The Tramp's Jukebox Puri: Commander
In what will hopefully become a regular feature here at TATTGOC I will be occasionally delving into the world of wigged out Indian music. And what better place to start than with the track Dance Music from the 1981 Bollywood movie Commander?
I was first introduced to this track by legendary Glasgow primary school teacher and vinyl enthusiast Mr Bell and his record-collecting brother-in-arms Mr Fleming (who you can glimpse in the Missing In Action slideshow) at a late night record-playing session on the South Side. On first hearing the record many questions quickly present themselves. What the hell is actually happening in the scene this plays over? What the hell is going on with the chorus of men? Did no-one notice that they can't sing? Did anyone care? Was everyone on psychedelics at the time? What's up with the duck noise? And the demented laughing?
Soon all these questions are forgotten with the realisation that the track is actually a work of cosmic electro-disco genius, described by one eBay seller as "like something Daft Punk and The Neptunes would have made if they lived in Bombay in the 1970s." The soundtrack for the film was written by brotherly composer duo Kalyanji Anandji but further investigation yields few answers about the film. One thing that we can be certain about is that the actual scene that Dance Music plays over will be nowhere near as racy as it sounds due to India's notoriously strict censorship laws.
The soundtrack commands a hefty price tag when it pops up on eBay, regularly pushing past the $100 mark, but click below to grab your very own MP3 of Dance Music in all its (less compressed) glory.
Dance Music MP3
A look at the crazy music tastes of The Tramp there ... but what do you think of the track Dance Music? And what about this new feature? As usual let the comments flow in the aptly-named comments section...
REVIEW: Lassi Come Home
The Village, Tradeston
The Time: January 15, 8.30pm
Booking Name: John Carpenter
The Pub Aforehand: The Lord Nelson
In Attendance: Trampy, The Tramp, The Duke, The Gheezer, Rabbie Shankar, Jalfrezi, Nick D, Aloo Aloo, Rumpole Of The Balti, Rogan Josh Homme, Lime Pickle
Decor: Blandly classy. Too early to make the Pakora Ashley joke again?
Expectations: The Village came highly recommended, in terms of both tastiness and cheapness.
The Experience:
Once in a blue moon, and only when the stars are in a special alignment, The Tramp and his inseparable companion Trampy are somehow not the first to arrive at the pre-agreed TATTGOC pre-curry pub. Perhaps it had something to with January’s unusual solar flare activity releasing electromagnetic energy into the ionosphere, but this month’s meeting was one of those rare times. So it was left to Rogan Josh Homme and the still-nicknameless Nick D to hold the fort in Tradeston’s The Lord Nelson, a task at which these two founder members excelled.
This boozer was initially something of an unknown quantity, but by the time more Curry Clubbers strode in, it had become considerably more of a known unknown, as Rumsfeld might say. A preponderance of a certain football team’s memorabilia was a useful visual reminder of what might be appropriate – or not appropriate – to venture aloud, but most striking was the amount of pub games being played by patrons. For your correspondent, it recalled memories of Yorkshire Television’s Indoor League, a wonderful 1970s sporting showcase hosted by retired cricketer Fred Trueman, a Yorkshireman who obviously refused to appear on camera unless he was holding both a panelled beer glass and a Meerschaum pipe. (For those who have never witnessed Indoor League, it can be relived here.)
For this TATTGOC meeting more than any other to date, there was strength in numbers. After expecting nine or so at best, the final tally of Curry Clubbers turned out to be 11, though they perhaps recalled Grange Hill spacker Danny Kendall rather than suave Danny Ocean. As well as Lime Pickle making another heroic pilgramage west, there was also the debut of Rumpole Of The Balti, a man well-versed in all curry-related legal matters, and the miraculous recovery of The Duke (who had originally cried off with a dicky tummy before realising that sometimes in matters of the gut, you have to kill or cure). Absent was The Birmingham Wan for understandable family reasons but hopefully this notable curry connoisseur will return to the fold in February: just because he has neither beard nor glasses doesn’t mean that he isn’t an integral part of our brotherhood.
