Hospet was our launchpad for expeditions into different parts of Northern Karnataka. We stayed at an upmarket hotel cum lodge, which had a choice of air-conditioned and parabola edged rooms with french windows that allowed you to look outside. There wasn't much to see; one large multistoreyed building with a large tree and stretches of concrete terraces and water tanks but the room was airy and comfortable and had colour TV.
What we struggled with were the beverages! Of course I use the plural we here when the truth of the matter is that my friend has surmounted the challenges that the absence of beverages can set up. So while I complained that the morning tea looked like all the kitchen cloths had been boiled in it and shuddered whenever I broke through the ugly brown encrustation to encounter a thick viscous over-sugared brew, she stoically sipped black coffee without sugar, without even so much as a murmur.
My objections of course have a long pre-history. Despite growing up in New Delhi in a fresh-filter-coffee-preparing- family and subsequently marrying into yet another coffee filter entrenched family, I had unashamedly succumbed to the delicate flavours of Darjeeling leaf tea and was completely besotted by Runglee Rungliot, Razia Begum, Orange Pekoe and for want of an alternative, Lipton's Green Label, which if fresh can make for a pretty decent brew.
Each morning at Hospet brought on the attendant trauma of terrible tea and I had not brought along with me any tea in instant teabags since it is my unswerving belief that bagged leaf teas never rise to any occasion.
So there was nothing much to do except gulp down the ghastly liquid that postured as tea and comfort oneself with the knowledge that the morning breakfast was more than suited to the requirements of a royal delegation. We partook of fresh iddlis and hot vadais and chutney and sambaar and pongal or special fried rice with a pineapple kesari to boot; all this around 7.30 am in the morning, before we embarked on our day's journey.
We got back on the beverage route when we drank thin highly sugared tea, atop a hill temple at Jatinga Rameshwaram which, the officiating hosts told us to treat as prasadam. Tea is psychologically required at moments like this, especially if you have ascended 708 not so easy steps to view an Ashokan edict, so we sipped the brown, warm liquid that could have easily doubled up as charnamrit. We dealt with the problem of not having good tea in the evenings eventually by not drinking the beverage after disappointing experiments at roadside tea stalls.
By which time a wonderful idea took possession of me. This was after all coffee country! You couldnt blame anyone for bad chai. The Western Ghats did not grow leaf tea and possibly the coffee bushes had subdued every bit of the fragrance in all extant teacrops. So, I decided to quit complaining about the tea and ambitiously embarked upon drinking filter coffee, because there is something very compelling about the aroma of roasting Arabica and Robusta seeds, especially if you are at your wits end. I ventured gingerly into coffee territory hoping to savour filter coffee. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you could not get filter coffee for love or money in most places.
Our hotel served instant coffee, so did the swankiest hotel in town. Local restaurants which swore by vegetarianism and filter coffee provided small tumbler davaras of thick chicory based brew that had little to do with coffee grounds through which hot water had filtered. At Lingsur, I ventured out at teatime to a nearby restaurant and ordered a coffee. What I got was ghastly frothy espresso, the kind that auditoriums in New Delhi have been serving since the 1970s, ( made with instant coffee powder) in the interval between two act plays.
The young man at the counter told me that no filter coffee was available anywhere in Lingsur. When I shared this insight with our guide Srinivas, who was subject to my daily beverage anxieties, he averred that I could not hope to drink filter coffee anywhere in North Karnataka. This was a body blow! Now I knew who bought all the Bru coffee that was advertised on television channels! As an attempt to reconcile myself to bad beverage days, I philosophically reminded myself of my grandmother who had her first cup of coffee at the age of thirty five because the only beverages she drank until then were milk, buttermilk and rice gruel or kanji.
Expecting very little by way of beverage salvation, we travelled to Hirebenkal to view its spectacular megaliths.
At the end of a long day spent traipsing the Hirebenkal valley, fortified with coconut water and bananas, we headed back along a circular route to our vehicle, marveling at the giant cacti bushes in bloom. One variety, often called the cowblinder cactus or the pear cactus was resplendent with yellow flowers and pink lotus bud shaped fruit. One ASI official accompanying us, told us that the fruit were edible. He broke off some fruit from the cactus with a stick and proceeded to beat all the thorns out of it, with his stick. I tried holding the fruit in my bare hands and a shower of fine thorns immediately attached themselves to my fingers. While I disengaged the almost invisible thorns, Khan sahib had divested the fruit of all its thorns and it was now ready for consumption. He lopped off the tip of the fruit and poured a crimson red liquid onto my outstretched palm. The liquid was sweet and had tart overtones, and its rich colour was remniscent of the sweetened syrup of the kokum fruit. Khan Sahib then squeezed out an extremely delicious deep crimson jelly like substance with seeds that tasted rather like the passion fruit. The fruit of the cactus was apparently a popularly consumed delicacy in the district. The local name for this fruit was "Dabbagole Hannu" and sweeter versions grew all over the place and were a known source of enriching blood haemoglobin. We descended the hill accompanied by the lingering taste of the fruit.
