ve modelled our version around the Military Hotel style of biryani. Which basically means a no-nonsense, fully-focused-on-the-food-without-any-frills kind of biryani. We highly recommend you stop by one of the many military hotels that line the highways of Karnataka at some point in your lives. And if that's too far, you just come off here.

The Donne Biryani comprises of some perfectly succulent pieces of lamb steeped in all the earthy flavours associated with this dish. We serve it hot off the fire, in a bowl made from Areca leaf, which really lends to the rustic nature of this dish. And on the side, we have some raita, fried onions, crackers, and a whole lot of love. (Sorry, but biryani makes a romantic mess out of us!)

Our Chef Says

“We had a lot of fun creating this dish. It’s got all the Donne Biryani trademark features in it, with a little bit of our signature stylings too. We decided to add some standard sides that complement the biryani. They’re pretty traditional as far as biryani is concerned, but also subtle enough to not take away from the main flavour in focus."

Paati's Magic Rasam

If you thought our cuisine was diverse, then you'll be as surprised with our drinking habits. 
Whether we ‘put one small’ or grab a tall, be rest assured that Indian drinking habits are just as curious as cuisine fixations

That’s why you’ll find that fellow who drinks two beers everyday with one plate of peanut masala with half a lime sprinkled on top, or the other macchi who insists on having her 60 of Rum and Coke, with some pickle for ‘touchings.’
Celebrating the delightfully unique drinking culture of the south, are our quirky TPR Cocktails. It’s everything traditional, but with a twist.

That's not rasam powder—that's magic powder lining a magical drink.

Let’s just straight up agree that anything made by Paati is magical. Anything at all.
If you’re wondering what a paati is, it’s the personification of all things kind, warm, soft, with exceptional cooking skills. More commonly known though, as grandma. (even though we just described her like some sort of Teletubby Chef.) Or ajji, ammachi, amamma, depending on which part of the southies you're from.

Anyway, there are some things that soothe the mind, and the soul, and if you’ve ever had Rasam made by said Paati, then you’ll know exactly what we’re talking about.

Now imagine all the warmth and comfort of Paati’s Rasam, but with some Whiskey added to the mix. Right? Right?!
Sounds crazy? It is! Crazy awesome, that is. (Although we’re not entirely sure if Paati will approve.)

The Drink

Rasam is a classic South Indian soup-esque drink/curry. Enjoyed with rice and sides like pappad, pickle, podi, chicken fry, mutton fry, beef fry and pretty much every vegetable, this versatile dish also has many different versions.

That’s why you’ll find Tomato Rasam, Garlic Rasam, Ginger Rasam, Mysore Rasam, just to name a few.
Although not a classic form of the dish, the addition of meat and sea-food are also hugely popular and extremely satisfying. (Move over chicken soup! This is the real soul food.)

The Breakdown

Of course, our version is not the dish but the drink. (But all the sides we mentioned previously go great with this. Just, not mixed in it.)

The Permit Room’s version of Paati’s Magic includes the rasam staples—curry leaves, ginger, green chilli, glass rimmed with rasam powder and salt, along with whiskey. 

"Hi Paati!"

So while it’s still very much a smooth whiskey cocktail, you’ll find notes of that familiar and delicious rasam taste lingering even after you’ve finished taking a sip. Savour it.
And then take another. 

Our Bartender Says

“This drink is our homage to the classic Rasam. No one makes it like grandma does of course, but we hope the little addition of Whiskey more than makes up for it. While the drink has distinct flavours, they aren’t overpowering and complement your food. And even though it’s served cold, the lingering taste of rasam (and the whiskey) warms you up just right!” 

The Five Famous Festival Traditions

Photo from picklejar.in

The Shower-In-Your-Sleep

It’s inevitable. Festivals must always begin at unearthly hours, before which you are expected to wake up and take ‘head’ baths. You wake up to some devotional music playing in the background, and to your mum bustling around, who probably woke up two hours before everyone else in the house. 
Over the years, most kids perfect the process of executing all ablutions in their somnambulist stupor, just to catch that extra five minutes of sleep. It's either that, or facing your mother's wrath, which is particularly heightened during these days. And you certainly do not want to mess with Festival Mom.

