I've always thought of myself as being somewhat cultured. Well, more so than the average Arizonan, anyway. I've always enjoyed eating cultural cuisine from Thai to Ethiopian.
But as I discovered Monday night, there are some things this white girl from Texas just can't handle.
Enter the chaat cafe at India Plaza (1874 E. Apache Blvd.). Chaat is a type of fast-food snack, typically served by street vendors in India. I ventured to the chaat cafe with my roommates Kim Weidner and resident Indian Anjali Patel.
At first, the India Plaza was a bit intimidating. I'll be honest and say that if Anjali hadn't been there, Kim and I might have turned around and walked right out.
But with forced confidence we trekked through aisles of vegetarian foods, unfamiliar vegetables and Hindi movies before we found the chaat cafe. And, once again, we probably would have run out screaming if Anjali hadn't translated the menu items into words that we could understand. (Things like pani puri, bhel puri and papri chaat meant nothing to me. But when translated to "spicy," "very spicy" and "you probably don't want that," I began to understand.)
In a cop-out move, I ordered two samosas - the only menu item I actually recognized. Samosas are pyramid-shaped pastries stuffed with potatoes, vegetables and peppers. But the samosas at the chaat cafe are on steroids. They were so large I could only eat one. While my selection tasted great when dipped into the mint- and date-flavored sauces (or chutneys), it didn't take long for the spicy flavor to churn my stomach.
When I tried one of Anjali's pani puri - small, crispy shells filled with potatoes and spices - drenched in the sauce, I was marked a dead woman. Because you have to eat puri in one bite, there was no going back. The shell popped in my mouth and an explosion of fiery hotness followed. To no avail, I gulped my Sparkling Vimto fruit-flavored drink - the only non-injurious part of my meal.
Moments later, Kim received her dahi puri. This was similar to the pani puri, but the chaat employee promised it was not spicy. The dahi puri was stuffed with potatoes and covered in yogurt, though it looked like melted sour cream. Kim ate one puri, which she equated to a strange Mexican-food taste, and went back to picking at my leftover samosa. At that point, I was too ill to even try it.
The lesson here, boys and girls, is that you might think you're cultured, but you're not. There are still some things that we just weren't raised to handle. And one of those things is chaat. So unless you're either really adapted to spicy foods or you don't mind spending the rest of the night running from the couch to the bathroom, I'd recommend you avoid eating the things you can't handle.
Reach the reporter at tara.brite@asu.edu
