Wine and beef in India

After eating gingerly on Saturday, my appetite returned Sunday. Having more or less survived our first harrowing week, we decided to spend Sunday within the confines of Magarpatta City, giving Ashraf the day off. We took a late lunch at the large, tent-themed restaurant at the Destination Center and had to fight our way into one of the outdoor tables. The fight had nothing to do with thronging crowds (there were approximately 1 other couples dining outside), but rather our host’s expectation that westerners like us would melt if we weren’t in the cozy confines of the chilling AC they had going in the inner sanctum of the restaurant. Given that the afternoon wasn’t that bad (maybe about 80) and they had a nice fan sweeping the table we chose, it was very pleasant to sit under the awning in the great outdoors.

A fairly serious little man, more-or-less impeccably dressed, came to take our orders. When I asked if he had Tandoori Chicken he said yes then went on to explain all the different ways the prawns would be prepared. I tried again with the Tandoori Chicken, but he was not to be dissuaded, so I finally gave up and ordered the daily special – prawns fixed about a thousand different ways.

Peggy ordered only a starter, some kind of chicken thing that we both assumed would end up being prawns as well, and I ordered just the entree. Even though I was hungry, I didn’t want to overdue it, so a starter and a main course to be shared by the two of us seemed just right. Of course we each ordered Naan as well.

When the starter arrived we congratulated ourselves on our shrewd menu planning because it was a honker of a starter. Next came two large baskets of Naan bread followed by a huge plate of shrimp, segregated into little piles to demark each different preparation style. My gosh, I thought, this is like being in a Mexican Restaurant in the US where the portions are about the same size as the state of Sinaloa.

We still had not mastered the keep-your-left-hand-in-your-lap eating style, so I’m sure we grossed out most of the staff as we went about demolishing as much of the feast as we could. Despite our boorish behavior, the little man came up to us after we got to the “no mas” part of the meal and asked where we were from. I answered that we were Americans from Colorado and he nodded knowingly. “Do you know where Colorado is?” I then riposted. He sheepishly shook his head – not really. But he was very excited to have some Americans enjoying his food, even if it was obvious to him that we knew nothing about proper eating etiquette not to mention the most personal of hygienic duties.

I was a little surprised at the size of the bill. Appetizers showed on the menu in the 200 Rs. (the normal abbreviation for Rupees) range and I could have sworn he told us the Prawn Special (which occasionally masqueraded as Tandoori Chicken) was 300 Rs. Our bill was for double that. Right……….. He had made the unilateral decision that when Americans are so stupid that they can only order one starter and one main course for two people you had to take pity on them and make sure they had enough to eat by doubling both courses. Another lesson learned.

On Monday I visited the local health club, innovatively named Abs, to check into a membership. A very attractive young woman, who had been working there all of a week, took me on the tour. Mostly the club was below average by US standards – very few machines mostly showing some age – but the crowning jewel was an incredibly well kept outdoor Olympic size pool. Swimming is not one of my regular exercise endeavors, but the lure of the azure water made me want to become the next Johnny Weissmuller.

Hard negotiating ensued after the tour. First I had to convince the receptionist that I lived in Magarpatta, because the club is limited to residents and those who work in Magarpatta only. Then I had to make the decision as to Lean or Prime. Remember India is not into eating beef, so we were not talking about the meal to celebrate me becoming a member, but rather which type of membership I would buy. Indian sales assistants are trained to actively sell the items they represent, so the push was on for me to buy the Prime membership. The Lean plan would cost $30 per month for three months, but would limit the hours during which I could use the facilities, would restrict what type of classes I could take and would probably cause acne. Prime came in at a kingly $43 per month, but being the coy type, I said I would think about it and come back on Wednesday to seal the deal.

After making a stop at the Destination Center for seltzer, just as I was walking back out to the street, a young man on a two wheeler stopped and smiled at me. I smiled back, not sure what this was about. I had not seen any pan handlers or obvious shysters in Magarpatta up to this point, but it seemed like this guy wanted something from me because he continued to stare at me and smile. Just as I was figuring I would nod one more time and be on my way he yelled out “Gary!” So, once again being about as quick witted as they come, I yelled back “How are you?” not having any real clue who he was.

He parked his two-wheeler and as soon as he got off, revealing himself to be nearly my height, I realized it was Om, a young engineer in Peggy’s organization who had been at our going away party in Broomfield a few weeks prior.

Om, like most Indians we’ve met so far, is a very gracious individual and it was a pleasure talking to him. He wanted to know how things were going and if there was anything he could do to help us out. He offered me the use of his two wheeler at any time, which I had the very good sense to decline on the spot. Having a run in with someone I knew, at least a little bit, brightened my day.

Tuesday was election day in India and the government declared it a holiday to encourage voting participation. No businesses were allowed to open that day and Peggy had most of the day off. Because she is trying to manage groups in India and the US simultaneously, she has two work days: from about 10:00 am until 6:00 pm is her Indian work day and from 7:00 pm until midnight or so is her US work day.