The Brand-New-For-Festival-Only Clothes

Festivals are also all about the fashunnn. The threadbare tee and shorts make way for some super starched kurtas and mundus/veshtis/panches, while the ladies bring out the bling with mom's saris and jewellery to match. Throw in a side parting, a bindi, and some flowers in the hair, and we've got our kurta khiladis and sari selvies.

The clothes still have that brand-new smell of the store, that mix of starch and excessive air conditioning, along with a little new fabric stiffness to them. But end results are always most pleasing to the eye.

Photo from picklejar.in

The Decor

Decorations take up a special place during any festival. It's flowers, flowers, more flowers, fruits and sweets arranged in patterns. There’s also the rangoli, or kolam as it is better know down-south, which is an age-old artistic marvel in itself. The speeds at which these intricate patterns are executed with rice powder, in part meant to be carrying on a keen scientific and mathematical tradition, and also feeding the ants while you’re at it by using a very organic material, is both humbling and fascinating.

You realise just how hard this skill is when you get enthused and attempt it yourself, and end up making a powdery mess.

The Food. Oh, the food!

Saapad, Sadhya, Oota—call it what you must.
It is the undeniable highlight of festivals in the southern half of the sub continent. 
Roll out the banana leaf, cross those legs, (or pull that plastic Nilkamal chair closer to the table) and make sure those hands are clean. (slightly at least.)It’s time to tuck in!
But wait! There’s a process—sweet first, salt a little later, some pickle for touchings, and a veritable river of rice. With a stream of ghee. Obviously.

Anna, more papaad please!

Photo from picklejar.in

The Post-Feast Nap

It’s a rite of passage. One must always, after a nice long oota session, take a nap. The duration may vary from person to person, but the nap is always taken. Always. 
Breakers of this tradition are frowned upon most heavily.
Some aunties and uncles are known to be so dedicated to the task that they push the banana leaves in front, wiggle back a bit, and pass out on the spot. It’s an art that requires many decades of dedicated practice.
And the rule is that one must only ever be woken up by the smell of fresh filter coffee. Sigh!

The Money Laundering Scheme (bonus)

Kids might seem overly well-mannered and extra helpful on festival days. That normally bratty devil-incarnate kid of a neighbour seems shockingly innocent and well-behaved. This mystery is easily solved based on the number of relatives around.
A staple of every festival is older family members carrying around loose notes of money to be most generously doled out to younger members for anything from touching feet to slyly slipping some kudix in. Amounts may vary based on the task at hand, and the level of generosity being felt at that point. After a few years of trial and error, kids usually know which relatives to target.

Of course, festivals are about this and so much more. It's about family, story-telling, song and dance, food and revelry.
And even if you're the one that grudgingly wakes up in the morning, complaining about how you can't even see the Sun yet, you can't deny that there's always a certain magic in the air that makes everything worth it.

Fizzy Kosambari

If you thought our cuisine was diverse, then you’ll be as surprised with our drinking habits.
Whether we ‘put on small’ or grab a tall, be rest assured that Indian drinking habits are just as curious as cuisine fixations.

Would you just look at those juicy, red, arils?! 

That’s why you’ll find that fellow who drinks two beers everyday with one plate of peanut masala with half a lime sprinkled on top, or the other macchi who insists on having her 60 of Rum and Coke, with some pickle for ‘touchings.’

Celebrating the delightfully unique drinking culture of the south, are our quirky TPR Cocktails. It’s everything traditional, but with a twist.
Well, this may as well be a salad. But it’s not. If it were on a plate, it might be. But it’s not.
It’s in a glass, and with two very special ingredients that take it to the next level. We don’t think you’re ready for this fizzy, but anyway—presenting the second dizzyingly delightful drink in the 'cutting cocktail' series, the Fizzy Kosambari.

Gimme an F, gimme an I, gimme a Z, gimme yet another Z, gimme a Y...FIIIIIZZZZZZYYYYY!

