The future of Gobi Manchurian

The future of Gobi Manchurian

It turns out no one had told Manchuria that its name had been appended to the Indian cauliflower, phool gobi. When news got out, all hell broke loose

“We have no choice,” said the Manchurian National Security Advisor. “This must be considered an act of war. By annexing Manchuria to a cauliflower, India has breached every protocol known to international politics.”

There was silence in the conference room. In distant France, the Conference of the Parties 2015 was discussing climate change. Two degrees more and the world would start getting browned like a nice croquette. But in Manchuria, the temperature outside had not changed; it remained –26°C. The heating system was yet to be installed, so it was shivering cold inside as well.

The only one unaffected seemed to be the shaggy horse on which the Manchurian Premier had arrived; it now stood in a corner of the room, attacking fodder while snorting and farting by turns. Other than the Premier, there were also his three military chiefs, his Press Advisor and the Minister for Foreign Affairs, who had built up the case against India.

At the far end of the table, leering openly, sat the Indian delegate, Member of the Legislative Assembly Ram Lakhan. He drew himself up to his feet, emitted a stream of bright red paan into his portable receptacle, and spoke up now in his country’s defense.

“This is nothing but a small misunderstanding, Your Honor,” he said. “Everyone knows we do not have Chinese cuisine anywhere in India.”

“A complete fabrication!” said the Minister for Foreign Affairs. “Let the Indian delegate explain how I have seen the so-called Gobi Manchurian served only at labeled Chinese restaurants all over India?”

As Exhibits A, B and C, the Minister now placed some quite cold and congealed specimens of Gobi Manchurian gathered from restaurants in Tangra (Calcutta), Andheri West (Mumbai) and Ludhiana (Punjab).

“The Honorable Minister is in error,” said the Indian delegate mildly. “Those are not Chinese restaurants. Those are actually Punjabi Mughlai restaurants which specialize in South Indian cuisine. Within them, you can get such historical delicacies as Mattar Paneer, Methi Chaman Bahar, Chicken Makhani and Maharani Dal, in any combination or permutation with Masala Dosa, Cheese Uthappam, Medu Vada and Kanjeevaram Idli. There is nothing Chinese about any of them.”

The Minister for Foreign Affairs withdrew Exhibit D, the signboard of a shop that had recently come up in Girgaum, Mumbai, for a multi-cuisine restaurant called simply Buckingham Palace. All kinds of Mughlai, South Indian, Punjabi and Chinese food available.

“Another grave error,” said the Indian delegate, sniggering. “We say Chinese so that our customers may know that the waiters are chinky-looking. We recruit them from Darjeeling, the Kumaon hills and so on. Their narrow slanted eyes makes them look like Bruce Lee, and contributes to their popularity. Gives the place an international feel.”

“Lies!” shouted the Minister.

“And nothing Chinese about anything else in our restaurants either,” continued the MLA equably. “We may call it Prawn Sichuan , but it is garnished with black mustard seeds and curry leaves, so that our Mangalorean clients don’t find the taste too alien. We also add a little garam masala to our Roast Lamb Hunan Style so that our clients from the film industry feel at home. In fact, in Chennai, a little sambar powder and coconut is added to all chow meins so that the local sensibilities are not offended.”

The future of Gobi Manchurian

There was a silence. “Then why bring Manchuria into it?” asked the Premier gently.

“The dish in question has never been called Gobi Manchurian, but Gobi Man Churaya,” explained the MLA. “In Uttar Pradesh, from where most of India’s leaders emerge, this is a phrase meaning steal one’s heart away. Gobi Man Churaya refers, simply, to a cauliflower dish that can steal your heart away. In fact,” the MLA said, suppressing a snigger, “we were not even aware that a country called Manchuria existed till we got your letter.”

The Manchurians rose to their feet at this gross insult and rejection of their sovereign wilderness. “In that case, Mr. Ram Pal, we have no choice,” said the Premier. “It is war. You have defiled our cuisine, now we must desecrate yours.”

Historians note that in the decades that followed Manchuria avenged themselves by launching Sambar Cantonese (featuring hoisin sauce instead of tamarind and five-spice powder instead of chaunk ); the Beijing Baingan Bahar (in which the aubergines are buried for six years before being cooked and eaten), the Soy Bean Masala Lassi; and finally the Ming Biriyani, cooked in the purged stomach of a Chinese running dog of capitalism for five hours.

The Indian MLA, history has it, went back and victoriously reported to his masters that acche din had finally arrived. Indian cuisine had once again expanded its frontiers and invaded Manchuria as well.



The future of Gobi ManchurianIt turns out no one had told Manchuria that its name had been appended to the Indian cauliflower, phool gobi. When news got out, all hell broke loose “We have no choice,” said the Manchurian National Security Advisor. “This must be considered an act of war. By annexing Manchuria to a cauliflower, In...


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  • Courseentrée
  • Cuisineindian
  • Yield2 servings 2 serving
  • Cooking Time20 minutesPT0H20M
  • Preparation Time20 minutesPT0H20M
  • Total Time40 minutesPT0H40M


Cauliflower, medium sized
Wheat flour,
1 cup
Cornflour or rice flour,
3 tbsps
Soy sauce,
2 tbsps
Black pepper powder,
2 tsps
2 cups
1 bunch
Ginger, piece about
8 pods
Green chillies,
1 bunch
Garam masala (and why not?),
1/4 tsp
to taste


  1. 1\. The idea is to eliminate all traces of Chinese-ness. The final dish should feel right at home in Bhatinda, Punjab, or Tirunelveli, Tamil Nadu. Keeping this in mind, chop the ginger, garlic, green chillies, and scallions. f you really want to annoy the Manchurians, make a ginger-garlic like Tarla Dalal taught you.
  2. Dissolve the corn starch or rice flour in a couple of tablespoons of water.
  3. Clean the cauliflower and break it into large florets. Toss them into salted water for 15 minutes as they do in Bikaner; this gets all the little wormies out. You can also boil the little buggers out, but not too much, because a Gobhi Manchurian with soft mashed cauliflowers would be a tragedy.
  4. Make the batter by mixing the wheat flour, 1 tsp of ginger-garlic, 1 tablespoon soy sauce, 1/2 tsp black pepper powder, and about a cup of water. Plonk the cauliflower florets into this batter.
  5. Heat the oil and deep fry the florets in small batches and keep aside. Apparently they should be slightly brown in parts, like bhujias.
  6. In the remaining oil, add the scallions or spring onions and cook them till they start looking dazed and glassy eyed. Add the remaining ginger, garlic, and green chillies and stir fry for half a minute.
  7. Add a tablespoon of sauce, black pepper and some salt, and bring to a boil with a cup of water. Gradually add the corn starch paste to this, making sure no lumps form.
  8. When the sauce is nice and thick-ish, add the cauliflower florets, and simmer for a minute or so.
  9. Making sure no one is watching, add a little garam masala at the end. Just before serving, before anyone can object, sprinkle it liberally with chopped coriander.
  10. Serve hot with noodles or rice. If in the south, serve with Bisi Bele Huli Anna. If in Maharashtra, do offer it with Vaaran bhaath. And in the capital city, obviously, you should couple it with a good biriyani.


1\. Maybe you're in the Gujarat. Add some jaggery or perhaps two tablespoons of tomato ketchup.

2\. Experiment: make it the stuffing for a dosa, or the topping for an utthapam.

3\. Talking of toppings, would it be all that bad with a Jain pizza?

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