Ma er Mocha'r Ghonto

Mocha r Ghonto | Banana Blossom Curry

Mocha, banana blossoms is a favorite vegetable in Bengal. The flowers of the Banana tree, Mocha, often served as Mochar Ghonto, Mocha r Paturi or Mochar Chop represent the very pinnacle of niramish Bengali ranna. The most complex part of this dish is not the cooking. It is prepping the blossoms and getting them ready that is a tedious process. Here I have created a video and shared a recipe of my Mother's Mocha r Ghonto, a dish that I dare to make only when she visits us

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It is almost half way through the first month of 2023 and already I have given up on all my resolutions. So that way I am on track:-p. 

My mother leaves for India by end of the month and I had plans to document and write some of her special recipes which I never cook if I am by myself. I thought it would be a nice mother-daughter project. Instead I spent all my after-work evenings, drinking tea and watching Didi No. 1, Dadagiri and Sa Re Ga Ma Pa with her. I will miss this a lot when she leaves -- a cup of piping hot tea ready every evening, muri chanachur and watching all the Bengali Game shows on TV together. 

I do honestly think, I will cherish this time I spent with her much more than cooking and video recording her recipes.

Of the few recipes that I did happen to note is MOCHA r Ghonto. Not Moka. but Mocha where ch sounds like chair.

Mocha, banana blossoms is a favorite vegetable in Bengal. In fact in Bengal, a banana plant is much revered. During DurgaPujo, she is the designated wife of Ganesha and lovingly addressed as "KolaBou" and after Pujo, the Banana leaf is used to wrap the Bengali's famous fish and make Ilish Paaturi 

The raw banana is another favorite in Bengali cuisine and kaachakolar kofta is high up in culinary ladders jostling with the likes of kosha mangsho. The tender core of the banana stems, the apparent trunk, is another nutritious vegetable favorite in Bengali cuisine. It is is called "Thor", not the Nordic God, but as impressive. The flowers of the Banana tree, Mocha, often served as Mochar Ghonto or Mochar Chop represent the very pinnacle of niramish Bengali ranna.

I have no patience to clean and chop Mocha when by myself so this is one thing we eat only when my Mother visits us. You see, chopping Mocha (banana blossom) in the seclusion of your own home, in isolation does not make sense. It needs a community to efficiently peel, remove stamen, and chop Mocha with efficiency and speed. 

My Mother says, these days in Kolkata, you get Mocha peeled and chopped at the local vegetable sellers which is very convenient as in the whole Mocha cooking process, the chopping is the most tedious part. So if you are in Kolkata life is definitely easy for you.

We got small sized Mocha at our Indian store this time, not very ideal but had no time to go and search in other stores. But try to get a good size Mocha. The best tasting Mocha dish is made from Garbo Mocha which is bigger and the inflorescence is plumper and meatier.

My favorite Mocha dish is Mocha r Ghonto where banana blossoms are cooked with little cubed potatoes, kala chana and grated coconut, Flavored with ghee and gorom moshla this dish has a unique fragrance and tastes delicious with rice.

Ilish Maacher Tauk -- heady memories

Ilish Tauk | Ilish Machher Tok/Ambol | Hilsa Fish Chutney

Chutney, Ambol and Tok are the three different varieties of sour dishes in Bengal, the difference being in the sourness and thickness of the gravy in the dish. While Chutneys are the sweetest with a thick, sticky base, the ambol and tauk/tok are more sour and have a thinner gravy. Of all this, the Tauk(or Tok) is supposed to be the most sour. Since fish is abundant in Bengal, fish often features in a Tok or Ambol. Usually it's the tiny Mourala  which goes in a Tok or the fish head and tail of Hilsa (Ilish Macher Tok).  This tangy stew kinda dish is had as a last course, mixed with rice and supposed to have cooling effects in the hot summer.

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Update: This post was originally done in2012. I am updating with new photos and more precise recipe in 2021.

Amidst the umpteen other things that my Dida(maternal grandmother) cooked, there was an Ilish Macchher Tauk. Heads of ambrosial Ilish suspended in a thick, brown, sweet and syrupy liquid that was sweetened with jaggery and soured by ripe tamarind. To call it a "Hilsa Head Chutney" would be plain blasphemy.

It was a backstage kinda dish. I mean while the choicest pieces of Ilish were fried and served as is in a bhaja, the beautiful steak pieces steamed as a bhapa in clinging mustard sauce with fluffed white rice, the fish roe were fried and served with the tel and fresh green chili, the head and the tail led a sad life in waiting.

"Too many bones. Can't eat it", said the young girls in the family with a toss of freshly washed step-cut hair.

