Tag Archives: slough

Falooda far west of India and Pakistan

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THIS MORNING WE ate chaats (spicy South Asian snacks): dahi vada (aka: ‘curd vada’ or ‘dahi balla’) and pani puri (aka: ‘puchka’ or ‘gol gappa’). We were not in Mumbai nor in Kolkata nor in Lahore nor in Karachi. We were sitting in a small restaurant 4389 miles northwest of Mumbai’s Churchgate Station. But we were only 20 miles west of London’s Trafalgar Square.

Falooda

We were eating our chaats in Slough, which is not far from London’s Heathrow Airport. This rather unexceptional town on the edge of London has a large South Asian population, and many shops and eateries that cater to its tastes. We visit Slough occasionally to carry out certain errands, and usually have a coffee or snacks at places on Slough’s Farnham Road. The English man with whom we deal in Slough seems to be, as far we can judge from what he says, knowledgeable about South Asian cuisine and able to cook it well. He pointed out a new Asian restaurant near his office, and we decided to try it.

Today, 12 August 2026, we visited the place he mentioned. With its garish pink façade, it is called Falooda & Co. It serves a wide variety of Indian and Pakistani dishes including the snacks we ate. As the place’s name suggests, the eatery specialises in falooda. In case you have no idea to what I am referring, let me explain.

Named after a Persian dessert called ‘faloodeh’, falooda (or sometimes transliterated as ‘faluda’) is traditionally made with rose syrup, vermicelli, sweet basil seeds, sometimes kulfi (an Indian icecream made with boiled down milk), and milk. Since mediaeval times, when this dessert was introduced to the Indian Subcontinent, many variations have been developed. For example, Falooda & Co offers ‘The Salted Sunset’, which contains “Salted caramel and butterscotch paired with vanilla ice cream, finished with a sweet-salty crunch” and ‘The Royal Heritage’, which contains “Rooh Afza [a syrup made with rose, flowers, fruits], and cooling herbs blended into chilled milk, layered with rich kulfi and finished with royal dust”, as well as the more traditional version.

Most faloodas contain seeds, mentioned above. Because of the presence of these particles, I do not enjoy falooda. But as this type of drink is only one of the many things on Falooda & Co’s menu, there is plenty of other choice for a ‘falooda-phobe’ like me. We ate two of the chaats on the menu, and followed them by espresso coffees, which were expertly made, and remarkably good value.

In addition to South Asian offerings, Falooda & Co serves non-Asian dishes including club sandwiches, fish and chips, full English breakfast (with lamb, not pork, bacon), and also lemon posset.

We noticed several food offerings in the glass-fronted refrigerated cabinets, and recognised a few of them, but there were several that looked unfamiliar. We asked the young lady, who was serving behind the counter and had made our coffee so well, about the items we could not identify. She replied:

“I am sorry I don’t know. I am unfamiliar with Asian food.”

We inquired about the restaurant’s cooks, and she told us that the food was prepared by a team that included both Indian and Pakistani cooks.

As she did not look Anglo-Saxon, but not typically South Asian, and knew little or nothing about the food she was serving, we asked her about her background.

She replied:

“I am Albanian.”

Because I have had a great interest in Albania and the Albanians, we began chatting. She was born in England, but her parents had migrated to Britain over 30 years ago.

West of London but not an attraction for tourists

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OVER THE YEARS. We have made many visits to Slough, a town in Berkshire, just west of Heathrow Airport. It would usually not figure on tourists’ lists of places that they feel they must see. And there is little in Slough that would entice people to visit the place. Yet, since the early 1970s, we have visited there often.

My PhD supervisor, Robert Harkness, and his wife, Margaret, lived in the countryside not far from Slough. They used to travel between Slough and Paddington stations when they were travelling to and from University College London (‘UCL’). While I was studying with them, they became my close friends. Until they died in the early years of this century, I, and then later my wife and our daughter, often spent weekends in their large Victorian home, Margaret, who played the violin, was involved with the Slough Philharmonic Orchestra (Slough Philharmonic Society). For many years, she not only played in the second violin section but also, she was the orchestra’s honorary accountant. We were often invited to the orchestra’s concerts, many of which were held in concert halls in Slough. A few of the concerts were held in Slough’s ‘posh’ neighbour Eton.

Because Robert and Margaret lived near Slough and we visited them often, we hired a storage unit (‘godown’) in Slough. We could combine visiting our friends with making trips to add things to our storage place. Sadly, Robert and Margaret are now no more than fond memories. However, our storage locker remains in Slough. So, visits to the town continue.

Recently, the company that stores our stuff moved from the edge of Slough to a place closer to the centre. It has a good car park and is close to a wonderful range of food shops. Slough has many inhabitants whose ancestors hail from the Indian Subcontinent and a sizeable Polish population. On the outskirts of Slough, there is at least one large Polish sporting/country club. Near our newly located storage place, there are two well-stocked Polish food supermarkets, which sell many products including things that would not be found at the nearby halal food shops and eateries. In addition to food shops catering for people of Indian and Pakistani origins, there are gift shops where decorated Hindu idols can be bought. There is also a jewellery store whose gold and diamond-studded items are just like what I have seen in India.

