Federick’s Restaurant
1920 Ellesmere Road
416-439-9234
Dinner for two, with all taxes and tip: $40

There are a few important things that every Indian expatriate in Toronto and its suburbs will know: one of them is where to buy chapatis in bulk quantities, and the other, where to source the best Hakka this side of the Atlantic.

Indian Hakka cooking is legendary – amongst those of the Indo-Chinese Diaspora. The highly educated self-titled Hakka people of China are part of the earliest diasporic movements in the world. After centuries of migration from northern China to the southern provinces, millions of Hakka people left the south by sea and settled on coasts around the world, including the port cities of Bombay and Calcutta. Reflecting their transcultural adaptability, the Hakka people living in India created a unique cuisine that melded Indian spices with their own simple cooking styles. A far cry from the signature, simply spiced dishes of their ancestors, Indian Hakka food is a scorching ride for the palate.

Many Hakka Chinese immigrated to Canada from India in the 1980s, and brought with them this special cuisine that gained widespread popularity in India in the last fifty years – in the same way that Indian food is now popular in Britain. Federick’s Restaurant in Scarborough is considered to be the first Indian Hakka restaurant in the city. In fact, as rumours go, it has been so popular that families Stateside drove up across the border for a single meal. And happily, Federick’s still delivers the goods.

Federick’s is tucked away inconspicuously at the bottom of a minor office building, next to a run-of-the-mill suburban bar with a flashing neon sign that advertises bad beer. Entering the restaurant, I pass the delivery window, where at least a dozen people wait to pick up their orders. My friend and I are seated at a regulation square table in the middle of the room, covered by a vinyl tablecloth patterned with illustrations of fish and flowers. The salmon-pink walls glow gloomily in the dim light of the restaurant, but none of this matters. We’re here for the food.

Their turnover must be prodigious, because everything on the menu is priced reasonably. I scan it thoroughly, and there isn’t a single individual dish that costs over $10. We order the comfort staples: crab corn soup, chilli chicken, chicken pakora, and beef fried rice. I give the Manchurian a miss this time, although it is one of my favourite Hakka dishes.

All these dishes have been originally created in India’s eastern port city of Calcutta, where the Hakka first settled. As the food’s popularity grew, competition increased, and before long, Hakka restaurants began opening throughout the country. Now, even street food vendors cook the stuff. Calcutta lays claim to the only Chinatown in India, an area over a century old. That area, and Calcutta’s other Chinese area, Tangra, formed the hub of the Chinese Indian community in Bengal. Many Chinese settled in the area, primarily operating as leather tanners, restaurateurs, launderers, beauticians, and dentists. Amongst the smoky tanneries in Tangra, streetside chefs experimented with Indian spices to create new dishes that are as much a part of the Indian food lexicon as daal and rice: Hakka fried rice and noodles, chilli chicken, chicken lollipop, and Manchurian style curries.

At Federick’s, orders can be placed according to one’s tolerance to chillies. I ask for medium, too afraid to try the hot, for fear that my digestive system will never stand up this test of gustatory chillie-bombing, no matter how tasty it may be. The service is surprisingly rapid, given the number of people in the restaurant. The room is packed, mainly with large families of five or more, out for Sunday dinner. In less than five minutes, a placid-faced, middle-aged server brings us a medium bowl of crab corn soup ($7.50), and we’re pleased we didn’t order the large, because this is a honkin’ big bowl. Ah, the bliss of salty-sweet corn soup with feathery strings of egg white. Pure, chunky corn goodness, really. In true Indian style, the condiments at our table are liberally applied to the soup. One simply must spoon a generous dollop of green chillies in white vinegar, some soya sauce, and a dash of red chilli sauce into the soup. What would otherwise be the perfect get-well soup now becomes sour, spicy, and dynamite. The only thing I don’t like about this soup is the generous helping of fake crab in it.

Minutes later, the chicken pakora ($8) arrives. In India, we call it chicken lollipop. It’s essentially the same thing, except it’s batter-fried on the wing bone. I break a pakora apart, and amidst the chunks of chicken flavoured with soya sauce and garam masala resplendently lie whole chunks of green chillies. Oddly enough, the deep fry may have killed the heat, because the pakoras aren’t as hot as they look. They should, however coming with a warning sign: highly addictive. Almost every table at the restaurant has a heaping plate of them.

The chilli chicken ($8) and beef fried rice ($6) come next. As these photos testify, the restaurant certainly doesn’t skimp on serving sizes. My friend and I have been discussing the chilli chicken all week since we made plans to eat here (in a room full of Indians, it is a matter of minutes before the conversation veers to food, and hours before the discussion closes), and it is certainly worth the wait. The only flaw I can point out here is that the chicken pieces they serve are boneless, when more traditionally, chilli chicken is always made on the bone. Wings are a particular favourite for this dish.

A couple of years ago, I met Mr. Tham, whose wife went to high school with my mother. Mr. Tham lives outside Hamilton, but is originally from Calcutta. And he told me that his father invented chilli chicken at his restaurant in Calcutta. I felt that I was in the presence of greatness, and the following morning, I wrote to my friends to tell them about my encounter with the son of the inventor of chilli chicken. Marinated in soya sauce, deep fried in cornflour, and then boiled with garlic, green chillies and more soya sauce, the dish is deceptively simply to make and horrendously unsubtle in its salty-chillie taste and sticky-sauce texture. But one bite, combined with the Ajinomoto* fest of beef fried rice, and the stomach sings.

The food may be a bit greasy (what comfort food isn’t), but it adheres to the inside of my rib cage in the most comforting way imaginable. And there you have it. Comfort food has no rationale, but it does the soul good. Even if one has to brave a TTC trip to Scarborough for it.

*Be warned about the MSG. I didn’t ask about it, and I don’t mind eating it myself, but those who are allergic may do well to ask before they order.