Smells like "Indian fiction"

The latest issue of The Economist has a generous review of a new book set in Mumbai: The Space Between Us by Thrity Umrigar.

I have not read the book, but I have read the review which describes it as "a powerful social commentary on the glorious and frustrating jigsaw puzzle that is India." Quite. I have no argument with that.

A paragraph in the review refers to descriptions of the city that include "the smell of frying bhelpuri." Now, I'm not clear whether this is Ms Umrigar's phrase or that of the anonymous reviewer.

Either way, as any Mumbaikar will vouch, bhelpuri is not fried and does not emanate any odour strong enough to be discernible against the myriad other scents of this odoriferous city. The ingredients of bhelpuri, notably the puri itself, may well be fried and may indeed be fried well. In fact, the puri is crisp and crackly and quite friable.

Bhelpuri, like vengeance, is best served cold. It is assembled with dexterity and panache and seasoned with chutneys and sauces of vigorous potency, some of which have been known to fry an unwary consumer's brain.

[Though it can be consumed all week, a popular bhelpuri day is Fryday. This is so that one can recover from its effects on one's belly over the weekend.]

Inaccuracies of this kind fryghten me.