Whether it is food and wine you want to pair or Scotch and soda, have no fear and pair with eclectic elan, says Jug Suraiya
In Ian Fleming’s From Russia With Love, James Bond twigs on that the English gent who is his fellow traveller on the overnight train is not as kosher as he seems, when the fellow commits the vinous solecism of ordering red wine with the fish course in the dining car.
Bond’s suspicions are confirmed when the assassin-in- masquerade, a Russian agent, attempts to terminate 007
with extreme prejudice while the British spy is seemingly asleep in his bunk bed. But Bond, his suspicions aroused by the Russian’s libational faux pas over dinner, is prepared, and despatches his would-be killer by shooting him with a firearm artfully disguised as a book, possibly a lethal edition of War and Peace.
In today’s more permissive climate in matters of aristology, with culinary fusion having come into fashion, we can with impunity thumb our collective nose at bibulous tradition and, without risk of inviting mayhem, quaff Cab Sauv or even — mirabile dictu! — a Mendoza Malbec with our bhekti.
However, while pairing, selecting a particular potable companion to a particular dish is no longer a mortal hazard, punctilious protocols were in observance in the India of yesteryear.
Indeed, long before the term ‘pairing’ in the context of one’s choice of tipple was introduced in India, rules governing such couplings were almost as pernickety as those obtaining to arranged marriages.
Before the term ‘pairing’ in the context of one’s choice of tipple was introduced in India, rules governing such couplings were almost as pernickety as those obtaining to arranged marriages
Ladies — as distinct from women, a separate social species altogether — were invariably paired with Blue Riband gin, the bitter taste of the spirit artfully masked with the liberal addition of lime juice cordial, a sweet and sticky mixer which left ineradicable white ring marks on unguarded tabletops, a domestic contretemps which conceivably inspired the invention of the unstainable laminate called Sunmica.
Men were invariably paired with whisky, which had no first name, or adjectival prefix, like ‘Scotch’. In those far-off days, India had gone off the ‘Scotch standard’, a spirit which in price and rarity was comparable to gold.
The only acceptable masculine alternative to whisky was rum, a tipple associated with sailors, by common opinion a salty lot in more ways than one.
That all Indian spirits, including both gin and whisky, were derived from molasses, as was rum, was an open secret never broached in polite company.
So whisky it was then, the brand of preference being Black Knight, giving rise to the in-joke that the name was an unintentional tribute to a certain Bengali baronet of swarthy complexion.
The biggest competitor to Black Knight was Solan No 1, made in Solan, near what was then Simla. The addition of the numeral after the name could cause conjecture as to whether a Solan No 2 would soon be forthcoming.
Several ploys were adopted to make these indigenous products taste like the real McCoy, or the real Macallan. An uncle confided in me that with the addition of a tablespoon of sherry, Indian whisky became indistinguishable, even to the most discerning palate, from its Gaelic counterpart.
The problem was that the sherry, like Scotch, had to be imported, therein being the rub in trying to pair the two. As I was ten years old at the time, the nuances of this problematic item of arcana were lost on me.
Other whisky pairings were equally moot. Should usquebae — to give whisky its original name, which means ‘Water of Life’ — be savoured with aqua, the purer the better, or with soda or bilayati paani?
This gave rise to debates of theological gravitas. One school of thought favoured water. (Dash it all, it was the ‘Water of Life’, not the ‘Soda of Life’, wasn’t it?)
A contending body of opinion was resolutely pro-soda. (After all, didn’t Firpo’s, Calcutta’s haven of epicureanism, place a bottle of whisky on customers’ tables, charging patrons by the number
of sodas ordered, the carbonated beverage being an indispensable complement to the potation in question?)
However, in keeping with the tradition of all theological discourse, there were the fence-sitters who insisted on a pairing consisting of both water and soda (‘Do try and get the proportions right, won’t you?)
Today, when India is producing wines, and single malt whiskies, not to mention gins, and rums, to rival anything in the world, we can pair with eclectic elan. We can eat our pomfret and have our Pinot Noir too, relish our Amrut Fusion and Paul John with Rooh Afza if we so choose.
Free from inhuman Bondage, we are licenced to chill.