Drab as Slough undoubtedly is, the ethnic mix of its inhabitants add a welcome touch of colour and exoticism to the place. Having said that, I am not sure that I would recommend going there unless you have a reason to do so.

At the end of the runway at Heathrow Airport

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TODAY THE MAIN roads leading from London west, the A4 and the M4, run more or less parallel from Hammersmith west towards Slough and then beyond. Before these roads were modernised, or in the case of the M4 and, existed, the old road from London to Slough and points further west ran through the village of Colnbrook, and onwards to Bath. This was long before London’s Heathrow Airport came into existence. Today, the centre of Colnbrook, bypassed by both the A4 and the M4, lies 1.2 miles west of the western perimeter of the airport. Aeroplanes coming into land fly low over Colnbrook because they are within a minute or two of touching down on the runways. Despite being sandwiched between the airport and the ever-expanding town of Slough and having some new housing, Colnbrook retains many features of a rural English village.

With a bridge crossing the River Colne, a tributary of the Thames, Colnbrook was an important staging post on the coach road between London and the west. An old milestone near The Ostrich pub marks the halfway point between Hounslow (west London) and Maidenhead. A modern sign next to it informs that the toll-road through the village was known as the Colnbrook Turnpike. Writing in 1876, James Thorne noted that during the coaching era, Colnbrook:

“… retained something of its ancient noise and stir; it is now a dull, sleepy, roadside village of a long main street and 2 or 3 shabby offshoots, the many inns testifying to its old character.”

No doubt, the advent of the railways put pay to much of the traffic through the village. It is still rather sleepy if you disregard the ‘planes passing overhead every few minutes. But it is not shabby in my opinion. It has maintained a certain rustic charm and a few of its inns or pubs. Many other buildings in the place have tall archways that might well have led into coaching yards of former hostelries.

A well-restored brick and stone bridge crosses one of the streams of the River Colne. The stonework that lines the tops of the walls of the crossing have carved lettering that shows that the centre of the span was the boundary between Middlesex and Buckinghamshire and that the bridge was built in 1777. A large building with an archway that would have admitted stagecoaches at the eastern entrance to Colnbrook bears the name ‘White Hart House’. When Thorne was writing about the village in 1876, he noted that this was an inn:

“… a good house, with bowling green, and grounds, much in favour for trade dinners and pleasure parties…”

The George Inn, unlike the White Hart, is still in business. It is said that Princess Elizabeth, the future Queen Elizabeth I, might have spent a night there when being taken as a prisoner from Woodstock to Hampton Court in 1588. The pub was first established in the reign of Henry VIII. Its present façade is 18th century (www.sloughhistoryonline.org.uk). Other royal visitors to Colnbrook included the Black Prince with his prisoner King John of France, who were met here by King Edward III (reigned 1327-1377).   The half-timbered Ostrich Inn, almost opposite the George, is far older and has a less salubrious history. Its foundations were laid in 1106 but much of its present construction is 16th century. Its name, the Ostrich, might well be a corruption of an earlier name, ‘the Hospice’.

During the 17th century, the Ostrich had an extremely dodgy landlord called Jarman. The pub’s website (https://ostrichcolnbrook.co.uk/history.html) describes his activities well. Here are some extracts from it. Jarman:

“…with his wife made a very profitable sideline by murdering their guests after they had retired for the night.

They had a trap door built into the floor of one of their bedrooms and when a suitably rich candidate arrived Jarman would inform his wife that a fat pig was available if she wanted one! She would reply by asking her husband to put him in the sty for till the morrow. The bedstead was hinged and they would tip the sleeping victim into a vat of boiling liquid immediately below, thus killing him.”

All went well for the Jarmans until they chose a clothier from Reading, named Thomas Cole:

“After persuading him to make his will before he retired, Jarman killed Cole. Unfortunately Cole’s horse was found wandering the streets nearby and caused a search for his owner who had been last seen entering The Ostrich! His body was found some time later in a nearby brook and some say that this Cole-in-the-brook is how Colnbrook got its name. It’s a nice story but whether it is true or not, who’s to say!”

You might be interested to learn that the Ostrich still offers rooms for guests to stay overnight. We met four men, who had done so, sitting quite contentedly in the morning sun that was flooding into the pub’s pleasant courtyard. Despite the story of Thomas Cole, it is far mor likely that the village was originally called ‘Colebroc’ (in 1107) and later ‘Colebrok’ (by 1222).

We visited the parish church of St Thomas just as guest were arriving at a christening. We were given a warm welcome by a female cleric dressed in white with a colourful stole, which she told us that she was wearing at such a happy occasion. The church, a Victorian gothic edifice, was designed by an architect who specialised in Gothic Revival, Benjamin Ferrey (1810-1880). Built between 1849 and 1852, it has walls containing flints. A north aisle, designed by a great practitioner of the Gothic Revival style, George Edmund Street (1824-1881), was added to the church in 1862.

