Today, oddly enough, happens to be World Malbec Day, an entirely manufactured celebration, brazenly marketed as a “world” event, when in fact, it was created by Argentina to promote their Malbec grape. Heck, it worked. Today Malbec wine is synonymous with Argentina. All of this highlights how poorly we market India. Shouldn’t we have World Turmeric Day now that people in California are downing turmeric shots and golden lattes. Why aren’t we out claiming global days and world events for our mudras, mantras and all the healing arts that India invented? The West has co-opted yoga to the point where the only thing Indian in a yoga class outside our country is the obligatory Namaste said in a jarring unrecognizable accent at the end of the class.
To drown these sorrows, I decided to open an Argentinian Malbec and ponder the injustices of cultural appropriation. Poet Omar Khayyam had his priorities right. A long time ago, he said, rather philosophically (but oh, how grounded in the good things of life) in his Rubaiyat, “a jug of wine, a loaf of bread and thou….” To this sentence, I would also add cheese.
Used to be a time when the only cheese that Indians ate and that too, doled out suspiciously by Moms, at least in South India, was Amul. Today, a variety of solid, serviceable cheeses are available in India. I like buying local cheeses but until recently have not had a good experience with them. Frankly, they taste alike, and are only labelled differently and rather optimistically as cheddar, brie, camembert and so on. My local Thoms Supermarket stocks Kodai cheeses. The A2 milk I buy from Akshayakalpa also makes cheeses that I order via their app. They all have that stringy heaviness that is typical of cheeses, but are good only to make chili cheese toast rather than put on a cheese board.
The problem with Indian cheeses is that they aren’t aged long enough or well enough. So they don’t have the sharp differentiated taste that is typical of excellent European cheeses. India’s hot temperature and power cuts mean that the delicate bacterial cultures that add flavour to cheeses are not able to do their work gradually and gracefully. The result is that hard cheeses mostly taste like paneer ++ and soft cheeses taste like nothing. Cheddar isn’t sharp and blue cheese isn’t funky-tasting enough.
That assessment has changed with this latest lot of Indian cheeses I sampled. Eleftheria is Mumbai-based and arguably has the widest selection of artisanal cheeses in the country. Their award-winning brunost looks like brown caramel and tastes like a weird but strangely winning combination of cheese and fudge. I loved their soft cheeses. Melchior doesn’t do much marketing beyond “French guy in Bengaluru making cheese,” but that is an understatement. Consider his Dutch-style Gouda, cutely called Kempe Gouda, in honour of the city it is made in.
In Koramangala, cheese-loving friends frequent Nari & Kage (Kannada words meaning Fox & Crow), a tiny fromagerie selling cheeses in wooden boxes. Cheese boards from Onboard Blr and Graze Box by Kavana Kariappa make entertaining easy with their pre-made and pretty-looking charcuterie. There are vegan cheeses often sold in marketplaces and pop-ups curated by Namu Kini. I used to buy Angelo’s Cheeses and am searching for the next big thing.
To eat cheese, you need bread. Bengaluru is blessed in this area because we have many gifted bakers. For a long time, I have bought bread from Honore Bakery run by Ponnanna, a weekly ritual when my kids were young. Now I have expanded my repertoire somewhat. I go to Lavonne Bakery in Domlur to buy their tiramisu and almond croissants. At wine writer Ruma Singh’s home, I ate a dense gluten-free bread from Loafer & Co, and so I began buying the same seeded loaf to eat with my cheeses. Backer & Charlie in Sindhi Colony serves German-style pretzels, dark rye bread and sandwiches. Krumbkraft makes great sourdough, although why this specific bread is so popular in India awaits analysis. Sourhouse founder, Selvan Thandapani loves fermenting in all its forms. He sells bread but also kombucha and is generous with tips. Chez Mariannick has been a fixture in Whitefield: all my home baker friends in that area swear by her.
So which is the best bread in Bengaluru? Well, that depends. My mom still buys her soft half loaf from a no-name local bakery that only does bread. Albert Bakery in Frazer Town is famous for its pastry-like khoya naans. As for Iyengar bakeries, Bengaluru probably has the best Iyengar bakeries in the country but that requires a separate column.
(Shoba Narayan is Bengaluru-based award-winning author. She is also a freelance contributor who writes about art, food, fashion and travel for a number of publications.)