Lahore Sightings

I revaluated my decision of hailing a rickshaw on a Sunday morning in search of a “spontaneous”, “romantic” breakfast, and landing in this unfamiliar yet spectacular location. I approached the counter cautiously. A short and stocky man stood behind it, dropping handfuls of potato wedges dripping in a thick flour-and-egg mixture into a large frying utensil. Immediately the potatoes would bubble up to the surface of the scalding oil, turning golden brown before being pulled out with a perforated steel spoon and carelessly dropped on a plate.
I watched him repeat this process with a moronic grin stapled to my face. I stared bemusedly at the menu card all the while stupidly gazing around the shop, watching chicken wings being rolled into a paste of finely chopped chilies; lavishly thick onion slices swimming in a shallow bed of oil; a mound of pearly white flour dough being kneaded and pounded with fists and ginger tea being poured into tiny brass cups.
The stocky, counter man was now smiling encouragingly at me as he dropped fistfuls of the potato-and-flour batter into the oil dish. I perused the menu once again in desperation, before a large brass platter was slammed on the counter in front of me. It was a chaotic amalgam of colors and aromas. In the far-east corner of the platter nestled a tiny mound of fresh, soft rice neatly decorated with mint leaves; a thick curry mixture sprawled next to it with fried chilies and lemon zest sprinkled liberally on top. Two puffy chapattis were lightly folded into semi-circles with a succulent piece of chicken wrapped in a spicy tomato sauce and onion pickle, lying comfortably on top.
I was stunned. The bazaar was now filling up with people – hungry, freshly woken customers, excitedly awaiting the wonders of oily, spicy and succulent food. Lahore was awake now and ready to be fed. And this was just the place, where food wouldn’t simply appease your appetite but fill you with a delightful sense of longing for the city itself.