In spite of the many ‘Kolkata Chaat’ places that have cropped up around the city recently, anybody who knows their Tikki from their Paapdi would tell you that trying to score a decent plate of Pani Puri in this very South Indian city is frustrating, to say the least. Don’t be surprised if they then launch into stories of nostalgia centered around ‘The Most Amazing Pani Poodi’ they had at Delhi. Or Hyderabad. Or Bombay.One July afternoon, the sun mercifully limiting itself to cameo appearances, a friend and I decided that, if things went our way, we would debunk this myth once and for all: We would start off on a Pani Puri crawl that we hoped, like all good endings, would culminate in a memorable haze of perfect, swirling cold ones.

There was planning to do on a couple of counts: First, it was only three o’clock in the afternoon when we were starting off, and many vendors open shop only in time for the evening rush. Second, we recognized that we needed to maximize the number of Puris we could eat: this would mean a reasonable, but not too long, amount of time between one Chaat Bundher and the next. Also, in the interests of sampling as many places as we could, we decided we would stop at about 4 puris each at a particular pani puri walla.

We start off with Swagat Chaat, an unassuming place tucked away behind a complex of shops in Indira Nagar, Adyar. During one of my characteristic cravings a few nights earlier, I had asked them for a home-delivery of a single triple-plate order of Pani Puri, and after confirming (twice!) that I wouldn’t need any rotis, the slightly bemused Bhaiyya brought home a very satisfying 18-pack of Puris that I proceeded to slurp off. At 3.15 today though, this place had only just opened and the Pani, easily the most crucial constituent of the dish, was still being made. We watched, skeptical about the Pani now not having enough ‘settling time’, as he spiced up the base Tamarind-Water that he had prepared in his pot with confident, unmeasured flourishes of salt, black salt and a couple of family-secret type powders that the both of us regarded with suspicion.

What followed was much better than what we’d expected: the Pani, in spite of not being the most rounded we would taste that evening, had a furious, raw quality to it, no doubt because of the spices having just entered the fray and not having had too much time to blend in. The Puris however were textured unevenly, with jagged edges that got in the way of a comfortable full-mouthed attack. Still, the zing that the Pani gave us was enough to wake our appetites up and got us keyed up for our next stop.

In a bid to be Pan-Indian, we headed down the road to the Adyar Ananda Bhavan in Besant Nagar, hoping that, by some celestial duality that we couldn’t attempt to understand, their Pani Puri would be as good as their Thattae Murukku. Back on earth, we were asked to wait at our table (curious, since the immediacy of the “dip” into the pot is central to a good Pani Puri experience). They proceeded to bring us a plate symmetrically arranged with six Puris, complete with the potato filling and (drat!) a cup of Pani on the side. I give my friend a look that said these guys lost even before they started, and as we proceeded to pour the Pani into the Puri from its miniscule container, our lukewarm first impression was only confirmed.

Stomachs about half-full and not very satisfied after our initial forays, we knew it was time to up the ante. We decided that our next chaat choice would have to be based on reputation rather than whimsy. It was time to engage the big boys in our gastronomic conversation.

Gangotree on Cathedral Road, college hangout and makers of a fine Khaman Dhokla, was our next stop. My soon-to-become-rant about the astronomical price, “Eighteen rupees for five puris! It should be made a punishable offence to price a plate at anything over ten bucks…” was summarily dismissed by a wave of my friend’s hand as we stepped into a blast of air-conditioning at the entrance. There’s certainly not going to be the rustic romance of a crowded galli here, I thought to myself, but as long as the chaat’s good! All the elements were in place: A bag with numbers of large, uniformly shaped Puris that looked just the right colour. A practiced hand right next to the mud-red clay pot filled to the brim with Pani that seemed to simmer. There was also a smaller pot for the Meetha that was diluted in Pani, a touch that I noted with pleasure - most places have the meetha as a thick chutney that they add a spoonful of to the Puri after filling in the Aloo - an abominable practice that makes the sweet stuff overwhelm everything else and stand out like a rash. The combination of Pani and Meetha was the best I tasted that evening, with just a playful suggestion of sweetness In fact, apart from the fact that the puris were a tad too large, was this going to be the best pani puri we’d have this afternoon?

But your conquistadors, in their quest for culinary perfection (or maybe in their quest to just eat more Pani Puri), weren’t as easily satisfied! We made our way to the large and inviting Shree Mithai at Chetpet, incidentally one of the few places in Madras that serves the Vada Pav. The place came highly recommended, so it was not without anticipation that we headed there, the possibility that this might be The One looming large. Their Puris stood out: I noticed that they were made in-house, and were paper-thin and smoothly crunchy, which made them a helpful accomplice, rather than the thick layer of armour that one has to masticate through. The Pani, again in consonance with the Meetha Pani, was just right. This was as good a plate of Pani Puri as any, and not just by Madras standards!

Reminiscing, tongues still tingling, my friend suggested, hopefully only in jest, a similar search for the perfect idly. Now that, in Madras, would be a ridiculous challenge.

(Read more articles by Ashwin Raghu)

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