Streams of the River Colne run through parts of the village. In some places their banks are lined with old houses, some half-timbered. Colnbrook, over which millions of people have flown since Heathrow was opened as Great west Aerodrome in 1929 and then as a much larger establishment, now known as London Heathrow, since 1946, is visited by few except mainly locals. Bypassed by major roads and not on the railway, the village has a picturesqueness that rivals many much more frequented places deep in the English countryside. Yet, Colnbrook is a short bus ride from Slough’s railway station and about 40 to 50 minutes’ drive from Hyde Park Corner. Visit the place and be surprised by its charm.

A lady in Budapest

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My PhD supervisor’s wife was fondly known as ‘Wink’. When she learnt that I was about to visit Budapest in the early 1980s, she told me the story of her friend Dora, who lived in that city.

Sometime during the war, Wink got her first job. She became a supervising chemist at High Duty Alloys, a company that had its premises on the huge Slough Trading Estate, which had been established near Slough in 1920. It was the middle of the war, and there was a great need for metal for aircraft and armaments. Everything was being melted down in order to extract vitally needed metals. Wink was involved in developing ways of improving the extraction of the highly reactive metals magnesium and aluminium from seawater. Everyone was donating whatever metal items that they could spare to help the war effort. A great number of metal cooking pots reached High Duty Alloys. Sadly, Wink related, many of these were so full of unwanted metals that separating the desirable ingredients was uneconomical; the cooking utensils had been donated in vain.

DORA 1

Dora Sos in 1985 in Budapest

Soon after joining High Duty Alloys, Wink was assigned a technician. She was a Hungarian called Dora, who had been visiting the UK as the representative of a Hungarian chemical company when WW2 broke out. She was briefly interned as an ‘enemy alien’ until the authorities decided that she did not pose a security risk. When she was released, she took up the job at High Duty. Wink and Dora, who was a little older than her, became close friends. After WW2 was over, Dora was given British citizenship. However, she was getting homesick and decided to return to her home in central Budapest.

Every now and then during the late 1940s, the British embassy in Budapest held parties and receptions for British subjects living in Hungary. One evening when Dora was on her way to attend one of these, she was prevented from entering the embassy by Hungarian police officers waiting near to its entrance. She was taken in for questioning, warned never to try to enter the embassy again, and her British passport was confiscated. Dora continued her life working in a scientific laboratory in Budapest, but under appalling conditions. Each night at the end of a day’s work, all of the laboratory notebooks had to be locked up in drawers for which she had no keys. The Stalinist authorities who ran the country at that time were terrified of espionage and sabotage. Conditions became so bad in the laboratory that Dora, who was fluent in German and English, gave up being a scientist, and became a language interpreter.

Wink told me that after a few years when Hungary’s Communist regime became a little less strict, Dora was issued with a Hungarian passport and was given permission to travel to the West for a holiday. She went to The Hague in Holland and visited the British Embassy there. She related her story to the ambassador and his staff, and after they had checked up that she had once been issued with a British passport, they issued her with a replacement for the one that had been taken from her in Budapest. She was told that she could use the British passport whenever she was out of Hungary. All that she needed to do was to enter whichever British Embassy was near her, and then arrangements would be made to issue her with another British passport. And, before returning to Hungary, she could return her British passport to the nearest embassy for safe-keeping. Thus, she was able to visit Wink in Britain on a number of occasions.

When I began making regular visits to Hungary in the early 1980s, Wink gave me Dora’s address, and I met her. We became good friends. Whenever I was in Budapest, I used to visit her in her first floor flat in a late 19th century apartment building near to Moskva Ter in Buda. She always asked me for news of Wink and her family. A chain smoker, she was also a good cook. Whenever I visited her, she would serve me generous helpings of her home-made chicken paprika. This was always accompanied by noodles that she had just prepared with freshly made dough that she extruded through a mesh straight into boiling water.

Dora told me that under Communism very few young people learnt English in Hungary. Learning Russian was compulsory. Therefore, there was a shortage of English interpreters in the country. Often, she was asked to interpret at scientific conferences. She was able to perform simultaneous translations from German into English and vice-versa. This is no mean feat for someone whose mother tongue was Hungarian. Before my visits to Budapest, I used to write to Dora and my other friends there, announcing my travel plans. On more than one occasion, Dora commissioned me to bring the latest editions of particular technical dictionaries from London to her in Budapest, where these volumes were not available. She told me that whenever she was able to travel to the West, she would buy copies of Solzhenitsyn’s works. These were strictly forbidden in Hungary. She told me that whenever she returned to Hungary from the West, she would be asked by the Hungarian customs officials whether she was carrying any of these so-called ‘solzhis’.

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In the house where Bela Bartok lived in Budapest

When I visited Budapest with my wife in about 1999, we visited the apartment house where Dora lived as I had been unable to get through to her by telephone. When we reached the door of her flat, which opened onto one of the galleries surrounding the building’s courtyard, I looked at the name on the doorbell.

It was no longer Dora’s.