Kolkata and shady bars have a unique bittersweet relationship – as I am sure most cities have their own personal trysts with basic bars. The list of such watering holes in the city is long, and you would find almost all the famous ones near the erstwhile office-para, in and around Chowringhee, Esplanade, and Dalhousie. The shady bars of Kolkata have always been the roof under which office-going males unite to vent out after tiring days of work, only to return to the ferocity of their wives, who always know what their husbands have been up to. It is very usual to spot solo drinkers in these places, and that’s your marker for an office-para bar. A factor that sets apart these joints in Kolkata is the low-cost food – almost each of them have their specials. The ubiquitous Fish Finger can be spotted at N number of tables if you went looking across the dimly lit passages. However, I had no idea about this particular joint before a friend commented on a picture of Broadway Hotel which was posted recently (shall write about it some other time). The comment made me want to visit Monte Carlo as it promised some great Bhetki, and as you’d already know, a good Bhetki stokes my joie de vivre. Hence, this Friday, the trip was made.
One look at the place (operational since 1939, no less), and I knew this was going to be an experience. We climbed up the signature steep stairs to a more exclusive upper-tier (branded as family section), to find only binging males (not unusual). And we didn’t have a problem. The dark passage lit with red fairy lights convinced me that this was a place which my dad would recognize with a wry smile – “Monte Carlo ki ajker jayga naki?” (Do you think it’s a place I don’t know about?) – reminiscing on a few hazy college evenings, some of them perhaps flirtatious, perhaps not. After all, the place seemed perfectly suitable for indulging in dreamy conversations to escape the dreariness of lectures and routines.
Well, all the romanticizing complete, we got down to business. We settled in, of course a bit cramped, and called for a few white rums and beers. They were served with the complementary chakna, pickled cucumbers and gingers, and rock salt. I have special love for pickled gingers that many bars across Kolkata serve, and that was a bonus I wasn’t expecting. The first food order in a shady bar is mandatorily Fish Fingers, and we paired that up with a Chili Mourola, an item I bet you wouldn’t find anywhere else. The Fish Fingers were damn nice, made with original Bhetki, albeit a bit low on the actual fish and high on the crust. Well, a bit of carb intake never hurts during drinking, and we weren’t nitpicking. Served with excellent, thick fries and onions, they flew into oblivion with some ketchup, green chili sauce and the quintessential kashundi, or Bengali mustard. Then we focused on the Chili Mourola, which was damn good as well. Mourola (or Mola) is one of the niche Bengali fishes, with each measuring up to 10 cms in length, or smaller. We generally have them fried to a crispy divinity, but Monte Carlo did something different with them. They batter fried the individual fishes, and then sautéed them with some sauces and lots of green chilies, and the end product was unique as well as tasty. They were devoured in due time.
The second round of starters included a plate each of Bhetki Bhaja, Bhetki Lonka Chili, and Katla Bhaja – and they lived up to our expectations, perhaps a little more. The Bhetki Lonka Chili was similar to the Mourola preparation, with the fish being batter-fried Bhetki cubes. The sauce that hugged the pieces may not have been authentic Chinese, but the dish came together nicely, with the chilies providing a punch worth its weight. The Bhetki Bhaja or Fry was epic – four fat (and I mean really fat, check the pics) chunks of the fish deep fired without any unwanted spices – which meant that the crust was wafer thin, and the fish inside was unadulterated love. Flaky, warm, and a dollop of sublime happiness. Though the Bhetki was not a-grade (and the price point meant that it wouldn’t be), but it was still a better catch than many other places would dream to provide at that price. The Katla (major Indian Carp) Fry was great as well, and the sizes of the four pieces were remarkable. Monster cuts from the stomach of the fish, replete with the skin and a fat layer of fat (excuse that), deep fried in mustard oil till crispy goodness – what else do you need with your drink? Nothing, and we didn’t.
The ending notes were disastrous in terms of food – as the Chili Chicken we ordered with a plate of Mixed Fried Rice, was horrible and tasted closer to an Indian curry than a Chinese one. The fried rice was just about okay. But I guess we were beyond such worldly thoughts, and had already been planning our after party (most shady bars close by 10-30-11 pm). The place was almost empty, and the person serving us allowed a few smokes inside the facilities, even pampering us with a plastic bag full of ice (for the after party). We slowly walked outside to a characteristically humid Kolkata night, slightly drunk, perhaps from the experience, or maybe, just maybe, from the weight of memories and musings steeped in eight decades of alcohol.
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