The Drink

The Fizzy Kosambari is a gorgeous looking cocktail, that whispers ‘refreshing’ through every drop of condensation that runs down its cool, cool glass. (And onto our coasters, of course!)

You don't have to be a smarty to figure out that there's a little bit of fizz added to a classic salad, but you're probably wondering exactly what. No? Yes? (One post someday on how 'no'  with a '?' can mean 'yes' colloquially.) 
And yes, it has all the ingredients of kosambari, with the exception of two rather important ones.

All condensation on coasters please!

The Breakdown

The Kosambari is a classic south-indian salad, made with cucumber, pomegranate arils and grated coconut.
It’s very popular, and you’ll find it served with everything from modest (but delicious) temple fare to over-the-top wedding saapaad.
At The Permit Room however, we throw in a little Soda and Gin. Yup. We took your ajji’s favourite salad, added some gin, threw in a little fizzy, and created what could possibly be the most refreshing cocktail on our menu.
And we haven’t stopped drinking since! Wheee!

Our Bartender Says

“This drink is our go-to refresher. If someone’s looking for something light and tropical, with a little zing, then we definitely recommend this drink.
Plus, it kind of makes you feel like you’re eating salad, while also drinking. Which is precisely what you’re doing. So health quotient, check! And tipsy quotient, also check!"

The 'Evolution' of Bangalore

This here is a little story about a city of an age bygone
And if you're of the talented kind, you can even sing it like a song.

It is a story of a Bangalore we once knew, before it grew. And grew. And grew.

Put together with the help of ingenious illustration and not so witty verse,
we'll let you decide whether this modernisation has been a gift or a curse.

We'll start at the start, and take it from whence,
back when the city was called Pensioner's Paradise, and it actually made sense.

With gentle gentlemen, lovely ladies and fewer street side shady boys (they've always been around.)
It took you less than 20 minutes to get anywhere, and with negligent auto fare.

The streets were smaller but somehow wider, the smiles were fewer but brighter, and evenings at the club meant a drink or two, some housie, and if you felt bold, a little bit of jiving with that cute anglo boy, amidst furious whispering and staring by aunties, who had far too much lipstick on.
(What? You thought this whole thing was going to rhyme? Mad or what?!)

And there were trees everywhere. Everywhere. And consequently everything seemed prettier. Even your neighbourhood aunty. Because, that's what trees do. Apart from sustaining life. They're awesome like that.

Perhaps someone who liked organising things (and making lists) decided to put cute bricks and gates around those trees, and throw in a couple of benches for those clandestine couples. And just like that, this became the Garden City. 
There was so much green, and such a great demand for these cozy benches, that these gardens sprung up everywhere. 
(Jaynagar still represents some of this old school charm, and need.)
And we wore that title of 'Garden City' with much joy and pride.

Of course, where there are gardens and good weather and happy people, there are pubs. (Totally made up that causal relationship. It might require further research.)

The good weather made working a little hard, and if you weren't working, you might as well be drinking, right?
(Plus, what else do you want pensioners to do apart from gardening? Give them a break.)
And so, Pub City was born, and was admittedly a cooler title for the new world. We took it. And we've had everything from Pub World to Pecos, and Tavern to Toit (shameless plug) ever since.

(Breweries would of course make a late entry, in an attempt to refine the palette of the gentry.)

But with pubs, came the public. And paradise suddenly seemed to have a price. Technology seemed to be extending its tentacles, slowly, surely and rather sneakily. It started with that dial up connection, that seemingly modest looking two-storey software office. But that was only the base for a much larger mothership to follow.
(Cue epic scenes from Independence Day and Terminator: 2. But this was more like Skynet (or Satyam) taking over Shanthinagar.)

And boom! People were so caught up with the beauty of this boom, for reason and logic they left no room. (Much like this forced rhyme.)

And then the mothership came. Along with IT company 1, 2, and 100. And we were not ready. It was nothing short of an invasion. Before you knew it, your Iyengar bakery with very best honey cakes was replaced by a cyber cafe, your favourite heritage hotel with fabulous filter coffee was taken over by computer programming offices, and even your nosey neighbour Mrs. Aunty sold that teak dining table she would go on and on about and bought a desktop PC. The takeover was complete. 