"Not enough meat in these pieces", said the grown up men who thought it beneath themselves to be served a lyaja -- a fish tail.

"Rohu heads are better. This has a strong smell", said the younger men, their faces till gentle, their opinion yet not chauvinistic.

And so the matha and the lyaja -- the fish head and the fish tail -- waited in my Dida's kitchen till she was done with the bhaja, the jhaal, the jhol. By then the sun was high up, the crows sitting on the Neem tree outside the kitchen were tired of all the cawing, the neighborhood cat had a princely meal of Ilish fish scales and was patiently waiting by the kaltala for the remains from the men's lunch plates who could never chew on the fish bones. The kaajer mashi--the house help-- Minoti'r Ma was hovering around the back door waiting to see which piece she would be taking home.

Ilish Mach er Tok/Ambol

It was then that my Dida opened up a green lidded plastic jar where lay a block of tamarind, brown, ripe and sticky wrapped in a piece of Bartaman.
The matha and the lyaja heaved relief. They loved the tauk. They loved being in that tangy, sweet liquid where they were the stars of the dish.

Minoti'r Ma stopped fretting and came to sit by the stove. I kept telling Ma that I would have lunch later with Dida and the older women. Dida put the kadahi back on the unoon and poured some more Mustard Oil in it. Minoti'r Ma rubbed the tamarind in a bowl full of water to take out the seeds and make the "kaath". The water slowly turned a deep burnt sienna and the kadhai hissed with scarlet red chili and mustard seeds. The matha and lyaja nudged each other and smiled. Their moment had come. As they bubbled in the tamarind gravy of the tauk sweetened by jaggery I waited patiently for the last course of my meal. The Ilish maacher Matha'r tauk.

My Mother made this tauk way back in March when she was visiting. I merely hovered around in anticipation. She and I are the only ones in the family who will eat this dish nowadays. So I wait for her--to visit us---and amidst many other things to cook me a Ilish Maacher tauk.

Sharmila'r Chhana'r Jilipi -- the North American way

Chhanar Jilipi

Chanar Jilipi | Chhanar Jilipi | Paneer Jalebi

Chhanar Jilipi (or Paneer Jalebi) is a typical Bengali sweet made with fresh Chana (Cottage Cheese), Khoya (Milk Solids) and Maida, deep fried in oil and then soaked in sugar syrup. No wonder it tastes delicious. It is very similar in taste to two similar Bengali sweets called Ledikeni and Pantua which have similar ingredients and taste but differ largely in shape. The Bengali Chanar Jilipi is unique because of its Jalebi or pretzel kinda shape.In my non-traditional recipe for Chanar Jilipi, I have used a shortcut with  Ricotta and Bisquick , and that suits me perfectly. These are so, so good that just writing about them makes my mouth water.

Jump To Recipe

Some days I think that the Nobel Committee should introduce a new category in their awards.

The Food Nobel.

I bet, it would be won almost every year by one or the other Bengali in North America. Don't get riled up because I said North America. The Bengalis in India have so much readily available that the common man doesn't need to innovate, they can simply go to the store or make a trip to the home of ma/masi/pishi/jethi.

Truth be told, the amount of research and innovation that goes into recreating a much loved childhood favorite, a traditional Bengali recipe, a forgotten food that lingers in nostalgia; with local ingredients and limited resources, by the Bengali community living away from Bengal, parallels no other.

After discovery of fire and wheel, I have never seen the saying "necessity is the mother of invention" so directly applied anywhere else.

You want to eat mocha'r ghonto and there is no grocery store selling Banana Blossoms ? Raid the asian stores and get soy bean sprouts to make a faux Mochar Ghonto
You want the Rui diye Doi Maach that your Mom made but can't find Rui? Get salmon and make the most of it.
You want to make Enchor er Kofta but have no time or expertise to deal with a actual raw Jackfruit ? Get a can and make this shortcut but delicious Enchor Koftas instead.

This Chhanar Jilipi is one more of those brilliant innovations and this time shared by my friend Sharmila. They are delicious and perfect and if she didn't let me onto her secret, I would have thought she was Balaram Mullick or Bhimnag's granddaughter carrying forward their secret recipes. She has many such expert patents in her repertoire and if you are particularly nice, I can cajole her to share some more!

It was very, very generous of her to share her innovation (which deserves a Nobel) and satisfy our sweet cravings for a favorite childhood mishti. This Chhanar Jilipi is so good that I have made them about 4 times now and the last time I made them, my friends went into a nostalgic trip remembering their Mother's jilipi or favorite sweet shop's creation.

