A Cup of 'Chai'

Everyday at office, the kitchen incharge would serve us tea. Invariably hot and steaming cup of truely desi 'chai' in the morning. Irrespective of the weather, heat or mood. As regular as clockwork, as per the schedule mentioned in the appointment letter, you shall receive tea everyday, twice. To begin with two facts, yes we have a 'kitchen' in the office and each of our appointment letter clearly states that tea shall be served twice in a day. I guess they stress on it for the reason that other offices have smart looking impersonal cafeterias where you have to 'buy' stuff. We are served.

Every day in the morning after beating the nine o'clock traffic rush in the rising temperature in the city, when we reach office, the shirts are sticking to the back already dripping with sweat. After the computers are turned on and gmail checked, people get ready to do some real 'work'. There are two tea serving sessions, one at ten, the other at eleven. At ten, when the senior editors come to the office, tea is immediatly served to them. The following round is for the 'rest of the people'. So we fall in the eleven o'clock bracket of 'chai'-serving. 'Chai' actually describes the brown liquid served better. 'Tea' however gives it more of an elegant high tea jingle, which no way does justice.

The 'chai' is actually milk boiled with water and tonns of sugar in it, hastily thrown in tea leaves to give it the brown liquor colour. It is lovingly served in thick glass mugs with orange rims. The orange rims in some cups are chipped off giving it a cracked antique look. It depends on ones' luck, which day he/she gets what cup, completely cracked, half cracked or just barely cracked. The completely cracked ones have to be maneuvered carefully in order to sip from the non-chipped portions to avoid lip-cuts. The half cracked cups are the majority, with a single crack running neatly, telling you clearly to handle it with care, and if you are extremely lucky you shall find the barely there cracks at the bottom only after you drain the tea completely.

The lady who serves the tea is proud of her tea-making skill. If anyone refuses to be served she would take it as a personal offense. She takes it for granted that everyone in the office would need tea before they start their work, even if it is a 46 degree celsius outside. On 'ethical' grounds our office doesnot use an AC. The building is made of bricks without cement plastering it with little gaps in the walls for air flow. There are bamboo chiks on the windows and ancient coolers trying to keep the place cool. The gaps pass warm, dusty air, the chiks are dusty and a hundred years old, falling apart in places, held precariously by worn out threads, so the coolers are the lone warriors to beat the heat. In such a humid, sticky summer when boiling, steaming hot 'chai' is served as a routine, it adds to the heat rather than beat it. If there is any reluctance in accepting the 'chai', the sweet lady is quick to give options. She would insist on black tea with lemon in it. Lately, as the price of lemons have shot up, this option has been withdrawn.

Hot 'chai', hot summer, no AC in the office and the traffic rush in the morning becomes even more unbearable if it is a Saturday. The sweet thought of weekend after five days of work is rudely destroyed with evidences from reality. The heat rising, mercury soaring and work piling, my 'chai' just arrived in a barely cracked orange rim almost antique mug. Atleast I am lucky to have the least cracked mug today.

Che-yook Pokkam

Che Yook Pokkam - Korean Food

 Living in South Korea for four years introduced me to various forms of spicy, hot and marinated forms of food. Che-yook pokkam is one of my favorite Korean dishes. Like most Korean dishes it is made of pork. It is mainly made of marinated boneless pork. The pork is marinated in soy sauce, chilly paste and other spices. Then stir fried with little bit of gravy left in it. It is eaten with rice served in a small bowl.

Che-yook pokkam is usually accompanied with a wide range of side dishes that are supposed to enhance the aroma and the taste of the main dish. In some cases, in my experience the bland, cool or dry side dishes act as a tongue and palate saviour. The side dishes include ham omlette which is completely bland, a cool tangy leafy soup to cool the effect of the hot, spicy pork, sea weeds known as 'kimm', yellow soy bean soup and the dish ends with another cooling rice stew.

My favourite place for ‘che-yook pokkam’ was a nearby eating place around the campus in the city where I used to live, Daejeon. There was this tiny eating joint called 'Miru-Namu-Jib' (trans. Miru-Tree-House Restaurant) that served the best che-yook ever. The aroma that filled that place was mouth-watering. The days we went there to have lunch and had skipped breakfast due to an early class, the wait after ordering was excruciating. The aroma made our stomach's grumble loud enough for the ajuma to hear in the kitchen. In Korean everyone calls married ladies 'ajuma'. That's the replacement for 'aunty'. This lady cooked the most amazing food. The meat was minced, marinated to perfection. The pork was soft enough to melt in your mouth with the sauces tingling the taste buds, you could actually feel the juices flowing out of the meat as you slowly sink your teeth in it as you chew. meat was cooked just well enough, not to become mashed and unrecognizable but to melt in your mouth with ease. The gravy was blended with perfection to a golden rust colour with a reddish tinge in it. And she served it piping hot, just out of the boiling pan.

Most Indians travelling or studying in South Korea complain about the food. They find it difficult to adjust with the different aroma, way of preparation and most importantly the ample use of meat in every dish. I personally feel I am lucky to have adapted so well. I loved exploring so many different types of Korean delicacies. It gave me an opportunity to know the country well and the people even better. I was the only Indian eating 'che-yuk pokkam' regularly at the Miru-Tree-House Restaurant almost every weekend. The only problem was that they serve only for two people or more, one order has to be for at least two people, that is how they serve the quantity of the dish. So unfortunately, I could not go there to eat alone, but always had to look for a companion. The desire to eat this was so strong that I actually had to bear some of the worst companions in order to eat 'che-yuk pokkam' at Miru-Namu-Jib, but who's complaining. It was totally worth it.