It's become Bungled-ooru now, more than anything else. Trees are more hot topics for activism than a place you can sit under on a sunny day and enjoy hearing mynas chirp. (Mynas you only find at the airport now, eating the overpriced airport idlis you wasted, out of your tray).
Heritage buildings exist only in framed photos hung at Corner House (yum) and in snooty clubs with 10-years waiting lists. Lakes are mostly fakes, and even though the roads seems to be getting narrower, the buildings seem to somehow be getting bigger and taller. And nowadays jumping from a plane seems more relaxing and less dangerous, than navigating through Bengaluru traffic. (No jokes, people actually find it therapeutic. And all those people must be from here only.)

People still go to pubs though, to drown sorrows more than anything else, and if you're lucky enough to be in a pub where the music doesn't drown conversation out, you'll hear some sentimental old fool talk about the Bangalore of 20 years ago, the Bangalore of the past, where things weren't this hectic and the pace wasn't nearly as fast. 
And somewhere, a meek voice that can't quite convince itself, will pipe in "But, we still have great weather. No?!"
 

Note: All the images here feature the amazing work of the legendary Paul Fernandes, taken from the writer's private collection.

Jil Jil Jigarthanda

THERE ISN'T A PALETTE MORE DIVERSE THAN AN INDIAN ONE. AND YOU'D BE HARD PRESSED TO FIND THAT KIND OF VARIETY FROM JUST A SINGLE SECTION OF THE COUNTRY ANYWHERE ELSE.

One of the earnest ideas behind The Permit Room is to introduce people to the sheer variety of traditional South Indian cuisine, but with a modern-day take on it. Essentially it's recipes from your ajji's (Kannada for grandma) kitchen, but served in a rather modern, and also cocktail-friendly form. Your ajji may or may not approve.

Thindi Tales is an attempt to take you one step deeper, the equivalent of getting you to eat meals with your fingers, and hopefully help you appreciate south-indian cuisine in all its gastronomic glory. 

This time, we have some heart soothings, a dish with a rather sweet story—the pretty-in-pink Jil Jil Jigarthanda.

Thanda, thanda, cool, cool.

The Dessert

You know this one is a classic just by the name—Jil Jil Jigarthanda, deconstructed and all. And it traces its roots to the very hot, the very historical, Madurai. 

The beauty of the Jil Jil Jigarthanda (nope, you can’t say it without the double ‘jil jil’) lies in its simplicity and versatility—you can find it being sold on the streets, where indeed its humble beginnings lie, or find it in a most-happening-modern-take-on-South-Indian-food-pub as well. (Some places come to mind.)

The main ingredient which cuts it apart from the Falooda or other similar coolers is Badam Pisin/Badam Gum (dried sap from the badam tree). The classic preparation of the drink involves milk, kadal paasi (or China Grass for ease of pronunciation) and nannari (sarsaparilla root extract) sherbet. And based on who’s selling, these ingredients are sometimes substituted for a signature taste—sugar syrup in place of nannari sherbet, or with a scoop of ice cream. Is that fancy-pants or what?!

The drink also has a kinky side-story, in that it used to be a popular option as the 'wedding night drink'. If you’ve seen enough old school Bollywood movies, then you can’t have missed the blushing-bride-with-ghoonghat-too-low-to-see-anything-bringing-warm-milk-to-creepy-looking-husband-in-shiny-white-pyjamas trope. Ah, classics!

The reason for this popularity being that jigarthanda contains almonds, which are aphrodisiacs, and well, milk, which is a natural sedative. So, almond to get you in the mood and milk to help you snooze. Hot, and cool, all at the same time! Well done, ancestors!

A Little History

Believed to have been brought into the country by the Mughals, a popular interpretation of the meaning of the name is ‘ something that cools the heart’, a literal translation from Hindi.

Makes sense, because if the Mughals were spending time in Madurai, they would definitely need something to cool their hearts, among other things. Most likely though, that the Muslims in Madurai, who were originally from Hyderabad, just brought the recipe along with them. 
And delighted the hearts of Madurai-ites…umm…Madurites…erm…Madurians…well, people living in Madurai ever since.

