Favorite momo
we were always going to get here eventually
There have been many delightful momos lost to the passage of time: from the liquor shop near where I once lived that had a tiny kitchen attached where the shopkeeper’s wife made perfect pork momo with skin so thin it was translucent, the accompanying achhar freshly roasted and pounded out minutes before it reached you, to the potato-cheese momo eaten around a wood stove somewhere near Pheriche on a trekking rest day—some places are no longer there and others are too far to go.
But, blessedly, some things haven’t changed, and among them are what have been for years my favorite momos. It used to be called New Everest Mo:Mo Center, a clear nod to the original Everest Mo:Mo Center that, as of several months ago at least, is still in Naxal. Somehow—I heard rumors but never confirmations as to why—the original lost the popularity of its heyday, and it’s now half the size it was.
That’s not why I switched allegiances, though, it’s just the “New” one was in an area I ended up in more often, right next to Saraswoti Multiple Campus on Leknath Marg, just behind Thamel where Lainchour is sorta deciding to become Naya Bazar. Sometime in the last few months, the “New” was painted over and replaced by “Old”. I mean—they’ve been there long enough.
And aside from a period post-first lockdown, when they remained closed for several months and a neighbouring shop broke my hear by telling me they’d gone for good, they have been a staple of my diet for years. Sometimes I might not go there for months. Other times I’m there several times a week. The space has been redesigned, the giant aluminum steamers moved. But like I said, the important things, blissfully, remain.
They sell only one thing to eat: buff momo. There are cold drinks, too, but that’s it.
A plate of momos was 14 rupees when I first ate there; it’s ten times that now; a small sign is updated every so often as the costs for flour, buffalo meat, cooking gas and everything else, have risen.
One plate: 140
Half a plate: 70
Cold drinks: 50
I read something years ago, in a column written by a young Nepali woman studying in the US, how one of the things she missed about home was being able to order half a plate of momos, if that was all you felt like, and I remember that every time I see a half-plate price somewhere. It’s true, sometimes that’s all you need when you’re not really hungry but just a little peckish.
But back to the New Everest Mo:Mo Center. What keeps me coming back? It’s something about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts: the filling is mildly spiced but mostly just meaty; the sauce is a cold soup of chillis and fresh danya and sesame seeds and some other things I don’t know, all ground up into a pale, milky sauce. When your plate arrives—you’ll have paid first; as they became more popular they switched to the token system, and my usual order results in scraps of white and pale pink on the table in front of me, waiting for service.
If you’re lucky you got there just as a new steamer-load has reached cooking perfection, as the roar of the cranked-up gas is turned down to a gentle hiss and you get your serving when they’re at their peak.
For convenience, your momos arrive at your table sauceless, and one of the staff goes round with a stainless steel jug, a plate beneath it to catch the drips, ready to fill your plate and, usually, refill it: everyone always wants more sauce. It’s honestly the best part; slightly warmed by and mixing with the meat juices and fats that ooze from the steamed momo, it’s a flavor I know I could never replicate, even if I had the secret formula.
And that’s the thing: first and foremost, it’s remarkably consistent, in a place where that isn’t always the case with food. Sure there have been some off days, and I won’t say I’ve never, on rare occasions, found a bone shard, but it is always delicious. Paired with a bottle of very cold Coke—not an option in winter when they turn their fridge off, bewarned—it is possibly the best thing one can have in this city for 190 rupees.
