Happiness is a warm tiffin at 7:30 . . . this is my tiffin, a thermos (minus any cartoon affiliations) loaded with hot vegetarian Indian foodstuffs. Every night the tiffin man comes, wearing shorts (rare here) and a combover (more prevalent, but not so common as the mustache) and looking like he just came off of a golf course in Augusta, bearing about 25 plastic thermoses for the girls living in our hostel. He speaks better English than most of the shopkeepers here, and is unfailingly friendly and attentive. He saw that we weren't eating the home-packaged yogurt (partially because people insist on calling it "curd," which sounds inedible to begin with) and started getting us Dahi brand, a respectable yogurt here. He charges about 75 cents a day for a full meal in stackable metal dishes: each night we get white rice, roti (indian wheat tortillas), lentil soup of some fashion--could be yellow, could be brown--and an entree. There's also a little plastic container of cucumbers and limes which I'm not supposed to eat, but I don't know how long I can really hold out. Entrees range from really spicy green beans to barbeque-spiced kidney beans to spicy cauliflower to spicy potatoes. There seems to be a theme. . . but I think it's all great. We all spend a little too much time relating digestive stories here, but I've been incredibly lucky so far (knock on Redwood). Also, I've been eating tiffins for three weeks and haven't paid a dime yet. He bills at the end of the month. My bill will be $19.50 for a whole month of dinners Monday-Saturday. Below is the typical spread:
Since Mumbai's a large city, many workers don't get to go home for lunch, and others who come from the villages make a trip about once a month. Actually, we've found out that the cafeteria workers at the business school live there, sleeping on the cafeteria floors at night. Just like Horn & Hardart's replicated home-cooked meals in the big cities of the early and mid-twentieth century, Mumbai has establishments with signs outside saying "Lunch Home." It is the same language, they just use it differently. We realized quickly that we weren't really welcome in these places when looking around we were the only women inside and while others were served in 5 minutes, our lunch took over 45, but in general I haven't felt unwelcome often, which is more than I can say for a lot of tourists and immigrants in Philadelphia, I'm sure.
Happiness is a warm tiffin at 7:30 . . . this is my tiffin, a thermos (minus any cartoon affiliations) loaded with hot vegetarian Indian foodstuffs. Every night the tiffin man comes, wearing shorts (rare here) and a combover (more prevalent, but not so common as the mustache) and looking like he just came off of a golf course in Augusta, bearing about 25 plastic thermoses for the girls living in our hostel. He speaks better English than most of the shopkeepers here, and is unfailingly friendly and attentive. He saw that we weren't eating the home-packaged yogurt (partially because people insist on calling it "curd," which sounds inedible to begin with) and started getting us Dahi brand, a respectable yogurt here. He charges about 75 cents a day for a full meal in stackable metal dishes: each night we get white rice, roti (indian wheat tortillas), lentil soup of some fashion--could be yellow, could be brown--and an entree. There's also a little plastic container of cucumbers and limes which I'm not supposed to eat, but I don't know how long I can really hold out. Entrees range from really spicy green beans to barbeque-spiced kidney beans to spicy cauliflower to spicy potatoes. There seems to be a theme. . . but I think it's all great. We all spend a little too much time relating digestive stories here, but I've been incredibly lucky so far (knock on Redwood). Also, I've been eating tiffins for three weeks and haven't paid a dime yet. He bills at the end of the month. My bill will be $19.50 for a whole month of dinners Monday-Saturday. Below is the typical spread:
Since Mumbai's a large city, many workers don't get to go home for lunch, and others who come from the villages make a trip about once a month. Actually, we've found out that the cafeteria workers at the business school live there, sleeping on the cafeteria floors at night. Just like Horn & Hardart's replicated home-cooked meals in the big cities of the early and mid-twentieth century, Mumbai has establishments with signs outside saying "Lunch Home." It is the same language, they just use it differently. We realized quickly that we weren't really welcome in these places when looking around we were the only women inside and while others were served in 5 minutes, our lunch took over 45, but in general I haven't felt unwelcome often, which is more than I can say for a lot of tourists and immigrants in Philadelphia, I'm sure.
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