Too cool for you, fool!

There’s another theory that talks about the name evolving to or from jigar ‘danda’, meaning stick or mace, which may or may not have been connected to Hanuman or Bheema from the Indian epics, Ramayan and Mahabharata respectively. Carts selling the drink sometimes carry a cool illustration of Bheema on the side, lending some credibility to this theory.

There is evidence to support the claim that the glorious drink was brought to our country by the Mughals though—in the Ain-i-Akbari, which is the administrative record of Akbar’s reign (and also a chapter in every CBSE History text), there is mention of a similar drink made of pisin.

We like the literal and ‘cool’ interpretation, involving cooling the heart, a little better. So, let’s run with that ok?

At the Permit Room

In its most classic form, the Jigarthanda contains kadal paasi (make an effort to learn the authentic name, damn it!), milk, some nannari sherbet, and maybe a dash of vanilla essence even. The really cool boys sometimes add some colour also. 

Remember that Badam Pisin we mentioned? 
"At the Permit Room, we rehydrate it into a jelly like texture and use it as the base layer for the Jil Jil. And then proceed to serve you with the deconstructed version which contains  Dulce de leche (slow reduction of sweetened milk that is caramelized), Basil seeds that have been hydrated in water, toasted Pistachio flakes, a quenelle of ice cream, either Vanilla or Pista, which is then topped off with some fried, sweetened rice noodles as a garnish", our Chef says.

And with this, we serve a side of double reduced milk in a choice of two flavours—Rose or Nannari. 

Our version also has another exciting 'shoo shaa' factor to it, which we would explain, but where’s the fun in that?

At the Permit Room, it’s an homage in the form of a dessert, to this endearing drink that started out in the sweltering streets of Madurai and made its way all the way here.

Fun Fact

‘Jigarthanda’ is fast becoming the substitute slang for the appalling ‘chill pill’, the last time we checked. 

Ok. That’s a lie. But we’re trying really hard. I mean, “Jigar thanda, macchi” over “Take a chill pill, bro". Come on!
Help us, won’t you? Some very nascent research tells us that 1200 tweets between 12am-6am should do the trick, to get it trending on Twitter and all. So if you’re going to commit, let us know.
Also, @thepermitroom. Just in case.

Cutting Cocktails

If you thought our cuisine was diverse, then you’ll be as surprised with our drinking habits.

Whether we ‘put one small’ or grab a tall, be rest assured that Indian drinking habits are just as curious as our cuisine fixations.

That’s why you’ll find that fellow who drinks two beers everyday, with one plate of peanut masala that has half a lime sprinkled on top, or the other macchi who insists on having her 60 of Rum and Coke, with some pickle for ‘touchings.’

Celebrating the delightfully unique drinking culture of the south, are our quirky TPR Cocktails. It’s everything traditional, but with a twist.

First up, the Chill Pill Maadi. Put it, that one!

Pictured here: Coriander Cucumber and coolth. The last one being the most essential ingredient.

The Drink

This drink is the embodiment of the very purpose of drinking—to chill. 

The name may or may not have it’s origin in the once widely used, and now widely abused, phrase “take a chill pill.” Which pretty much is instructing the person in question, during a potentially volatile situation, to take a pill, which might help them calm down. 

Of course, reactions might backfire with the person punching you in the face for using that phrase in 2016, but at least now you’ve been warned. So, back to the drink then?

The Breakdown

The Chill Pill Maadi is literally the drink to refresh the insides, and help you calm the funk down. 

Just picture it (or look at the photo on the side if you can't)—it has fresh Cucumber (very refreshing!), Pineapple juice (very yummy!), Peach syrup (for that little bit of sweetness! Aww!) and Coriander (because South-Indians garnish everything with either coriander or coconut.)

And then, our magical and most important addition, Vodka. (which makes everything better!)

