February 10th - No Rasgulla for D

We awake around 6 a.m. and peer through the train window to see a light mist collecting in the hollows. By half past it is pretty thick fog and we keep stopping, presumably because we are catching up with trains in front. Arrival at Sealdah is ninety minutes late, not a problem for us, but annoying if you need to be somewhere. One of the cabins in our coach must have been occupied by a big shot as about a dozen policemen turn up to meet him, one for each suitcase. D ignores the taxi touts and strides out for the prepaid counter. The queue is not long and there are plenty of taxis but one guy walks along the queue, ignoring everybody else and offers D a ride to Sudder Street for Rs 190. "Get thee hence rogue" is a rough synopsis of D's reply. At the counter the charge is Rs 75. 

For once we are too early for a room to be ready at the Fairlawn. Leaving the bags,  we walk the neighbourhood looking for breakfast.  A bit harder than you would think until we find a small South Indian place opposite the New Market. The menu includes Aloo Parathas but they are off today so we both have uttapams, which are delicious, as is the black tea. Back at the hotel they are ready for us and we are soon ensconced in a room, two doors along the balcony from last time. After 24 hours of travelling/mooching in Siliguri we are ready for showers and clean clothes. We are here for three nights so a general unpack, sort out and fill a laundry bag is the order of the day. 

It is bright and sunny outside and the weather app says 31C, about twenty five degrees warmer than Darjeeling. We take a two stop ride on the Metro up to Chandni Chowk, home of Kolkata's electrical bazaar. D needs a new phone charger as his old one is a feeble thing that is not up to the job of charging a smart phone. Every kind of electrical item is on sale here and prices are keen. Along the pavement on one side of the street is a sort of electronic jumble sale, with guys stripping down TVs, computers etc and selling on the parts. D finds a charger at a decent price and buys. Next up the art shops for R. There are two side by side at the Esplanade end of Lenin Sarani. On the way we pass a street stall cooking and selling delicious looking jaleebis. We hardly ever buy street food but these are fresh cooked and selling quickly.  We decide to risk one apiece. They are great and only Rs5 each.

We are nearly at Lenin Sarani where R is deposited to browse while D nips round the corner on an errand. A few months ago he saw a link on Facebook to an article about Shaw Brothers Bar on Metro Galli. This is supposedly a relic of old Calcutta, known for some reason as Chhota Bristol, and has a strict men only policy. Admitted by the doorman D gets plenty of stares as he walks to the back of the room to get a seat at an empty table. The room is quite bright and cheerful without music or TV, by no means a den of iniquity.  The waiter takes D's order and wants cash up front. Who can blame him? The price of a Kingfisher is very reasonable and comes with a small foil tray of snack of some kind. D downs the beer and passes on the snack. On the way out a visit to the Gents seems appropriate.  This is a large room, well fitted out and maintained.  Most of the men in there seem to be using it as a smoking room rather than a convenience. D is glad to have seen this relic of Empire before the liberated ladies of Kolkata mobilise to bring about its downfall.

Art shopping complete,  R is now thirsty and we owe our Facebook friends a Friday pub photo. For obvious reasons Chhota Bristol is out of the question. We walk down past the New Market and are accosted by a tout. "Sir this is big market". Does he think that we are totally green? Any fool knows that the Bigg Market is in Newcastle.  While searching for breakfast we saw Jimmy's Bar and Restaurant and this seems like a chance to check it out. It gets the thumbs up and we will probably return to eat over the weekend. After a very pleasant, if slightly pricier, beer we return to the Fairlawn to drop off our purchases. 

For supper tonight we have chosen Bhojohori Manna, a Lonely Planet recommendation, that gets good reviews for Bengali food, especially fish dishes. It is out near Gariahat Crossing, on the south side, where R got her mehendi done. She decides that she is ready for a repaint as we will be close by. We head south on the metro in a packed, non A/c train. A bit sweaty but nothing like as bad as the Piccadilly line at 6 p.m. on a Friday evening. We have success with our first attempt to get the right share auto and R even manages to find the hand painting man at the first time of asking. 

It's still quite early but the various guides say that the restaurant is open from 12.30 until 23.00 so we head straight there. The security guard seems very surprised to see us and tells us to wait outside while he makes enquiries.  When we are shown in the staff are all seated at the back watching the television.  As usual,  we are the only customers but the place seems to be clean enough and the menu has enough English for us to get by.  The chap taking the order tells us "No tandoor tonight" The blackboard list with today's specials is headed with Tandoori Chicken. We are in no hurry but cannot convey this to the staff who keep pressing for an order. The menu is quite complex and we are trying to take it in. To get rid of them we order appetisers. Luchis with Chhola dal and Koraishutir Kochuris stuffed with peas. In no time they are back for our main order. The fish of the day seems to be betkhi, which is fine by us, and one of the specials is crab in spicy sauce. We ask for mixed veg pulao but are told no and pointed at a pulao whose name we do not recognise. 

The starters arrive and we have just agreed that they look and taste good when the main event arrives. The betkhi is cooked in mustard and coriander, wrapped in a banana leaf and is absolutely scrummy. The crab is presented in its shell swimming in a sea of sauce and requires ingenuity with fork handles and a lot of mess to eat but is very good. The pulao contains cashews, cloves and cardamom that we can identify and is superb. Anybody out there know what we were eating? As a dish is emptied it is whisked away. D's hands get so sticky he has to leave the table to wash them. As he rises the waiter has to be restrained from lifting his plate. What's the rush? They have admitted other customers so it cannot be closing time. There are plenty of free tables so it can't be that. The menu lists rasgullas and D has left pudding space but no chance to order, the bill arrives seconds after the table is cleared. D is gutted.

On the way to the auto route we spot a Spencers supermarket.  They sell tubs of Mother Dairy Mishti Doi so that will have to do.  Back in the room we dig out our sporks and get tore in.