Chhanar Jilipi (or Paneer Jalebi) is a typical Bengali sweet which holds its place is a few ranks above the Ledikeni, which in turn is again a rank above Pantua. All of them are kind of similar except for the shape.
Ledikeni or Lady Kenny, named after Lady Canning, is a light fried reddish-brown sweet, cylindrical in shape and made of Chhena and flour and soaked in sugar syrup. The Chhanar Jilipi has the same ingredients but has Jalebi cum pretzel kinda shape. It is the shape which makes them unique.

*Traditionally Chhanar Jilipi in India is with Chhana and Maida. However Sharmila decided to go the Ricotta + Bisquick way, and that suits me perfectly. These are so, so good that just writing about them makes my mouth water.

The Great Bengali Pata Bata or veggie Pâté -- leafy greens pâté

Mulo Shaak Bata | Phulkopi Pata Bata| Bengali Pata Bata

Radish greens, Cauliflower leaves, Lau Pata, and other such fresh green peels or leaves which we usually discard, are made into a beautiful dish in Bengal called "pata bata" which is a seasoned and spiced paste of these leaves and stalks. A close cousin of  Pate in French or a Pesto in Italian, this very Bengali rustic dish with generous doses of Mustard oil is a culinary delight.

Many, many years ago, it was a cold winter day just like today, when I was visiting my in-laws in India. Well not exactly cold like today as it was in India but it gets pretty cold where they live. Though I must say with the  sun on the terrace winter in their town is far better than here. On that winter afternoon there were several small bowls on the dining table at lunch. So yes, lunch is what I concentrate on when I visit anyone, in-laws or out-laws.

Well there were always several small bowls on the dining table but this time each of them contained a paste or mash like something in earthy colors of brown, deep green or deeper green. I had never seen the likes of them and was actually a bit suspicious with their color and portions. The husband-man however went ecstatic and shouted in glee "Baata korecho?" I was still clueless. The guy loved weird things like bittergourd and bitter neem leaves fry and so his happiness did not aid my confidence.

Nimbly I took a little of one of those baatas and mixed it with white rice and took a morsel. Flavors of mustard oil, green chili, kalonji burst in my mouth. This was good. So so good. Unlike neem paata which I detested. Surprised with the fullness of flavors and smoothness of the texture, I asked my Ma-in-law what it was ?

"Mulo Shaak Baata", she said. And then she pointed to the others and said "Kochu baata" and "Kopi paata baata"! I was bowled by all these baatas or pates or pastes. They were really heavenly. That something so simple like "Leafy greens of radish" or the "green leaves of cauliflower" could morph into something so delicious was beyond my imagination.

She explained how the greens are ground into a paste on the sheel-nora, the same pocmarked slab of stone used in all Indian homes used to wet-grind spices. After that the paste is sauteed in Mustard oil with spices like kalo jeera(kalonji), green chilies and garlic, until the water is dried out and the paste is cooked.

Sheel Nora -- though here it is being used for making posto

Back home, I asked my Mother, "How come you never made paata baata?"

She looked quizzically at me and didn't appear too happy about my allegiance towards this strange dish called "paata bata"

And when I explained what it was she dismissed it as something that Bangals make, "Bangal ra oi shob banay".

Well might be true. The Bangals, or the Bengalis who immigrated from Bangladesh during or just before partition, are known for their distinctive cooking strategies. They are also known for their enterprising habit of using every bit of vegetables and fish in a dish and not wasting even the peels. I am not sure why people from this region of Bengal are more prone to making baatas etc while the folks from West Bengal are not.

It could be that the immigrant Bengalis, living a rough life, uprooted from their home and earnings, were more careful about not wasting food and making the most of what they had. It could also be because Bangladesh was a river state with frequent flooding, so people tried to make most of the vegetables they grew during those periods of rain and flood. In both situations, the idea was to stretch to the limits of what little you had.

So whatever the reason of their origin, the pate' like dishes made from vegetable peels or leafy greens or even whole vegetables are delicious. Later my mom-in-law also made a Kaanchakolar khosa baata made with the skin of green plantains which I have shared on the blog earlier.  Last month when we were visiting my friends from Thanksgiving, my friend Deepshikha made a "Dhonepaata Bata", a similar paste like my Ma-in-law makes but with coriander leaves. It was not the "dhonepata chutney" that we make every winter. This was a cooked dish.

So once I was back in my kitchen I was itching to make a paata bata. But instead of using only Coriander leaves, I wanted to use radish greens and cabbage. And then I didn't find any radish greens at the market so I got some watercress, which we are very fond of. The paste was now made of watercress, cabbage and coriander leaves.  More of coriander and watercress and less of cabbage. I wasn't sure how the  cabbage would  turn out so I sauteed them first and then made the paste. But honestly  the transformation of these greens into this Bengali style pâté was spectacular.

