Today's buffett special: cheese from Mohenjadaro

One of the undoubted joys of my occasional corporate work is that I get to have the buffet lunch in a large hotel. Every time I see the plethora of colourful dishes, with their marvellous French-sounding names and Urdu superlatives (‘paneer lajawab-e-pasandila-Mumtazi-dilruba’ sort of thing), two ‘Which’ questions die to be answered, both of which are intellectually deeply engrossing:
1.Which original dish was this before its leftover was made into another dish, the leftover of which is in front of me in another form? and
2.Which financial year was the original dish prepared in?

Hot chocolate pudding is a great example.  When you see one in front of you, be reminded that it is an archeological marvel, originally baked around Aurangzeb’s time, then soaked in sugar and stored in deep freeze, removed and cooked to pulp, marinated in chocolate syrup (and, maybe, some leftover fish sauce) and now on the hot plate.  If the sign says ‘Walnut chocolate pudding’, remember that they take their singular sign seriously: the pudding will have one walnut piece that a South Korean ahead of you has lifted.

Yesterday, I picked up a piece of fruit cake and pointed out to the unsmiling steward that it was so old that it had wrinkles on it and a walking stick on top.  The fruit tray itself had, by weight, the cheapest fruits going – pineapples, watermelon and musk melon, the last mentioned being cheaper than cow dung (ton for ton – I am not joking because I checked online and showed the steward the data).  I asked if, being in season, I could have mango instead.  The steward looked surprised, possibly at the existence of such a fruit and even more at the sheer impertinence of a diner to ask for it, and scurried away.  He came back to say that there was no mango, sorry, but could I have mango ice cream instead?  Well, mango ice cream is flavoured, coloured, preserved and murdered, so I said no, give me a South Indian dessert, so he brought semiya kheer that had been boiled on the stove till the lactose asked for forgiveness and promised never to misbehave again.

But you know how I exaggerate the negatives.  I must admit that the white rice was very authentic and clearly white in colour, so they didn’t mess around there.