As we moved past flat ground our attention was drawn to a yellow flowering shrub that grew everywhere and we are told that its flowers were collected to make a drink that was drunk in lieu of tea in the area. Khan sahibe didn't know its name and there was no means of finding out, so all I have is some pictures and much reduced tea and coffee cravings.
What we struggled with were the beverages! Of course I use the plural we here when the truth of the matter is that my friend has surmounted the challenges that the absence of beverages can set up. So while I complained that the morning tea looked like all the kitchen cloths had been boiled in it and shuddered whenever I broke through the ugly brown encrustation to encounter a thick viscous over-sugared brew, she stoically sipped black coffee without sugar, without even so much as a murmur.
My objections of course have a long pre-history. Despite growing up in New Delhi in a fresh-filter-coffee-preparing- family and subsequently marrying into yet another coffee filter entrenched family, I had unashamedly succumbed to the delicate flavours of Darjeeling leaf tea and was completely besotted by Runglee Rungliot, Razia Begum, Orange Pekoe and for want of an alternative, Lipton's Green Label, which if fresh can make for a pretty decent brew.
Each morning at Hospet brought on the attendant trauma of terrible tea and I had not brought along with me any tea in instant teabags since it is my unswerving belief that bagged leaf teas never rise to any occasion.
So there was nothing much to do except gulp down the ghastly liquid that postured as tea and comfort oneself with the knowledge that the morning breakfast was more than suited to the requirements of a royal delegation. We partook of fresh iddlis and hot vadais and chutney and sambaar and pongal or special fried rice with a pineapple kesari to boot; all this around 7.30 am in the morning, before we embarked on our day's journey.
We got back on the beverage route when we drank thin highly sugared tea, atop a hill temple at Jatinga Rameshwaram which, the officiating hosts told us to treat as prasadam. Tea is psychologically required at moments like this, especially if you have ascended 708 not so easy steps to view an Ashokan edict, so we sipped the brown, warm liquid that could have easily doubled up as charnamrit. We dealt with the problem of not having good tea in the evenings eventually by not drinking the beverage after disappointing experiments at roadside tea stalls.
By which time a wonderful idea took possession of me. This was after all coffee country! You couldnt blame anyone for bad chai. The Western Ghats did not grow leaf tea and possibly the coffee bushes had subdued every bit of the fragrance in all extant teacrops. So, I decided to quit complaining about the tea and ambitiously embarked upon drinking filter coffee, because there is something very compelling about the aroma of roasting Arabica and Robusta seeds, especially if you are at your wits end. I ventured gingerly into coffee territory hoping to savour filter coffee. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you could not get filter coffee for love or money in most places.
Our hotel served instant coffee, so did the swankiest hotel in town. Local restaurants which swore by vegetarianism and filter coffee provided small tumbler davaras of thick chicory based brew that had little to do with coffee grounds through which hot water had filtered. At Lingsur, I ventured out at teatime to a nearby restaurant and ordered a coffee. What I got was ghastly frothy espresso, the kind that auditoriums in New Delhi have been serving since the 1970s, ( made with instant coffee powder) in the interval between two act plays.
The young man at the counter told me that no filter coffee was available anywhere in Lingsur. When I shared this insight with our guide Srinivas, who was subject to my daily beverage anxieties, he averred that I could not hope to drink filter coffee anywhere in North Karnataka. This was a body blow! Now I knew who bought all the Bru coffee that was advertised on television channels! As an attempt to reconcile myself to bad beverage days, I philosophically reminded myself of my grandmother who had her first cup of coffee at the age of thirty five because the only beverages she drank until then were milk, buttermilk and rice gruel or kanji.
Expecting very little by way of beverage salvation, we travelled to Hirebenkal to view its spectacular megaliths.
At the end of a long day spent traipsing the Hirebenkal valley, fortified with coconut water and bananas, we headed back along a circular route to our vehicle, marveling at the giant cacti bushes in bloom. One variety, often called the cowblinder cactus or the pear cactus was resplendent with yellow flowers and pink lotus bud shaped fruit. One ASI official accompanying us, told us that the fruit were edible. He broke off some fruit from the cactus with a stick and proceeded to beat all the thorns out of it, with his stick. I tried holding the fruit in my bare hands and a shower of fine thorns immediately attached themselves to my fingers. While I disengaged the almost invisible thorns, Khan sahib had divested the fruit of all its thorns and it was now ready for consumption. He lopped off the tip of the fruit and poured a crimson red liquid onto my outstretched palm. The liquid was sweet and had tart overtones, and its rich colour was remniscent of the sweetened syrup of the kokum fruit. Khan Sahib then squeezed out an extremely delicious deep crimson jelly like substance with seeds that tasted rather like the passion fruit. The fruit of the cactus was apparently a popularly consumed delicacy in the district. The local name for this fruit was "Dabbagole Hannu" and sweeter versions grew all over the place and were a known source of enriching blood haemoglobin. We descended the hill accompanied by the lingering taste of the fruit.
As we moved past flat ground our attention was drawn to a yellow flowering shrub that grew everywhere and we are told that its flowers were collected to make a drink that was drunk in lieu of tea in the area. Khan sahibe didn't know its name and there was no means of finding out, so all I have is some pictures and much reduced tea and coffee cravings.
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