How to Make Luchi 101

Inspired by Sawan Dutta's Maachher Jhol videos, the girls were inspired to sing a Luchi song. They also roped in Didun(my Ma) and interviewed her on the luchi making process. It was a fun morning, very amateur, but fun. Years later when they look back on this, they will either cherish it or die of embarrassment. Already they have warned me , not to divulge, who in the family sang the song as it could jeopardize their future singing career !!!

Please do listen and hope it will inspire you to roll and fry more luchis. The recipe is added at the end of the video. For more details on what exactly is luchi and the recipe in details please follow this recipe "Phulko Luchi and Aloor Dom"

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Bati Charchari with Love

I made a different kind of bati charchari yesterday, one very different from what my mother makes. She makes it mostly with potatoes chopped in long, slender, finger like slices but mine was more like this. I had green beans, cauliflower, pumpkin, potato, potato peels(aloo'r khosha), and even peels from the pumpkin.Though traditionally a bati charchari would be made in a steel container with a lid (a bati),  which was then be put in  a pot of boiling rice, I make it in a kadhai and it tastes just as good.
With some tauk er dal with green mangoes, it was perfect for a day which showed promises of getting warmer.

Revisiting a recipe from the past

My grandparents lived in an old rambling house in a nondescript para(community or development) in North Calcutta (now Kolkata). The house was old, it's days of glory being long over.As appendages were added on to it and banyan trees took roots in its crevices, the house tried desperately to hold on to its rich past.

In this house my maternal grandparents came to live after retirement as a part of a large "joint family", a term as rare these days as those old houses in North Calcutta. My Ma's three uncles and an aunt along with their offspring, some married some not lived under one roof, their kitchens separated but their roof united. There were some undercurrents among its residents for sure but on our annual visits every winter the whole house and the family came together and welcomed us as one.

So while we watched Chitrahar and snacked on alur chop ar muri lazing around at Baro Dida's (Eldest Grandma) ornate teak bed, we ate egg roll at Ful Dida's (Flower Grandma) fancy dining table. The main meals were always at my own Dida's(my maternal grandma) kitchen though and we wouldn't give those up for anything.

My Ma's aunt or pishi, C Dida, had lost her husband at an young age and lived in this house along with her four daughters. She was a proud soul and instead of being dependent on her brothers financially she worked as teacher at a nursery school and lived within her meager means to bring up her four daughters impeccably. One of her daughters pampered me a lot and so I would spend a considerable portion of my time at their room or tag along with her wherever she went.

Many mornings during those vacations, I would go and sit in their small kitchen while C Dida made breakfast. Their small but squeaky clean kitchen with a shiny pump stove and minimal utensils exuded a charm that no gourmet kitchen ever has. Their breakfast too was extremely simple, left over ruti(chapati/roti) lighty fried with little oil to a wafer like crispiness was served with bati charchari. I loved that simple breakfast so much that most days I would have that sitting on their red-oxide kitchen floor, still damp & cold with early morning moisture.

I don't know what makes an indelible impression in a child's heart, the stinging coldness on one's bottom, the hot off the tawa ruti mingled with the sharpness of mustard oil in a bati charchari or the love of near ones but those mornings of two and half decades back are etched in my childhood memory and bati charchari and basi ruti bhaja( fried leftover chapati/roti) is still a favorite on my food list.

My Ma too would make a Bati Charchari often and the only time I would have ruti for breakfast at home was when it was accompanied by a large serving of bati charchari.

On this post the other day, a reader Boishakhi, reminded me of the delicious yet simple Bati Charchari. She also mentioned how she adds other vegetables to this dish. That is what I have today. And so while my Ma's and C Dida's bati charchari had only potatoes, this has carrots and sugar snap peas in it. A sprinkle of glittering red middle eastern sumac makes the dish more international than you can imagine.

I am sending this off to WHB #190 hosted by Laurie from Mediterranean Cooking in Alaska. This event was started by Kalyn of Kalyn's Kitchen and now has a new home at Cook Almost Anything at Least Once


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Bati Charchari

Prepping the veggies: Peel and chop two medium sized potatoes in 1" long pieces. Peel and chop carrots similarly. I had about 1 and 1/2 cup of chopped carrots. Wash and keep whole 10-15 sugar snap peas. The snap peas are optional and you can use any other vegetable. I have also made this dish with a mix of green beans, cauliflower, pumpkin, potato, potato peels(aloo'r khosha), and even peels from the pumpkin Note: Ideally the vegetables for this dish should be cut thin and small, so that they all cook at the same rate.