Our Bartender Says

"It’s a great drink to give the visibly agitated people who come to the bar. Literally, we’ve combined some of the most refreshing juices along with some tasty peach and pineapple notes, which create a bit of a tropical vibe. It just helps people get in the mood. The right kind of mood.
Also, it gives us a kick to say “Chill Pill Maadi” and then present a customer with this drink. It’s gotten us more than a few laughs, not going to lie."

Thindi Tales

There isn't a palette more diverse than an Indian one. And you'd be hard pressed to find that kind of variety from just a single section of the country anywhere else.

One of the earnest ideas behind The Permit Room is to introduce people to the sheer variety of traditional South Indian cuisine, but with a modern-day take on it. Essentially it's recipes from your ajji's (Kannada for grandma) kitchen, but served in a rather modern, and also cocktail-friendly form. Your ajji may or may not approve.

Thindi Tales* is an attempt to take you one step deeper, the equivalent of getting you to eat meals with your fingers, and hopefully help you appreciate south-indian cuisine in all its gastronomic glory. 

This time, we take the term ‘having your brains fried’ to a whole new level—with the Brain Dry Fry, of course.

Soft insides, with a crispy, crunchy cover, fried to golden brown perfection. 

The Dish

This dish definitely isn't for the faint hearted. 
Why you ask? Well, basically because it’s goat brains in a fried cover. But that would be a criminal oversimplification of a classic dish. 

The classic version of the dish is either dearly loved, or highly detested. There is no middle-ground with this one. 
But more on that later. First, a little trivia.

A Little History

The hardcore non-vegetarian will know that the dish itself has been around for a long time now, more commonly known as ‘Bheja Fry’, which literally means ‘fried brains’.

We’d like to think that the chef who first created this had a sense of humour and was punning on the local term for someone ‘who eats your brain’. Or to translate it in a less twisted way, someone who is exceptionally annoying.
But we don’t know for sure. And we probably never will. But one can hope. Because that’s what this dish does—it gives you hope.

Pretty little potlums prepared to perfection.

At The Permit Room

While most people enjoy this in a basic form with a slightly gravy-esque masala, our version of the classic is a bit different both in flavouring and presentation. 

Our Brain Dry Fry is a delightful blend of slow cooked lamb brain, combined with a special selection of dry masalas, lovingly stuffed into little ‘potlums’ and then fried till it takes on a very specific, and very gorgeous golden-brown hue.

And then, and only then, is it served to you.

Seriously! The potlums are so pretty, that Potli Baba would be proud. 
(And if you don’t know who Potli Baba is, then we now know that you probably didn’t take Hindi as a second-language. See how smart this dish makes us?)

And it also makes for a perfectly flavoured, non-intrusive accompaniment with your drink. 

 

Our Chef Says

"You'll see that our version of the Beja Fry isn’t served as the basic meat and masala presentation that it has come to be known for.

We decided to serve it in little fried pouches, adding a crunchy element to the dish, which doesn’t otherwise exist in the classic version. The crunchiness of the exterior potlum shell perfectly offsets the soft texture of the meat inside.”

Pick up a potlum, and see if you don’t enjoy this new take on a dish that evokes much passion.

Fun Fact: The term 'Bheja Fry' has been used from everything to dishes with actual fried brains, to annoying people 'eating your brains', and even as a Bollywood movie name. Which probably involves a lot of people annoying each other. We don't know. You watch it and tell us, ok?!  

* Shout out to Sneha Suhas for the very cool title suggestion. Thindi is Kannada for dish/food/refreshment, and perfect for our little stories. Thanks, macchi! 

Saapad Stories

There isn't a palette more diverse than an Indian one. And you'd be hard pressed to find that kind of variety from just a single section of the country anywhere else.

One of the earnest ideas behind The Permit Room is to introduce people to the sheer variety of traditional South Indian cuisine, but with a modern-day take on it. Essentially it's recipes from your ajji's (Kannada for grandma) kitchen, but served in a rather modern, and also cocktail-friendly form. Your ajji may or may not approve.

Saapad Stories is an attempt to take you one step deeper, the equivalent of getting you to eat meals with your fingers, and hopefully help you appreciate south-indian cuisine in all its gastronomic glory. 

