… an indisputably impressive culinary experience that manages to elicit outrage, disbelief and dejection in perfectly timed succession.
Above: Main Entrance of RAGA
It has taken a little over a week for me to be able to assimilate the cold & sour aftertaste of my first, and likely last, experience of Raga, which, to put it bluntly, kicked off with a stunningly tacky and ‘offensive first strike’; fortunately, a recent candid account on Instagram by a fellow victim, has paved the way for an unrestrained disclosure of my own sentiments on the matter.
24 hours prior to my date with the restaurant, I was sent a message by the front of house team asking that we, my party of 3, reach the premises a good half an hour before our 7pm reservation, only to be made to hang around for over 10 minutes in a dark and dingy corridor with deafening music piped overhead, where, to add insult to injury, each one of us was handed a sheet of RAGA HOUSE RULES by way of welcome …
Above: RAGA HOUSE RULES
… Believe me when I say, the only parallel to the core principal of Chatham House Rules, which it appears quite incomprehensibly to want to ape, is that it may well have been more prudent to keep the identity of those that created the wholly unintelligible ‘cuisine-agnostic’ culinary offering, a closely guarded secret.
It is indeed customary for fine dining establishments around the world to discreetly inform their clientele of the required protocol, the information habitually delivered in advance, the customer thereafter received with carefully cultivated formality, which as pompous as it may be, is nonetheless deferential towards the guest.
At Raga however, one is (mis)treated to a decidedly incoherent and clumsily administered imperiousness that is so patently unnatural and discomfiting for the hapless staff, the entire ceremony is reduced to a pitiable caricature of itself.
I was, until a week ago, a Gaggan first timer who went with both childlike enthusiasm and complete confidence in what I expected to be a 22 course culinary marvel (which is in fact 18 courses comprising 22 items), based solely on the testimonials of Gaggan Bangkok aficionados, whose mature and sophisticated palates I fully trust and respect … which is to say that no, I did not set out to try to create a sensation by being unilaterally critical, merely to distinguish my own account from the tide …
Above: Open Kitchen
… And on that note, I shall try to be as brief and precise as possible.
Course 1, composed of Item 1, Narangi and item 2, Gulaab Khatta was so palate numbingly icy, it served to smother rather than cleanse the tastebuds; I cannot for the life of me recall a resounding or memorable flavour, in what was a wholly inarticulate prelude to the meal.
Above: Course 1: Narangi & Gulab Khatta
Course 2, titled ‘Pink Blossom’, a Gaggan signature otherwise known as a ‘yoghurt explosion’, was for a brief moment refreshingly titillating as a result of the molecular transformation of the base ingredient using a technique of reverse spherification, yet disappointingly chaperoned by a bland and commonplace contrasting texture, the principal of flavour, once again to my own palate, carelessly undermined.
Above: Course 2: Pink Blossom
Course 3, the ‘Monsoon Glass Papad’ constituted by something that resembled Cucumber ‘en gelée’, covering a rice papad, left me wholly mystified; impossible to consume in the recommended one bite, the cucumber slices slipping away from a poorly executed gel, I was not only unable to find the slightest pleasure in its eating, but also to detect any creative source, sense, or purpose in its creation.
Above: Course 3: Monsoon Glass Papad
Course 4, the Jhalmuri cookie, was nothing short of an assault on the palate, the quantity of chili alone committing first degree murder of the tastebuds.
Above: Course 4: Jhalmuri Cookie
Course 5, the ‘Golden Egg’, inspired by and intended to furnish the palate with the same gustatory sensations as those delivered by a Panipuri, was inexplicably stripped of the sweetness of tamarind & jaggery that is the veritable USP of the dish of origin, hence so spectacularly sour, I am pretty sure it gave me a mouth ulcer upon first bite.
Above: Course 5: Golden Egg
Course 6, a painfully soggy ‘Pyaz Kachori’ that would surely make the founding fathers of signature Marwari snacks turn over in their graves.
Above: Course 6: Pyaz Kachori
Course 7, an ‘Aloo Bonda Sandwich’ during the eating of which I could neither detect any sense or sensitivity in replacing a warm butter bun with a bland and parched savoury meringue, described with enviable precision by the aforementioned diner, as being so dehydrating, she nearly choked on it.
Above: Course 7: Aloo Bonda Sandwich
Course 8, ‘Charcoal Mirchi’ was, to put it somewhat crudely, ‘an easy lay’; a batter fried jumbo ‘mirchi’ oozing with cheese and garnished with a trio of aiolis cannot be anything but lip smacking.
Above: Course 8: Charcoal Mirchi
Course 9, ‘Earth & Grains’, turned out to be a much needed balm to our wounds … a perfectly executed chicken dashi broth poured tableside, was not only a demonstration of culinary sophistication and skill, but also and above all, the first course that gave pride of place to depth and complexity of flavour.
Above: Course 9: Earth & Grains
Course 10, ‘Cold Curry’ based on the Bengali Malai prawn curry managed to burst our excruciatingly short lived bubble of relief and excitement … quite simply, a Malai curry does not work as a cold entrée; moreover whilst the curry was grossly under-seasoned, the prawns were dangerously under-cooked and I was forced to have the plates immediately removed.
Above: Course 10: Cold Curry
Course 11. ‘Smoke and Ruby’, a kind of teriyaki style chicken wing that was neither here nor there, best left in the sinister cage in which it is served.
Above: Course 11: Smoke & Ruby
Course 12, ‘Bhetki Paturi’ had clearly been wallowing in its marinade for far too long, the texture of the fish mushy, flavour profile imprecise, and quite frankly a far cry from the delicacy on which it is based – hardly a surprise that I didn’t remember to take a photograph of what was, to be polite, a wholly indifferent dish.
Above: Course 13: Sheermal, Tabak Maaz, Nalli Nihari & Brain pepper fry
Course 13, was composed of an unsweetened and unsalted disc of golden dough posturing as sheermal, a batter fried tabak maaz, which made absolutely no sense to me, a brain pepper fry that was distasteful by virtue of aesthetics alone, and a painfully ordinary Nalli Nihari.
Above: Course 14: Forest Harvest
Course 14, Forest Harvest, turned out to be the second and last savoury saving grace; a morel mushroom ‘fricassée’ served with a sweetcorn sticky rice, this particular assembly at that stage of the culinary cacophony was nothing short of manna from heaven.
Above: Course 17: Fields of Green & Gold
I am now so terribly exhausted by having re-lived the demoralising experience, I will simply say of the final four dessert courses that whilst being perfectly pleasant, with special emphasis on the Fields of Green & Gold, failed miserably to compensate for 12 of the 14 that came before them … THE END