Start Cooking:

In a heavy-bottomed deep pan heat 2 tsp of Mustard Oil

Add 4 hot Indian green chili, slit halfway

Add all the veggies

Add salt to taste + 1/4 tsp of turmeric powder and mix well

Add 1&1/2 to 2 cups of water and mix well.

Cover and cook without any stirring till veggies are cooked and water dries up. If needed add more water for cooking

Once done, add 1-2 tsp of Mustard oil on top before serving

I sprinkled some sumac for its gorgeous color but this is totally optional as it is not a native ingredient for this dish.

Note: I have not used Red Chili powder, tomatoes or coriander since my Ma wouldn't. I also went a little low on the oil. You can adjust these according to taste.

Tyangra Maach er Jhaal Charchari

Tyangra Maach or Tangra Maachh is a small fresh water fish of the cat-fish family. I have no idea about its english or scientific nomenclature
To say that I like Tyangra Maach is an understatement. It is a fish which stirs waves in my heart. Troughs and crests of love, passion, hope and some times disappointment. There was a time when its taut silvery body gleaming like a shiny rupee coin in the morning sun would send delicious shivers through my spine. Given a choice between taut, sinuous Farhan Akhtar and "Tyangra", I would have picked Tyangra even as a teenager on hormones.

And that is saying a lot since that guy is one of my favorite Bollywood actors.

But frozen tangra in the US has mostly been disappointments, more so if the taste of the fresh fish is deeply ingrained in your brain. So we rarely buy the frozen Tyangra these days. In fact we rarely buy fish from the Bangladeshi store as the girls love salmon, the husband-man is not particularly interested and I am all for ease and comfort of baked salmon, tilapia and bassa. If the universe does not want me to remove scales -->fry fish-->then make a jhol, am I an idiot to to take that chore upon myself ?

However things are different when family from India visits. Then we want the fish from the Bangladeshi store, cut in "bengali cut". For a few days we revel in the pleasure of rui, pabda, ilish and tyangra. We promise ourselves that at least twice a month we will get our Bengali fish haul from the Bangladeshi store. We nod our heads in agreement that the Tyangra is pretty good even if a tad small and the Rui is actually better than what we have had in India. We renew our piscean vows in earnest. After all we are the "Fishy Bongs".

On those days, the kitchen fan is always set at high as we fry fish in Mustard Oil to be later put in different curries and the Jasmine scented Yankee candle works overtime to dispel the scent. Big Sis, moves around the house, her fingers pinched around her nose, careful that not a single note of fish scent should enter her system. Little Sis is excited about fish that has bones and eats rui and tyangra with much relish. She watches in amazement as I crunch down the fish head and lick with pleasure at the bones.

"Would you even eat us Mommy when we were small?" she asks in trepidation and breaths relief that she is indeed too big for me to chew on her bones.

But before that pleasurable chewing, me and the husband-man stare at the slowly defrosting fish in the sink and ask grave questions

"Shorshe Jhaal or Charchari?".

"Dim(fish roe) ache or not?"

And then, "Eki, maachh ta porishkar kora nei?" (Whaaat, has the fish not been gutted and cleaned?) followed with loud wails and hair tearing.

Then we start imposing heavyweight blame on each other.

"Didn't you even ask at the store if the fish was cleaned? Incorrigible"

"I didn't even want to buy Tangra. It was you who insisted. Always making wrong decisions"

As is clear, I was in total shock when after defrosting I realized that the Tyangra was neither gutted nor cleaned of its innards. I wanted to bawl my heart out, leave the fish right there in the sink and go read my Lila Majumdar. I needed serious consoling. However, as you might know(or not), I am a middle aged woman and though 21st century women's right dictates that middle aged women are not supposed to know home cooking, forget cleaning Tyangra, I felt a tad ashamed of my lack of fish cleaning abilities.

The husband-man offered to clean the fish but again women's rights popped up in my head and I said "what a man can do a wo-man can do better". Honestly, any being, a smidgen more intelligent than me would have known that anything is better than cleaning that fish. Anyway words are like arrows, once you let them go, it is hard to retrieve or some such thing as Krishna had told Arjun.

So acting all cool and confident, I checked around google a bit and asked Ushnishda (who should actually upload a video of the said fish cleaning some day). I also tried hard to recall what my Mother did when faced with fish like this. With all that knowledge I realized cleaning a fish like Tyangra is actually pre-t-t-y easy. Since this fish has no scales, you don't need to remove scales. But you need to gut the fish. Yeah, you heard me right and here is how you do it for small fish like Tyangra.

