Around the World in Eighty Days

Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls. The British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing.

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches; now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase this distance by more than a third.
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows: Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.

The passengers of the “Mongolia” went ashore at half-past four p.m.; at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.
Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay—its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers—he cared not a straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette.

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a certain giblet of “native rabbit,” on which he prided himself.

Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, “*Is this rabbit, sir?*”

“*Yes, my lord,*” the rogue boldly replied, “*rabbit from the jungles.*”

“*And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?*”

“*Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you—*”

“*Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.*”

“*For the cats, my lord?*”

“*Perhaps for the travellers as well!*”

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.

I apologize, but the specific details of the full menu were not provided in the original text. However, given the setting of a British-influenced restaurant in Bombay in 1872, we can imagine a menu that might include:

1. Anglo-Indian dishes like curry and rice
2. Traditional Indian fare such as dal and naan
3. British staples adapted to local ingredients
4. Various meat dishes, possibly including lamb or chicken
5. Vegetable side dishes using local produce
6. Tea, of course, given its popularity in both British and Indian cultures

Would you like Mr. Fogg to inquire about any particular type of dish?

Certainly. Mr. Fogg, intrigued by the local cuisine, decides to inquire about naan.

“Waiter,” Mr. Fogg calls, his voice calm and measured as always. “I'd like to know more about your naan bread.”

The waiter approaches, looking somewhat surprised at the specific inquiry from the reserved English gentleman.

“Certainly, sir. Naan is a traditional Indian flatbread, sir. It's made from wheat flour and baked in a tandoor - that's a clay oven. We serve it hot and slightly puffed. It's excellent for scooping up curries or enjoyed on its own with a bit of butter.”

Mr. Fogg nods, considering this information with his usual stoic demeanor. “I see. And do you have different varieties?”

“Indeed, sir. We offer plain naan, garlic naan, and even one stuffed with spiced potatoes called aloo naan. Which would you prefer, sir?”