An old taste in a new place
it's good to know some things never change
Several weeks ago I had the delightful experience of rediscovering a long-neglected bit of deliciousness. I was walking, once again, to the post office, when I passed a something in Kamalpokhari that was both familiar and out of place. Glass display cases held various Indian sweets, but I was attracted to what most everybody in the shop was eating: hot, crispy samosas served in a tapari, or leaf plate, with a vibrant red sauce.
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A little background. Years ago, when I first came to Nepal, New Road was the shopping hub. Almost anything one might need could be found in the crowded, bustling lane that leads into Kathmandu Durbar Square, or if not on New Road itself then on one of its many offshoots or twists that wind into Asan and Indra Chowk—or in those areas. Except for during the festival season of Dasain and Tihar when the city empties out, I have only ever seen it crowded.
Over the years, though, as I’ve found other places to get most of what I need, I rarely go there myself, though whenever I pass by it’s visibly as busy it’s ever been.
The only thing I miss has been those tasty bites grabbed on the go that I used to enjoy, a little reward for braving the traffic and the crowds.
One of those good things: samosas. Below a sign reading Tip Top Tailors, a short, dim entrance opened into a small courtyard, on one side of which was said tailor and, a few doors over, what I had always thought of as the nameless samosa-and-sweet place.
While they are good samosas, let’s be honest here: a samosa is a samosa. Stuffed with potato, peas and spices and encased in crispy fried dough, there’s not a lot of variety to be had. What makes these ones outstanding, is, as so often is the case, the sauce they’re served with. It’s bright red, flecked with chilli powder, tangy from tamarind and with just a touch of sweetness. There are probably other secret ingredients in there, too. I love to break off a crispy corner and soak it with as much sauce as possible. The sweet-sour-heat offsets any grease from the fried dough, and turns a cheap street food available everywhere into a perfect bite.
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These samosas I was watching people eat looked suspiciously familiar, and the name of the establishment: Tip Top. Were they a rip off? Had the long-ago Tip Top always referred to the eatery as well as the tailor’s?
There was only one way to find out. Several delicious bites later, I had my answer. I got two more to take home for later—with extra sauce please—and the bag they put them in listed New Road, Maharjgunj, Kuleshwor and Kamalpokhari as branches.
It’s good to know there’s a place where I can get my samosa fix without having to brave the New Road crowds.