1. You take a kitchen scissor or a sharp knife and snip the fish around it is neck, at the base of the gills, making a narrow slit. ***Not as gory as it sounds***.

2.Then you prod the innards with your finger, spreading the cavity in the process and pull out the gills from the head region. You also pull out the entrails, a blackish looking string kind of thing from the stomach region.

3. Now rinse the fish inside out with water.

It was okay and not difficult to do but given a choice I would rather get the fish cleaned than doing it again.

With all that Tyangra, I made a spicy dish with potatoes and eggplants. I am not sure if you call it a Jhaal or a Charchari so I am calling it Tyangra Maachher Jhaal Chorchori. I did not add any mustard paste thought it is a jhaal but you can add a tsp of Kashundi along with the other spices. If the fish is very fresh, you should fry it only very lightly to make this dish.

The recipe reads long only because I have broken up the recipe in parts. It is indeed a simple and quick everyday kind of dish. Well, my Mother's every day kind of dish. Once you get past the fish frying part, it is done fast and tastes great with rice.

Tyangra Maachher Jhaal Charchari -- Fish with potatoes and eggplant

Prep

Wash and clean the fish. Tyangra does not have scale and so that is a good part. If your fishmonger has cleaned and gutted the fish for you, you are one lucky person. Pat the fish dry and toss the fish with salt, turmeric powder, little red chilli powder and keep aside
I used about 10 Tyangra fish for this particular dish

Chop 1 medium potato in half moon pieces.

Chop half of a medium onion in fine half moon slices

Chop 1 slender japanese eggplant in 2" lengths

Mince 2 cloves of garlic

Slit 5-6 green chilies along the center

Frying the Fish

Heat enough oil for frying the fish. Mustard Oil is the best bet. I used a frying pan with a bigger surface area as I was going to fry several batches of fish.

The oil should be smoking hot but not burning. Check by tossing a small piece of onion in the oil. It should rise up to the surface and sizzle.

Sprinkle some turmeric powder on surface of the oil. I have a theory that this reduces the risk of oil splattering a bit. And I also have a splatter screen handy to save me from any hot oil playing truant. Ta-Da!

Slide the fish gently into the hot oil. Do not drop them in like pakori batter. The fish should lie side by side on the pan and not heaped one over the other.

Now keep the gas temperature at medium-high. Let the fish cook on one surface. Trying to flip it before it is cooked will cause it to break. After about 3-4 minutes, give a gentle nudge to see if it is cooked on the underside. Once the fish is easily flippable, flip and let the other side cook. Please note that Tyangra should not be fried crispy so do not fry too much.

Take the fish out with a slotted spoon, shaking off any excess oil. Repeat process for all fish

Once all the fish has been fried we will make the charchari

Now all that oil for frying will not be needed in the dish. So save that oil for future use or get rid of it save the amount needed for the charchari.

In the same frying pan, heat 2-3 tbsp Mustard oil(fresh or the fishy one).

Next add the eggplant slices. Sprinkle some turmeric powder, little salt and saute the eggplants until their skin chars a little and the eggplant becomes a tad softer. They need not be fully cooked at this point. Remove the eggplant and keep aside.

Temper the oil in the frying pan with
1 tsp of Kalonji
5 slit green chillies

When the spices pop add the minced garlic. After a quick saute add the onion

Saute the onion for 3-4 minutes until it softens. Onion will soften but not get crispy.

Next add the potato slices, sprinkle some more turmeric powder and saute for 3-4 minutes. Cover the frying pan and let the potatoes cook. Intermittently remove cover and stir around the vegetables and sprinkle water if they tend to stick to the frying pan.

When potato is almost done, take a small bowl and to it add
1/4 tsp Turmeric powder
1/2 tsp Kashmiri mirch(more red chilli powder if you like it hotter)
1/2 tsp of Cumin powder
and little water to make a watery paste

Add this masala paste to the frying pan. Add the fried eggplant and toss the potatoes and eggplants around for a couple of minutes. Next add about 1/2 Cup of water at room temperature and salt to taste. Add more water if you think so. Let the gravy simmer and come to a boil. Make sure that the potatoes and eggplants are all cooked

Now add the fried fish and cook for a few more minutes until most of the water has evaporated. The dish will have little gravy.

Add some chopped fresh coriander leaves and finish with few drops of mustard oil. Serve with rice.

Lobongo Lotika -- a Bengali sweet or your neighbor

Tell me, when you hear the word or words "Lobongo Lotika", what is the picture that comes to your mind ?

