Restaurant Review: The Palms, Southern Avenue, Kolkata

I think some of the best meals in life happen unplanned; spur of the moment decisions on a grey-coloured afternoon lead us through the doors of an old joint, once Funjabi Tadka, now revamped and renamed The Palms, on Southern Avenue. The place is hard to miss; take a right from Mudiali and find on your left this humongous Café Coffee Day outlet, with this cosy little place tucked away in a corner.
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Access not Authorized: The Journey to the Land of the Flying Statues (Chapter: 1)

“She’s a *****! She’ll jump up on you in all her glory when you’re least suspecting,” said the Doc, the cigarette almost jumping out from between his index and middle as he threw open the window panes to let the smoke out. The Nepali driver had convinced us earlier during the dusty trip west towards Pelling, “No one can see the pahaar at night, nothing is visible in the dark.” He was resolute and his words absolute. No one knew the mountains better than he did.

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Lucknow Dairies: Part-1

Guest Post by Priyanka Dutta

Lucknow, the city of Nawabs has a charm of its own; it creates an odd amalgamation of the traditional and the modern. Here the modern city life seamlessly blends with the aristocracy and artistry of the era of the Nawabs. I moved to Lucknow last year and the city never ceases to surprise me with its beautiful people, unique cuisine, delectable street food, splendid monuments and the intricate and amazing Chikankari embroidery.

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Of Fasting and Feasting: Calcutta’s Eat-Street, Ramzan 2016

I never observe religion or politics when it comes to food. I believe food has the ability to transcend barriers of every possible kind, and these feelings become stronger especially the month of Ramzan in the city that nonchalantly boasts of eating to one’s heart’s content. If you have your doubts, just take a walk down Kolkata’s Zakaria Street this week.

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Access not Authorized: The Journey to the Land of the Flying Statues (Chapter: 2)

The rocky trail slathered thickly with whipped snow. There’d been fresh snowfall the night before. Hailstorm while dining on M.G Marg. Street below Pub 325 covered with tiny homeopathic globules of ice. No local food, only Chinese. Pubs slamming doors on beef-eager faces on the Eve of Losar, Tibetan New Year. Winter kept us warm, covering Mountains in forgetful snow, feeding a little life with smuggled alcohol. Nip in the air curled once about the winter jackets, and fell silent.

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Access not Authorized: The Journey to the Land of the Flying Statues (Chapter: 3)

 

“Here miss, buy a Chinese cat. Bring good luck, money,” M.G Marg calls.

Tap-tap-tappitty-tap on the Google bar. Search Chinese cat with raised arm.

—Kameki Miko, origin Japan, popular among Chinese merchants, golden-coloured cats supposed to lure customers in a business house, especially ones that operate at night-time— bars, restaurants, geisha houses.

—Let’s take Miko home. Not for good luck. Only ’cause he’s a strange fur-ball with an angry surprise on his face. Now have I seen a cat without a grin!

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