Sandwiched between a barber shop and a residential building is a newly opened small Indian restaurant (also caters Bangladeshi and Pakistani cuisines) “Khana Peena” which literally translates to eating and drinking in English. Located on Broadway and 64^th Street, Woodside, this restaurant is so small that if it didn’t have a couple of poster of chicken biryani and kebab on the window, most people would just pass by it considering it an extension of the barber shop. Restaurant businesses thrive near cosmopolitan area, where there is a constant flow of people and in that sense Khana Peena is an anomaly- for it functions much like the grocery store on the corner of streets, relying more on dwellers of the neighborhood than on outsiders.

From the inside, the restaurant is not very flamboyantly festooned either. There are four tables, a refrigerator by the corner for cold beverages, and a counter upfront. There is a simple clock above it. No religious symbols decorate the wall to testify its halal status; no Islamic art or paintings hang on the wall. Apart from the front counter, the three walls are covered by mirrors. The wooden chairs and the interior are designed to provide food for people on the go or so I thought. Behind the counter there are trays of food, some common to all sub-continental cuisines like aloo gobi, beef karahi, chicken makni, but some of the dishes piqued my interest. For instance, bitter gourd with beef, okra with potato, and spinach with goat. They were tempting choices, but I ordered my regular, two kebab rolls to go.

I waited for over half an hour, for something that I was expecting to be served within minutes. The clock struck 1 PM, and there were no guests in the restaurant. Naturally, the owner observed my fidgeting, so he consoled me with this remark, “My food is different. It will take some time,” he said. After I got home, my morose mood still clinging on to me, I was delighted to see some coriander sprinkled on the kebab. On the side, he had given me chutney that was far too thick. Well versed with the tradition and custom of this food, I had a vague feeling that this was prepared by a feminine hand. It was presented more aesthetically. Imagine my shock; it was the first time that I had eaten an Indian dish made by a female cook. Here was a restaurant that steadfastly replicated the very miniscule detail of the recipe and preserved it from any adaptation. It truly symbolized authenticity.

Curious as to my claim, I went back and asked the owner if a female cook had prepared the food. And it was no surprise to me when he said yes. What was even more intriguing to me was that he didn’t have any official menu. Apart from some common Indian dishes like pillow, haleem and other such dishes, he said they prepared dishes that are not on the menu everyday. Because the owner, Mr. Sohail, relies solely on the tenants of the neighborhood, his enterprise is geared towards satisfying them. If they demand a native dish that’s not on the menu, he cooks it for them. There seemed a contradiction to me and I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I was deceived by the appearance of the restaurant. There was nothing in it that would let one to extrapolate its cultural background; no incense, no tapestries on the wall, no elaborate lightning; nothing inside the restaurant gave it its unique identity. Yet here it was catering food that had its unique taste.

More than just a way to assimilate to the new environment, restaurants are the backbone economy of most of the immigrant population. This statement was reflected in his answer when I asked Mr. Sohail why did he take so much pain to cook food in a traditional manner? He told me he couldn’t afford to hire people, so his wife managed most of the cooking. Saddened, but also delighted by his comment for if it hadn’t been for his wife’s cooking, it would have been just another restaurant to me.

Many people have their own version of authenticity. Some believe exotic food to be most authentic, while others would argue against it. When cuisines from one foreign culture crosses over to another culture, they often go through some change. One can claim that that adaptation gives rise to another dish, which has every right to be termed authentic. But for some odd reason, I can’t fully accept this definition, even though I have arguments supporting it.

Although I had to wait to get my food, in the end, I was very satisfied. I would have liked to see some Indian paintings. Maybe even some music so as to have a clear distinction of its identity. But the food was pleasant change and for that, I award it 4 out of 5 stars.