At the risk of stereotyping, I think of a slender girl standing at the bus stop, maybe Manicktala, looking out into the horizon for Bus # 34B, her rippling hair in a long braid snaking down her back, her hands clutching a book and on that book her name scribbled in deep blue ink -- "Lobongo Lotika Bhattacharya"!

Or "Lobongo Lotika Mukherjee".

Or even "Lobongo Lotika Talapatra".

But never ever a "Lobongo Lotika Pandey" or "Lobongo Lotika Patel". Nope they won't do.

And that is the only reason that I could not name my daughters "Lobongo Lotika". It doesn't ring well with their last name. That and because no one else agreed to my naming suggestion.

Nomenclature aside, it is a traditional and famous Bengali sweet. Bong sweet is not all about curdling milk and making chhana, you know. And for the likes of me, a Lobongo Lotika is way way more delicious than a Sondesh.

Ahh, that grainy sweet kheer wrapped in a flaky parcel of dough and hugged by a sugar syrup. Just the thought of it makes me cave in. A similar sweet that would clog my heart with happiness was "Kheer er Shingara". I have had it only at a very few places, one of the very best being a small store called "Buri'r Dokaan" near my Dida's home. It looks exactly like a regular shingara or samosa, a tad smaller, but it has a sweet filling of kheer/khoya and is then dunked in sugar syrup. Bliss is this. But sadly that store is no longer there. Neither is my Dida.

The Lobongo Lotika is built on the same framework, except that it is a delicate square shaped parcel of flour, stuffed with kheer, the flaps of which are secured with a lobongo or clove. At the end of the sweet sensation, biting into that clove brings about a fresh, pungent and spicy burst of flavor. A very different and refreshing note to end the sweet journey. I used to be a bit weary of the lobongo as a child and wished mine didn't have any. I would always eat around it. But as I grow older, I have come to appreciate the innovative mind of the sweet maker who first came up with this sweet and used a clove to tie up the loose ends. What brilliance!

Now, Labongo Lotika, though very good to eat, is slowly losing its place in the world market. Bengali Roshogolla is what the world swears by. So, nary a Lobongo Lotika can be found outside of specific dessert stores or mishtir dokan in India. To appease to my cravings, I decided to take matters in my own hand. And then I called up my Mother.

"Ma, how do I make Labongo Lotika"

"Do you have fever? Are you okay? Did you take antibiotics? Or is it indigestion? Take 4 globules of Carbo Veg."

"Ma, I am perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"

"Then maybe mental anxiety? Alzheimer? I will send Brahmi Amla hair oil with someone next time"

"Okay, I don't know why you are saying all this?"

"Well, who in their right mind would want to make Lobongo Lotika? And off all people, you"

"Just tell me how to"

"It is not so simple and I don't remember exactly. But it is just like the pyaraki I made on Wednesday."

With that she gave me a rough recipe as to how to make the sweet. Since making khoya kheer at home is not my forte, I decided to settle for a coconut khoya filling. I also checked Deepa's blog Hamaree rasoi for the exact measures to make the dough.

I made a batch of about 20 labongo lotikas and they were truly delicious. The ones hot off the syrup were best. The ones stored for later were also good but they were a little dry with the sugar crystallizing on their outer surface. Both ways, my cravings were fulfilled.

And really, it is not that difficult. I did it on a working week day evening.I simplified by not making the kheer which my Mother thinks should be the key ingredient. Tch, tch.Instead I made a coconut-khoya stuffing. Compromise. Compromise.

AlsoI divided the sweet making over two weekday evenings. So, on the first evening, I made the stuffing. It took me 40-45 minutes in all. The next evening, the work was  little more and took a little more time. But I rolled out the dough and shaped the sweet while watching "Big Bang...", so it did not seem like a chore. Rolling the dough that is. Next step was frying and soaking in syrup. I had a small kadhai so had to do in small batches. If you have a bigger one, you can fry a larger batch and then your frying time is cut in half. Next dunk in syrup.When all is done, ask the spouse or any other adult or even the kids in the house to clean up. Done

Now you take rest. And eat two of those Lobongo Lotikas. And check "Making traditional Bengali sweet lobongo Lotika" off your "List of things to do before I am 120".

Lobongo Lotika -- a traditional Bengali sweet

Make the Stuffing

This stuffing measure is good for about 30 sweets. I make in a large quantity and freeze the rest. This same stuffing can be used for patrishapta too.

Grated Coconut(I used frozen pack) ~ 3 cups
Khoya ~ 12oz almost 2 cups. Note: Ideally home made khoya/kheer is best but store bought khoya works fine.
Sugar ~ 1 cup
Condensed Milk ~ 2tbsp

Heat a Kadhai.