After draining initial pints, soft drinks and even non-alcoholic lager, it was soon time to cheerfully egress from The Lord Nelson. (As the legendary sailor himself said: “I could not tread these perilous paths in safety, if I did not keep a saving sense of humour.”) It was a notably short voyage, since The Village was situated next door. Ignoring the siren call of the takeaway’s humming neon sign, our boisterous crew clomped upstairs into the restaurant proper, admiring the stylish but understated interior. Being directed to a large table tucked well away from the main body of the restaurant initially appeared to be special consideration although by halfway through the meal, it seemed more like tactical isolation: the EasyJet check-in at Glasgow Airport is similarly housed in a separate annexe from the main building. Cramming our pirate band into the permitted space was like a doughy version of Tetris, but eventually all were seated, with Curry Club elder statesman Rabbie Shankar looking suitably regal at the head of the table.
The Village is unlicensed, so jugs of creamy lassi were ordered along with the usual pre-match poppadoms. The Club’s consistently untameable maverick Aloo Aloo (nee Bawsaag) seemed particularly determined to prove his moxie on this visit, helpfully taking charge of the ordering process since he was one of the few Curry Clubbers within handy eye contact of the surprisingly tentative waiting staff. After some of the usual kerfuffle, five varied starter platters were ordered, which, according to the menu, would be enough to feed 10. As it turned out, the subsequent bounty of pakora and other bits-and-bobs was probably a little excessive, although the Club rose to the challenge and enthusiastically demolished most of the offerings. Particular praise was offered up in favour of the spicy raita, and those lucky enough to get a chop made appreciative noises. A giant deep-fried chili pepper was also most agreeable.
A slightly more domineering waiter – who had a whiff of management about him – took charge for the main course ordering, which mostly went off without a hitch, climaxing with Trampy off-handedly ordering six pilau rice and six different varieties of naan as if batting away a troublesome fly. In the natural lull between starters being cleared away and mains being served, Trampy and the Tramp staged their own mini-presentation, offering a small token of esteem to each member of the assembled Club: a wallet-ready TATTGOC mini-calendar with a vivid illustration of Kali, the Hindu goddess of death and destruction, on the cover. Manly tears were covertly shed.
Then, the real business of the evening: a groaning series of dishes which took up every inch of table space, not least because of a planet-threatening invasion of rice and naan. At the head of the table, Lime Pickle and Rumpole Of The Balti shared a spicy chicken dish but seemed to spend more time arguing the merits of the spicy naan, which appeared to house Dante’s Inferno within its wheaty flaps.
The Time: January 15, 8.30pmBooking Name: John Carpenter
The Pub Aforehand: The Lord Nelson
In Attendance: Trampy, The Tramp, The Duke, The Gheezer, Rabbie Shankar, Jalfrezi, Nick D, Aloo Aloo, Rumpole Of The Balti, Rogan Josh Homme, Lime Pickle
Decor: Blandly classy. Too early to make the Pakora Ashley joke again?
Expectations: The Village came highly recommended, in terms of both tastiness and cheapness.
The Experience:
Once in a blue moon, and only when the stars are in a special alignment, The Tramp and his inseparable companion Trampy are somehow not the first to arrive at the pre-agreed TATTGOC pre-curry pub. Perhaps it had something to with January’s unusual solar flare activity releasing electromagnetic energy into the ionosphere, but this month’s meeting was one of those rare times. So it was left to Rogan Josh Homme and the still-nicknameless Nick D to hold the fort in Tradeston’s The Lord Nelson, a task at which these two founder members excelled.
This boozer was initially something of an unknown quantity, but by the time more Curry Clubbers strode in, it had become considerably more of a known unknown, as Rumsfeld might say. A preponderance of a certain football team’s memorabilia was a useful visual reminder of what might be appropriate – or not appropriate – to venture aloud, but most striking was the amount of pub games being played by patrons. For your correspondent, it recalled memories of Yorkshire Television’s Indoor League, a wonderful 1970s sporting showcase hosted by retired cricketer Fred Trueman, a Yorkshireman who obviously refused to appear on camera unless he was holding both a panelled beer glass and a Meerschaum pipe. (For those who have never witnessed Indoor League, it can be relived here.)