Since the very first moment we had gotten into his car on our arrival in Pune, Ashraf had promised to take us to the Wine Yard. For reasons that were not clear to me then and are even less certain now, Ashraf has it in his head that the Wine Yard is the place to take American tourists. Because Tuesday was a holiday, Peggy would not work during the day and no stores would be open, it seemed like the perfect day to visit the Wine Yard. Before agreeing on the excursion, however, we made Ashraf promise that he would vote on Tuesday morning before picking us up.

Right after ringing our bell that morning, he proudly showed us the blue ink spot on his finger which is a sign that a person has voted. He claimed it was the first time he had ever voted in his life. During the first part of the ride he moaned about how bad all politicians are and claimed he trusts no one. India is worse than most democracies in the cynicism shown by its politicians, but I think may of us can sympathize with his complaints.

Had we known how far away the Wine Yard was, we would not have agreed to the trip. I specifically asked Ashraf on Monday when we were talking about this excursion if the place would be open given that Tuesday was a holiday. He assured me it would be. And seeing how much of India’s informal economy was percolating just fine that day made me assume that Ashraf probably knew what he was talking about. And of course, the fact that I also assumed he was being paid a commission to take us to the Wine Yard gave me additional confidence that the place would actually be open.

Which should be enough forewarning to allow you to already have deduced that there was a large “DRY Day – CLOSED” sign in front of the restaurant that fronted the vineyard that we had learned the hard way was 100 km and 2.5 hours of tedious driving away.

As much as was possible, Ashraf looked like he had seen a ghost. In general we like road trips and the drive up had been fascinating – lots of people, vehicles and animals to look at. At one point we drove past a string of camels, and as camel lovers ever since our trip to Dubai last year, that was one of the high points. Still, to be cajoled against our better judgment into a trip to a Wine Yard only to find it closed was a bit more than disappointing.

After some mumbling and head scratching, Ashraf jumped out of the car and disappeared. Peggy and I made a joint vow that from that moment on we would only go where we wanted to go, not where Ashraf as tour guide wanted us to go. In a few minutes Ashraf was back with good news – they were going to open the Wine Yard for us so we could buy some wine! Great! I think!

We drove through a couple of manned checkpoints to the back of a large warehouse and we were welcomed into the home of a man who appeared to be the caretaker. He took us upstairs and started ripping open boxes of wine, pulling bottles out to show us. I asked Ashraf if we could taste any of it, but he just shrugged and reminded me that it was a DRY day. I was not real excited about buying wine without a chance to taste it, but Ashraf and the caretaker were both looking at us with puppy dog eyes, so I agreed to take a bottle of cabernet, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, a bottle of sparkling and, way against my better judgment, a fifth of local Port that cost $3.00.

These wines were all made locally from locally grown grapes in an area called the Nashik Valley. It is considered one of India’s finer wine producing regions. Part of the reason Ashraf wanted us to visit the Wine Yard so badly was because he had taken other Americans there before and they had bought boxes of wine, a fact that he not-so-subtly reported to me on our way back to Pune. Smart guy that I am, I served the guilt trip right back at him by saying that most people only buy wine if they get a chance to taste it. (We just now tasted the Port and we were both shocked to discover that it was even worse than we could have imagined.)

On the way back from Nashik, I foolishly asked Ashraf if he thought Dorabjee, the original grockery store he had taken us to, would be open on election day. Having noticed plenty of shops and stands open during our long drive, I thought maybe it would be. He said he thought so, too, but when we got into Pune and made our way to it, we were disappointed to see that it was closed (just as the law had proscribed). I had a bottle of spaghetti sauce, some noodles and some fresh veggies waiting at home, but I really wanted a little hamburger to add to it. Silly me, I asked Ashraf if he knew where I could buy some beef that day, and the next thing we knew we were at the meat market in central Pune.

The stench was incredible as we wound our way through small stands displaying freshly killed chickens, lots of mutton and lamb, freshly caught prawns, and a variety of fresh fish. Wending our way through the maze of meat vendors, we finally came to a large room with various parts of beef carcasses hanging on hooks. In front of each huge piece of meat stood a large tree stump and a man with a cleaver. The POA was to go to one of these butchers and tell him what you were looking for whereupon he would cut a chunk of meat off the carcass behind him then throw it on the flattened surface of the tree trunk in front of him and start to wail on it with his cleaver. I was looking for hamburger, but scoping out the operation I realized the best I could hope for was small chunks of stew meat.

Our butcher hacked off a 1 kg (2.2 pound) steak and started pummeling it with his cleaver, the fingers of his left (!?) hand never more than a few millimeters from the blade edge when it bit into the chunk of beef. He cut the pieces into 1 inch cubes, threw them into a bag and demanded 100 Rs. ($2.00). If that sounds cheap for beef, I can assure you it is not, because we have never had such tough beef in our lives. I tried to chop it into smaller pieces before sautéing, but folks, that beef was just plain bad. But we’re here to learn so we can chalk that whole experience up to another excellent lesson learned – there is a reason why cows are sacred here.

Coming soon – all about Diwali and how to drive in India (from a person who is way too smart to ever try it).