Bunny chow, story in a pao

“Bunny chow is not just a snack, but a whole story in a pao,” says Gregory Naydoo a chartered accountant from South Africa's port city, Durban, as he goes about getting his daily fix of evening snack.

It's not only the spices, meat and bread, but also a lot of sociology, history and anthropology that comes wrapped in the mix of this popular street snack. "While in India the pao brought along by the white man has survived as vada-pao, pao-bhaji or kheema pao, here it has as bunny chow,” he adds.

Unlike Indian offerings where pao is served separately, in South Africa the bread becomes a receptacle for the piping hot curry (boneless chunks or minced pork, beef, chicken, mutton and even venison. Vegetarians can of course have curried beans/vegetables) served inside the scooped out bun, topped with diced onion, tomatoes and finely chopped chillies for that extra crunch and bite.  

But how was this popular treat born? Was it merely the fabled Indian ingeniousness or did history have a hand in it too? While there's no denying this dish was invented by Indian labourer immigrants, depending on who you speak to, it get a signature twist, just like the variants of the bunny chow now available on Durban's streets.

Before we get there, here's a quick recap. Durban is part of the KwaZulu-Natal province, a Zulu bastion. Though Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama arrived here in 1497 while finding a route to India, it wasn't until the British and the the Dutch arrived in the 1820s that bloody battles for suzerainty over the port city (and the region around) ensued between the Europeans and Zulus. The British who emerged victors, found the land and climate suitable for sugar plantation. Their only problem was finding labour since the hunter-gatherer Zulus – unsused to concepts of employment, money or land ownership – refused to work. 
 
Hence, the British brought thousands of indentured labourers from India. In fact, until few years ago Durban held the the record for “being the largest Indian city outside India.” And it is here that the story of the bunny chow begins, says Durban-based anthropologist Dr Ayanda Root. According to her, “The small eateries that sprang up to serve the Indian labourers didn't have enough plates to meet the surging demand, so the curry began to be poured into the hollowed bread.Making it easy to eat on the move or eat it later when the bread had absorbed all the curry. It wouldn't be so dry.”  
 
But this unique dish had still to acquire a name. That would happen in the 1940s at Kapitan's, a restaurant that stood at the corner of Durban's Victoria and Albert Street popular with Indians for its roti and beans. “Since apartheid laws forbade them from entering the establishment, takeaways in the hollowed breads became the way out. The joint was owned by one Bhanya (jury is still out on whether it was Baniya, actually), the takeaway snack was called Bhanya's Chow. Over the years this became bunny chow”.
 
While Kapitan's has become a tony hotel, bunny chow in its original fiery form can still be savoured at Durban at Govender's House of Curries as wells as Mrs Govenders that serves mutton, beef and chicken versions of the dish. Smaller carts that spring up all along the promenade also serve some mean, yet easy-on-the-pocket versions.
 
“What started with the exoticisation of a necessity snack, went on to become a favourite of the white man too and before long mildly spiced versions in fancy-shaped buns and longer loafs began taking their place in five- and seven-star versions,” sniggers Root, adding that “Today there is a bunny chow for every kind of taste and if there isn't, one can be assembled right in front of you to your liking.”

Looks like bunny chow too is going the different-strokes-for-different-folks way. What's there not to like?