For this TATTGOC meeting more than any other to date, there was strength in numbers. After expecting nine or so at best, the final tally of Curry Clubbers turned out to be 11, though they perhaps recalled Grange Hill spacker Danny Kendall rather than suave Danny Ocean. As well as Lime Pickle making another heroic pilgramage west, there was also the debut of Rumpole Of The Balti, a man well-versed in all curry-related legal matters, and the miraculous recovery of The Duke (who had originally cried off with a dicky tummy before realising that sometimes in matters of the gut, you have to kill or cure). Absent was The Birmingham Wan for understandable family reasons but hopefully this notable curry connoisseur will return to the fold in February: just because he has neither beard nor glasses doesn’t mean that he isn’t an integral part of our brotherhood.
After draining initial pints, soft drinks and even non-alcoholic lager, it was soon time to cheerfully egress from The Lord Nelson. (As the legendary sailor himself said: “I could not tread these perilous paths in safety, if I did not keep a saving sense of humour.”) It was a notably short voyage, since The Village was situated next door. Ignoring the siren call of the takeaway’s humming neon sign, our boisterous crew clomped upstairs into the restaurant proper, admiring the stylish but understated interior. Being directed to a large table tucked well away from the main body of the restaurant initially appeared to be special consideration although by halfway through the meal, it seemed more like tactical isolation: the EasyJet check-in at Glasgow Airport is similarly housed in a separate annexe from the main building. Cramming our pirate band into the permitted space was like a doughy version of Tetris, but eventually all were seated, with Curry Club elder statesman Rabbie Shankar looking suitably regal at the head of the table.
The Village is unlicensed, so jugs of creamy lassi were ordered along with the usual pre-match poppadoms. The Club’s consistently untameable maverick Aloo Aloo (nee Bawsaag) seemed particularly determined to prove his moxie on this visit, helpfully taking charge of the ordering process since he was one of the few Curry Clubbers within handy eye contact of the surprisingly tentative waiting staff. After some of the usual kerfuffle, five varied starter platters were ordered, which, according to the menu, would be enough to feed 10. As it turned out, the subsequent bounty of pakora and other bits-and-bobs was probably a little excessive, although the Club rose to the challenge and enthusiastically demolished most of the offerings. Particular praise was offered up in favour of the spicy raita, and those lucky enough to get a chop made appreciative noises. A giant deep-fried chili pepper was also most agreeable.A slightly more domineering waiter – who had a whiff of management about him – took charge for the main course ordering, which mostly went off without a hitch, climaxing with Trampy off-handedly ordering six pilau rice and six different varieties of naan as if batting away a troublesome fly. In the natural lull between starters being cleared away and mains being served, Trampy and the Tramp staged their own mini-presentation, offering a small token of esteem to each member of the assembled Club: a wallet-ready TATTGOC mini-calendar with a vivid illustration of Kali, the Hindu goddess of death and destruction, on the cover. Manly tears were covertly shed.
Then, the real business of the evening: a groaning series of dishes which took up every inch of table space, not least because of a planet-threatening invasion of rice and naan. At the head of the table, Lime Pickle and Rumpole Of The Balti shared a spicy chicken dish but seemed to spend more time arguing the merits of the spicy naan, which appeared to house Dante’s Inferno within its wheaty flaps.
During the usually silent chowdown, a random conversation threw up the fact that five out of the assembled 11 Glasgow of Curry Brotherhood were left-handed, a considerably higher percentage than the average. As the chomping continued, two rival schools of thought as to why this might be sprang into existence. One argued that as Curry Club was a deeply humanist and bohemian collective, it was all the more likely to attract those of a creative bent, such as southpaws. Another, more gruffly-expressed opinion was that there was simply an unnatural proportion of spackers in our distinguished membership.
