Momonkeys and Momos

Beginning when I was five and until I was ten, my dad and I lived at Project Tibet in Santa Fe. Paljor had just acquired the property as a donation, and for the first years of its existence, there was more space than was needed for the office, store and his family's living space, so we rented a corner, part of which was our home and part of which Eric made into his law office. Every once in a while, the little square of buildings in between Alameda and Canyon would play host to a night of poker and momos. The momo is one of the most perfect items of food ever invented. On those days when there were momos to be eaten, I remember helping Tsering make them beforehand, taking little balls of spiced ground beef from a large steel bowl and wrapping them up in a circle of dough, either by folding the dough in half and pinching the edges into a half moon shape, or by pinching the edge to itself, working around the perimeter and closing the disk up to a sphere around the ball of filling. Tsering would stack them in the steamer and after twenty minutes or so, the little packages of deliciousness would be ready to be dipped in chile sauce and enjoyed. My eight year old self once ate thirty momos during one of those poker nights.

Darjeeling has a significant Tibetan population. Before the British carved it off, it was part of Sikkim, which historically had lots of contact with Tibet. Darjeeling comes from Dorje Ling, the name of the monastery that once stood on Observatory Hill. After the Chinese invasion of Tibet, a number of refugees made their way to the area. A Tibetan Refugee Self Help Center was established, and the exiled community is now well into its third generation, numbering more than 500 at the Self Help Center and many more in the city at large. Among the many features of their nation's culture that the Tibetans brought with them came momos, and plates these tasty (but of course inferior to the ones I enjoyed in Tsering's kitchen) morsels could be had at half the restaraunts in town.

After checking in to our hotel, which was a Raj era building close to the center of town (Raj era in both style and time of most recent renovation), we headed out to a late lunch at Kunga, recommended both by the manager of the hotel and the Lonely Planet, and now by Three Spheres as well. They had momos, in plates of ten. When the dishes came out, the momos seemed a bit smaller than I remembered, but then, I wasn't quite so large at age eight as I am now, having not yet eaten so many momos. Among the four of us, we tried their versions of momo filled with beef, vegetables and vegetables and cheese. Rhi even tried deep fried momos, which I hadn't heard of before, and which I now consider a somewhat flawed modification of the food. I had only had the meaty sort as a kid, so these tasted the most familiar, but the vegetarian ones were good too, full of cabbage and ginger. Kunga also made Thenthuk and Bhagthuk noodle soups, and would serve tea made with butter and salt in traditional Tibetan style. If you are expecting a proper cup of tea, it can be a bit of a shock, but if viewed as a whole new sort of thing in between broth and tea, it is amazing and delicious. Kunga's version was somewhat milder than what I have had before, but it was certainly unlike the standard Indian chai that I've been getting elsewhere.

Fortified by momos and tea and soup, we made our way through town and headed up to Observatory Hill. At a red archway hung with various brass bells, we announced our arrival to the inhabitants of the place - the most obvious of whom are a troupe of monkeys who played acrobatically in the kelp forest of multicolored prayer flags. They clearly knew that they were a spectacle, mugging and dancing and humping for the cameras. Flashes pissed them off though. A British sounding woman skip-stumbled past us, a few steps ahead of her chattering subject turned tormenter. A favorite photo spot for one of the monkeys was the back of a concrete bench near the entrance. The backrest also made a good place to stabilize my camera, but when I touched her territory, she made a face and snarled at me. Reacting instinctively, I returned the snarly face and told her that I was just going to use the corner, far enough from her modeling platform not to bother her. She was somewhat shocked at being talked back to and backed off, whereupon I proceeded to take my picture. My friends seemed to think that making faces back at the monkey was not exactly the most natural thing to do in the situation. Anyway, soon after I took my picture, I'm sure some family of vacationing Bengalis wearing balaclavas took her picture and she forgot the whole thing.



After leaving the monkeys, we wandered back through town, where we picked up some drinks at the convenience store. Our hotel's upper story had a chalet-like common room and we made our way there for some brandy and nutella. Since insulation and heating are not commonly included in hotels in Darjeeling, we were all wrapped up in our down sleeping bags.

Before long, dark showed up. There is a clock with a bell in Darjeeling, and it went off a couple times while we sat around in our chalet. (Actually the bell is a loudspeaker, but it makes a sound inspired by a bell). Eventually we discussed going out for momore momos, but Jill had fallen asleep on my lap, effectively immomobilizing both of us, and since our lunch was a late one, our momotivation was not enough to get us back out into the town. Sitting around wrapped into our sleeping bags proved to be momore momomentum than could be overcome even by the promise of plates of those delectable momorsels.