Harrington Mansions is a large building on the north side of the street, almost opposite the US place. It clearly belonged to the grand era of the city but has not had all of the maintenance that it needs or deserves. The lobby is decidedly dingy and the stairs badly in need of decoration, while the one working lift looks positively dangerous. We are heading for the Harrington Residency on the second floor, which runs as part of the Harrington Arts Centre. The door is locked so we ring the bell and hope that we are doing the right thing. A porter opens the foor and ushers us through onto a spacious open sided gallery which looks out over the street. There are troughs of poinsettias, sculptures and some very low but comfortable easy chairs. We are a little early for official check in but Salyita, the lady in charge, tells us that the room is almost ready and brings us glasses of chilled orange juice that are most welcome.
Before the drinks are finished the room is ready. It is airy and spacious, nicely furnished with a really good bathroom that even has an enclosed shower, so no paddling to the loo here. There is a bronze sculpture on a plinth by the bathroom. Opinions vary as to what it might depict. We fill in the inevitable form and sort out arrangements for an early departure tomorrow. Only A/c cabs are permitted onto the street and they run strictly on meter so she will book one for us for the morning. The Residency only has one other bedroom so it feels rather exclusive. We enjoy the use of the luxury shower and change into clean clothes. On leaving our room we only have to turn left and left again to find the art gallery. The main exhibition is of old lithographs of Hindu Deities, once considered rather common, but now a highly regarded collection. There are prints of the current and previous collections on sale at very attractive prices but we just cannot get them into our luggage. We even measure up but there is no chance of getting any back intact. There is a separate gallery of modern Bengali art, very colourful and lively,
We haven't set ourselves a heavy programme for today but one thing on the list is to visit the Earthcare Bookstore on Middleton Street, which runs parallel to our street. We browse and find a Calcutta Cookbook which R is permitted to add to her collection. At the back of the store an assistant is making carrier bags from newspapers and lengths of string. We say hello to Vinita, who runs the place, and chat for a while. A short walk takes us to Maidan Metro station whence we take a two stop ride to Esplanade. D fulfills an ambition to flout authority by taking a picture of a Kolkata Metro train. It's not very good. As we emerge from below there is clearly a really serious traffic block on Lenin Sarani. Everybody has turned off their engines and nobody is blowing horns. Some drivers have left their vehicles and are standing, talking in the street. It works for us as we can easily cross the street for a return visit to the jaleebi stall where we are remembered, and even get an extra piece of news paper with our fresh, crisp, sweet, sticky, fried delights. These really would go a bomb in Scotland. Afterwards we fill a jug from a water container and rinse our hands.
Suddenly the traffic starts to move and we see a Gariahat bound tram which will do nicely for us. We hop on and squeeze ourselves into a seat for two. Bengalis must have very short thighs. Progress along Lenin Sarani, going with the one way system, is good but then we turn south onto a one way street where the flow is adverse. D holds his camera out of the window to film some of the mayhem and is tapped urgently on the shoulder by the man behind as a bus approaches that will be very neat as it passes the tram. We move a few yards at a time and can watch life on the pavement. The youth using a disc cutter to cut up a steel rod whilst wearing flip flops would star in any Health & Safety video about how not to do it. Finally the traffic frees up and we make it to Park Street. The conductor is a conscientious chap who will not let us disembark until he is happy that it is safe.
We walk down from Park Street to Shakespeare Sarani. We are not sure who the Bengali Marxists were trying to piss off with this one. Relocation to a new hotel brings all sorts of challenges, one of which is finding a convenient beer off. A maps app query highlights a place called Chowringhee Wines, not too far from base. On the way we pass another offie but they only sell strong beer, which is a bit like barley wine but tasting of glycol. We find our target. Not a drop of wine in sight but our preferred Kingfisher in the fridge. That will do nicely. We take the back streets home and, as a result of a reader's challenge, stop at Ganguram Great Grandson, reputed confectioners over 100 years. The challenge is to buy singaras. The bloke behind the counter tells us that they are samosas but they look good so we are in. R adds a couple of ladoos to the order and we are set for afternoon tea.
On the way home we notice a place called Gabbar's Bar & Kitchen. It is on the ground floor of another mansion block, a couple of hundred yards west of our digs. We decide to try it and, after a couple of aperitifs, we walk along there. As usual we are first in. We peruse the menu, which seems very different, possibly due to the fact that both copies are spotlessly clean. One dish in particular catches the eye. It is called Khowsuey Mela and we are advised that this will be served separately, as a starter. We also order veg jalfreizi with rice as a main course. A man comes over to our table and introduces himself as the owner. He explains that the restaurant practices molecular cooking, uses liquid nitrogen for some dishes and is themed around Hindi movies. He shows us a separate small dining room dedicated to Bollywood villains. We don't know much about these things but do wonder if Kolkata is ready for this.
Back at the table we find amuse bouches which taste amazing but we have no idea what they are. The starter arrives, complete with a sort of miniature big wheel, carrying small buckets of various accompaniments. The dish itself is a veg soup made with coconut milk and gram flour, nice enough by itself, but very receptive to the flavours contained in the various buckets. If nothing else this place scores really big on presentation. As we wait for our main course we notice some kind of kerfuffle in the kitchen. There is an awful lot of smoke and frantic efforts to dismantle the extraction system. Someone appears with a fire extinguisher. Our waiter approaches and calmly tells us that there is a small problem with the Indian cooking line but the Italian menu was still available. We decide against eating microwaved pizza in a smoke filled room and settle our bill. On the way home we buy some crisps and peanuts and express gratitude that Gabbar's is not in our building.
We don't have much money but we do see life.
No comments:
Post a Comment