The debate may well have continued long into the night but for a general slowing of thought processes. What had begun as a steady advancement through the feast had gradually wound down to a crawl. Perhaps it was the deceptively filling lassis, or, more likely, the sundry-ordering oversight on the part of Trampy (requesting 12 side dishes certainly seems foolhardy in retrospect). In any case, it soon become alarmingly clear that the Curry Club was going to be uncharacteristically foiled by the sheer amount of spicy scran to be consumed.
As defeats go, it was admittedly one of dreamlike sensuousness. Even without booze – which meant no climactic brandy toast – the Club still staggered, groaning, from The Village after settling the remarkably reasonable bill, and adding a generous tip. In another slight break from tradition, the crewmates did not return to their original harbour bar, choosing to plot a course further inland, although that threw up some of its own choppy hazards, from ear-shattering noise pollution to atmosphereless pubbing. But these were just inconsequential footnotes to another valuable expedition south. But now it's time to spin the curry compass again. Round and round it goes, and where it will stop, nay-one knows. Will it be north? West? Or even (gulp) … east?
Range Of Drinks: Unlicensed, but several jugs of lassi were enthusiastically consumed.
Highlights: Superior main dishes, no shortage of tucker, cheapness.
Lowlight: Arm’s-length service, and being tucked away from everyone else.
The Verdict: An intense experience!
The Damage: £190.18 (tip: £29.82)
If the Curry Club’s January visit to The Village was a bit like the Hudson River air crash, Trampy’s written report is the black box. But were important details overlooked? And how were the flaps? Speak your brains in the comments section
Highlights: Superior main dishes, no shortage of tucker, cheapness.
Lowlight: Arm’s-length service, and being tucked away from everyone else.
The Verdict: An intense experience!
The Damage: £190.18 (tip: £29.82)
If the Curry Club’s January visit to The Village was a bit like the Hudson River air crash, Trampy’s written report is the black box. But were important details overlooked? And how were the flaps? Speak your brains in the comments section
Currypedia No. 2: Pakora
Curry Club may only meet up once a month but Trampy and The Tramp are thinking about curry all the time, which is why we take great care to update the Glasgow of Curry blog every Thursday, allowing curry-addicted members to get a fix before they chaat themselves. This week is no exception, so let's dip into our occasional look at the world of curry-related facts.
Having previously chomped our way through that essential appetiser the poppadom, we now find ourselves facing the cornerstone of any good starter selection – the pakora.
Glasgow curry guru Mr Ali, the man behind the legendary Shish Mahal, has this to say of the humble pakora:
"The European tradition of serving a 'starter' before the main meal is not customary in Indian or Pakistani households. The Pakora is considered a snack, something to tide you over till dinner time. You can buy them in the streets from traders who will fry them freshly for you, rather as we would expect to buy a hot dog, or hamburger in this country; but there the similarity ends."
Pakora are basically the Indian equivalent of our fritters. Take your pick of vegetables: onion, potato, aubergine, cauliflower, chillies – the possibilities and variations seem endless. Then mix with spices and gram flour before dipping into a rough batter or dough and frying until crispy.
So beloved by the Scots are Pakora that Glasgow even once had a restaurant dedicated to the stuff: the long-gone and sadly-missed Murphy's Pakora Bar which occupied the space now taken up by trendy West End watering hole The Goat, a great place to go if you're looking for a pint and have at least four quid in your pocket. As Murphy's used to offer over 100 different types of Pakora, including a haggis variety, it's a genuine shame that it is no longer with us. It surely would have been a Curry Club favourite.
Whether you like pakora as a simple snack to tide you over until dinner or you enjoy them as a starter there can be no denying that they are a firm favourite of all curry aficionados. So keep your eyes peeled for a TATTGOC home cooking special where Trampy and The Tramp will try their hands at cooking pakora at home and then, presumably, stuffing their faces with it.
So there you go Curry Clubbers - another exciting installment of Currypedia. What's your favourite type of pakora? Have any funny pakora-related tales to tell or any top pakora recommendations? Let us know ... and while you're at it - is this feature a complete waste of time? Do you have any better ideas? If so, don't be shy and let us know through the comments section...