First up, Mosaranna or Thayir Saadam or as we like to call it—Half A Dozen Curd Rice Memories.

Smooth like cream, with potato crisps for a contrasting crunch, and a little surprise hidden in between. Mmmmm!

The Dish

If you've grown up in South India, there's a good chance you've encountered this versatile dish at some point.
In its most basic form, curd rice is simply boiled white rice to which unsweetened yogurt and salt are added.

Of course, additional ingredients can also be added. And most often, they are.
Based on personal preferences and geographical location, you get anything from a  seasoning or 'tadka' of  fried chilli, curry leaves, ginger, cumin seeds and mustard seeds, to more colourful additions of raw mango pieces, raw onion, cucumber, pomegranate, cashew nuts, raisins, and for the more adventurous ones, a mix of all of the above.

A Little History

The dish itself might be one of the oldest ones we have, with mentions of a similar type of dish being found in the Rig Veda.
Just for context, the Rig Vedas are believed to have been composed mostly likely between 1500- 1200 BC. Yup! That's some serious historical and traditional legacy.
And as with anything of old, theories and Old Wives' Tales are bound to catch up. Of the more popular ones, curd rice is believed to cool the body down and is highly recommended by south-indian grandmas as the ideal second course to finish a meal with.
The other popular one being it's good for the brains, so copious amounts will be served to south indian kids especially during exams. 

But folklore and fancies aside, the dish's ability to be relatively neutral in flavouring has made it an ideal pairing with a wide variety of sides. They range from simple ones like tangy pickles and crunchy raw onions, to crispy fried vegetables and heavily spiced pieces of meat. Literally, anything goes!

That's a spoonful of grandma's love right there!

At The Permit Room

Our take of this supremely versatile and ancient dish combines all the classic elements that have come to be associated with it, but presented in a totally new way.

Our Chef Says

"You'll see that our curd rice is not in the usual broth-like form—you'll find that we serve it as smooth, creamy spheres, with a sprinkling of potato crisps, and just a hint of pomegranate. (Because nothing says 'Karnataka' like pomegranate in curd rice!)

The idea here was to take something very simple, and very familiar to the South Indian palette, and reintroduce it in a way that no one had seen before."

Go ahead, consume a spoonful, savour it for a bit, and you'll know just why we call it Half A Dozen Curd Rice Memories. 

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Fun Fact: The term 'thayir sadam' is also widely used as colloquial slang for super nerdy south-indian boys, with exceptional skills in Math, who would typically be found wearing thick 'soda' glasses and shying away from girls. 

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What is a permit room?

All names have origin stories, and so do we. And ours goes all the way back to around the time India gained Independence. 

The concept of Permit Rooms first saw the light of day (well, more like the light of dingy bulbs) back when the government imposed prohibition on certain states. One of the requirements, as a result, was that anybody who wanted to buy or consume alcohol, had to obtain a 'permit'. 
This permit had to state that the holder was required to consume liquor for health purposes. (Yeah, right!)

But that was all that was needed. Established for license-holding drinkers, 'permit rooms' were set up all over the country, as stand-alone alcohol addas or as sections in restaurants where alcohol was served. 

Permit rooms used to have characteristic peculiarities like drinks would only be served in six-ounce bottles, and the customers would usually be exclusively male. But we have no such restrictions or trappings of the past. (Ohh yeaah!!)

Technically, the state of Maharashtra is still under prohibition—it's just eased up with the rules over time. That's why, if you go by the books, all alcohol consumers in the state still need a permit. But no one really carries one, and no one actually checks. But don't take our word for it. You can always buy one at any liquor store, or the permit office. 

At our Permit Room, we're just trying to bring together all the uniquely quirky and cultural aspects of South India, with a bit of a throwback to the sophistication of the yesteryears. 

Of course, we'd love to tell you that the entire thing has some connection to some ancient spy agency, requiring some fancy identification and super stylish attire. But no. Regular ID (upon request) and shorts are perfectly fine too. Lungis and flannel vest? Even better! 
But in all seriousness, to get in here, all you need is a good attitude, an adventurous palette, some very best friends and you're set!
Mother promise!

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