Punjabi Pappadum

By Robert Newton

"Dexter Macallister bit into a samosa dripping with mint sauce. Thousands of dozing tastebuds jumped to attention, popping off in his mouth like a kid let loose on bubble wrap." The legendary, mouthwatering Punjabi Pappadum is doing it tough against the flashy new Burger Barn. There’s something sinister going on and it’s down to best mates Veejay, Dexter and Travis to get to the bottom of it. And that’s not all they’ve got on their plate. When their band Deadly takes on the East Coast Rock Eisteddfod they discover there is more to singing than the Regional Boy’s Choir… A spicy and fun-filled adventure where food isn’t the only thing on the menu.

• Language: English
• Publisher: University of Queensland Press
• Release date: Apr 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9780702258602

Book preview

SAMOSA .......... $5.50

It was Saturday night, mid December and business at the Punjabi Pappadum was slow. At a table near the rear, Dexter Macallister bit into a samosa dripping with mint sauce. Thousands of dozing tastebuds jumped to attention, popping off in his mouth like a kid let loose on bubble wrap. For the last year, Dexter and his pals, Veejay Singh and Travis Turnbull, had sat down together for dinner after choir practice. It was a Saturday night tradition, compliments of Mr and Mrs Singh, the proud owners of the Punjabi Pappadum.

From the glassed-in kitchen area Mr Singh waved to the boys then slid a chicken breast along a skewer ready for the tandoori oven.

Practice was pretty good today, chortled Veejay.

What was so good about it? asked Dexter gloomily.

Have you had a look at the list of Christmas carols we’re doing this year? asked Travis.

Yeah, said Dexter, they’re exactly the same as last year.

What’s up with you anyway?

Dexter shrugged. I’m bored with the choir. We never do anything different. ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’ isn’t doing it for me any more.

You’re not going to leave, are you? asked Veejay.

All I’m saying is that we’ve been in the Regional Boys Choir now for two years. We’re fourteen. I don’t know, it’s just a bit … you know?

No, I don’t know, said Veejay. It’s a bit what?

It’s a bit daggy now, that’s all. I want to do something different, something, you know, cool. Don’t you?

My dad says that the choir is where you get the best voice training, said Veejay. Look at Tom Jones.

Who? asked Travis.

Tom Jones, explained Veejay. He’s a Welsh singer. They call him ‘The Voice’.

Never heard of him.

He started off in a Welsh boys choir and look at him now. At his concerts women throw their undies at him, straight onto the stage. Tell me that’s not cool.

That’s pretty cool, Dexter, admitted Travis.

Dexter had visions of himself singing in front of a crowd of hysterical girls, the stage littered with thousands of different coloured underpants. Down on one knee he was, working them into a frenzy at the front of the stage. He took a girl’s hand in his and kissed it.

Are you all right, Dexter? asked Travis.

Yeah why? he answered dreamily.

It’s just that you’re slobbering all over my hand. I know we’re good mates and everything, but I need it to eat with.

Sorry.

Suddenly a mighty crash exploded behind the kitchen window. Mr Singh cowered against the wall as his wife stormed out the door.

Anyone want the last pappadum? asked Dexter.

Veejay picked it up and smashed it with his right fist.

Guess not.

What’s up with the olds? asked Travis.

It’s Burger Barn, explained Veejay. The new restaurant down the road. They’ve been packing them in ever since they opened. It’s killing us. Even our regulars have jumped ship.

You’re kidding?

I wish I was.

Mr Singh straightened up and wiped a napkin across his forehead. He waved to the few customers in the restaurant then lifted up two fingers to give everyone an idea just how close the pot had come to his head.

Mum gets a little fiery sometimes, said Veejay uncomfortably. Dad reckons that’s why her curries are so good.

It was strange to see Mrs Singh lose her cool. Braining people with saucepans wasn’t her style. She was more the quiet, gentle type. It was the same with Mr Singh too. They weren’t like other kids’ parents. They had something between them — something special and unspoken. After all those years, you could still see the twinkle in their eyes. Captivated they were, like newlyweds. Sometimes when Mrs Singh passed the glass window, she’d throw a subtle wink at her husband, who in turn would let his eyes linger until she looked back. People wanted to be around them, and that was part of the Pappadum’s charm. But all this agro, it didn’t make sense. Something was horribly wrong. That much was obvious.

ONION BHAJIA .......... $5.95

Some said that there were only two things that kept Longwood on the map — The Punjabi Pappadum and oranges. They were right about the oranges because Longwood was famous for them. Not just any oranges, mind you, but big, sweet, juicy Valencias that thrived in the rich soil of the region.

Although it could never hope to enjoy the same high profile as the beloved Valencia, The Punjabi Pappadum was an institution in Longwood and had a reputation second to none.

Word of mouth spread the secrets of Mrs Singh’s eye-watering curries to neighbouring towns until it was strictly reservation only. Locals included. People would pre-plan special occasions, like birthdays or anniversaries, months before by booking a table at the Pappadum. But now it had competition — a restaurant called Burger Barn with glitzy gimmicks, lightning service and cheap prices. Customers, believe it or not, were greeted at the door by a masked superhero called Burger Man, suited up in red tights, white skivvy and blue cape. It was Longwood’s very own version of Hollyood and the locals, it seemed, couldn’t get enough. The only solution, Veejay decided, was to get gung-ho and serious.

Belly-down in Mort Drysdale’s paddock was not what Dexter and Travis had in mind for some summer holiday activities. But Veejay was insistent.

I’ve copied some notes from the Commando Manual off the internet, he said, clicking a torch into action, and I’d like to draw your attention to Chapter Four — ‘Reconnaissance — Simulated Exercises for Beginners’. You see that building at eleven o’clock?

It’s a hay shed, said Dexter.

That’s the target. Pretend it’s Burger Barn. Our objective is to get inside without being seen.

It’s night-time, yawned Travis. Except for a few cows, there’s no one about.

Use your imagination then, said Veejay, killing the torch. Right, let’s move out.

Slowly the boys dragged themselves painfully towards the hay shed under the light of a full moon. They were dressed more for the beach than a military exercise, so their stomachs copped the worst of it, scraping over dead branches and thick tufts of grass. Up ahead, Veejay was unstoppable. He moved through the rugged terrain, half-boy, half-lizard, slithering forward on his elbows and toes. Ten metres in, Dexter and Travis lost interest and called it quits. They rose to their feet, very quietly, and followed Veejay on foot. He was flying now, huffing and puffing towards a fence. Suddenly the thrashing stopped and Veejay lay very still. Untangling himself from the undergrowth, he propped on all fours then turned, his face smeared with a foul-smelling brown mush.

What’s the Commando Manual say about manure?