Having previously chomped our way through that essential appetiser the poppadom, we now find ourselves facing the cornerstone of any good starter selection – the pakora.Glasgow curry guru Mr Ali, the man behind the legendary Shish Mahal, has this to say of the humble pakora:
"The European tradition of serving a 'starter' before the main meal is not customary in Indian or Pakistani households. The Pakora is considered a snack, something to tide you over till dinner time. You can buy them in the streets from traders who will fry them freshly for you, rather as we would expect to buy a hot dog, or hamburger in this country; but there the similarity ends."
Pakora are basically the Indian equivalent of our fritters. Take your pick of vegetables: onion, potato, aubergine, cauliflower, chillies – the possibilities and variations seem endless. Then mix with spices and gram flour before dipping into a rough batter or dough and frying until crispy.
So beloved by the Scots are Pakora that Glasgow even once had a restaurant dedicated to the stuff: the long-gone and sadly-missed Murphy's Pakora Bar which occupied the space now taken up by trendy West End watering hole The Goat, a great place to go if you're looking for a pint and have at least four quid in your pocket. As Murphy's used to offer over 100 different types of Pakora, including a haggis variety, it's a genuine shame that it is no longer with us. It surely would have been a Curry Club favourite.
Whether you like pakora as a simple snack to tide you over until dinner or you enjoy them as a starter there can be no denying that they are a firm favourite of all curry aficionados. So keep your eyes peeled for a TATTGOC home cooking special where Trampy and The Tramp will try their hands at cooking pakora at home and then, presumably, stuffing their faces with it.
So there you go Curry Clubbers - another exciting installment of Currypedia. What's your favourite type of pakora? Have any funny pakora-related tales to tell or any top pakora recommendations? Let us know ... and while you're at it - is this feature a complete waste of time? Do you have any better ideas? If so, don't be shy and let us know through the comments section...
Curry Club Close-Up: Some Pilau Talk With The Duke
Everyone in the Glasgow of Curry brotherhood loves curry – but wouldn't it be intriguing to discover more about the men behind the menu choices? In this occasional Q&A series, we'll be journeying into the curry-obsessed mindpans of prominent members. After possibly too much information about The Tramp in the last Close-Up, we're continuing with one of the few Curry Clubbers whose nickname predates TATTGOC ...
Name: The Duke
Favourite Glasgow curry house: Shish Mahal, Park Road.
Second favourite Glasgow curry house: Chandigarh, Vinicombe Street. Don't look for it, it's not there anymore.
Favourite Glasgow curry takeaway: The much-missed Pakora shop on Woodlands Road which may or may not be near the petrol station. A mind-boggling selection of Pakora on offer and all of it delicious. There are still some charlatans operating off the premises but the previous owner obviously took his magic ingredients with him.
All-time favourite curry dish: Lamb Karahi from the Shish.
All-time curry idol: Tim Curry.
Rice or naan? Difficult choice. Peshwari naan or chickpea rice, why not have both? But a decision must be made so I shall have to go with naan (as long as it's not cut into triangles).
Favourite curry lager: Refreshing, cooling but not too gassy, it has to be Kingfisher.
Where's the most exotic place you've had a curry? Betio Harbour on the island of Tarawa, in the central Pacific. I forget what it was, but I'm guessing fish was involved.
Can you actually make a decent curry yourself? I can produce a pretty good dhal, which, although soup-based, is still in the realm of the curry.
So can we all come round for our tea? Of course, as long as you like dhal and have better table manners than the elusive S Phelan.
If you could enjoy a curry dinner-for-two with anyone, either alive or dead, who would it be? Kinky Friedman, occasional crime novelist and quite probably the only Jewish country singer to hail from Texas.
What creature or object would you say best symbolises your personality? I think the fact that a wolverine is renowned for taking on meals three times its own body weight says it all ...
An Important Announcement
Trampy and The Tramp have declared 2009 to be The Year Of The Curry.
One small step for naan; one giant leap for naankind.
Happy New Year to all, love Trampy and The Tramp
One small step for naan; one giant leap for naankind.
Happy New Year to all, love Trampy and The Tramp
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