The Calcutta that eats slowly and argues about it. Park Street's old continental rooms, College Street's coffee-house adda, the Mughlai lanes and the sweet shops that started it all. Where a Bengali sends you.
The Chelo Kebab, buttered rice under skewers, is a Calcutta rite. Dim, old-world, always a wait. Order it, always.
Frozen in gorgeous 1970s amber. Devilled crab, chicken a la Kiev, prawn cocktail. Order the old classics.
The 1927 tearoom Calcutta breakfasts at. The English breakfast, a rum ball to go. Touristy, still charming.
Where the kathi roll was invented, since 1932. Paratha, egg, spiced kebab, wrapped in paper. The original.
Calcutta biryani means a fat potato and egg in fragrant rice, and Shiraz does it best. Mutton, always.
Not for the food, for the ceiling fans, the shouting, the adda. An infusion, a cutlet, an argument that never ends.
The kosha mangsho that stains your fingers black and your memory forever. Dark, intense. A north Calcutta must.
A Bengali home turned tiny restaurant, and it feels like it. The thali, shukto to chutney, like a Bengali mum makes.
The reliable Bengali standby. Daab chingri (prawns in a coconut), kosha mangsho, everyday classics done right.
The mughlai porota, egg-and-keema stuffed fried bread, is the messy Calcutta classic. Cheap, greasy, unbeatable.
A north Calcutta hole-in-the-wall famous for one thing: the giant prawn cutlet, fried to order. Go early, they run out.
Where the rosogolla was invented, full stop. Spongy, syrup-soaked, straight from the tin. Still the standard.
The sweet shop pushing Bengali mishti forward. Baked rosogolla, the chocolate sandesh. Old name, quietly inventive.
Since 1844, the sandesh benchmark. The jolbhora, a syrup-filled surprise inside, is the one to get. Tiny, revered, cash.
A 1918 sherbet shop that survived everything. The daab (green coconut) sherbet on a College Street afternoon. A tradition.