Add coconut and sugar and lower the heat.

Mix the grated coconut with the sugar slightly pressing with your fingers till sugar melts and mixes with the coconut. Add some cardamom powder.

Now crumble and add the Khoya and 2 tbsp of Condensed Milk. Keep stirring till mixture becomes light brown and sticky. It should easily come off from the sides by now. This will take about 30-35 mins. At this point take a little of the mix and see if you can fashion a flat disc out of it. If it is too sticky you may have to cook a bit more, else you are good.

There is another more traditional stuffing made with only Khoya

Khoya -- 1 block of 12oz/350gm Nanak Khoya
Sugar ~ 1/4 cup
Condensed Milk ~ 2-3 tbsp
Saffron ~ a pinch

Soften the khoya in the microwave.

Then put a pan on the gas and add the khoya to it,crumbling up with your fingers.

Add the sugar and the condensed milk and mix it at low heat

Add saffron to 2 tbsp of warm milk and let it soak for 5 mins. Add this to the khoya.

Once the khoya and sugar is well mixed, take it off heat. Let it cool and then use for your stuffing.

Make the Dough

This measure makes about 12-14 Lobongo Lotikas

In a wide mouthed bowl take
1 Cup of AP Flour/Maida
pinch of salt
pinch of baking powder
2 tbsp of Vegetable Oil/Ghee

With your thumb and forefinger, rub the oil into the flour mixture so that the flour looks all crumbled.

Then gradually add water and knead the flour into a dough. Water needed will be between 1/4th Cup to 3/4th Cup. Start with less water and gradually add more as needed.

The dough will be a little stiff unlike the dough for luchi or poori. Make a smooth ball of dough. Cover with a damp cloth and let it rest for 30 minutes or so.

From this ball of dough make about 12-14 small gooseberry sized balls.

Shape the sweets

Dip each ball in little oil and then roll it out in shape of a thin disc about 3.5" in diameter. This will look like a small luchi or poori.

Put the coconut-khoya stuffing in the center of the disc.

Wrap the disc around the stuffing to make a neat parcel as shown in the pic. Secure the last flap with one or two cloves.

Make this parcel like thing with the rest of the balls.

Make the Syrup

To make sugar syrup boil
1.5 Cups of Sugar
1 Cup water
2 green cardamom
couple of saffron strands

You need the syrup to be thicker than a gulab jamun syrup. Once the syrup starts boiling at the surface and looks sticky, do this test. Take a shallow bowl of water. With a spoon take a drop of the syrup and drop it in the water. If the syrup dissolves, it is too thin for this sweet. If you see the syrup forming a thread like structure on the water surface, you know syrup is ready.

Now baby, it is time to deep fry

Heat enough oil for deep frying in a Kadhai.

To test if the oil is hot enough, chuck in a small piece of dough in the oil. If it rises up with bubbles, oil is ready. If it sinks, nada. If it burns, switch off the heat.

With the heat at medium-high gingerly lower the parcels in the hot oil. They should not jostle for space, so add only as many as will fit comfortably. Now lower heat to a comfortable medium and fry until both sides of those dough packets are golden brown.Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towel.

Dunk the fried parcels in sugar syrup, where they will soak for about 5-7 minutes. Then take them out and cool on a plate lined with parchment paper

They taste best when hot off the syrup. But you can also cool and store in an air-tight container for 3-4 days. The sweet will not be as moist but still taste pretty good when had later.

Also check out this sweet at Hamaree Rasoi. My pictures taken at night don't do full justice to the sweet. Deepasri's pictures will give you a much better idea

Maachher Paturi -- the new woman's twist

Macher Paturi

The word "paaturi" comes from the Bangla word "paata" or leaf . That said, it becomes crystal clear that "Maacher Paturi" or Fish Paturi is a preparation where the fish is cooked in some sort of a leaf.

It being a Bengali recipe. it also becomes more than crystal clear that the said fish has been marinated in a sharp, pungent mustard-y paste of shorshe bata and drizzled with mustard oil. Okay, apparently there is a non-Ghoti version where the fish is wrapped in other spice pastes, not necessarily mustard but I have not tried that.

Once these two bases have been covered you are free to "go as you like" on Maachher paturi.

More than 20-25 years ago,

1. The maacher paturi that I would eat would always be prepared by my Dida.
2. The fish would always be Ilish.
3. The leaf would always be Banana. Some homes do their paturi in gourd leaves like Lau Pata and they taste very good too.

Kolapata was easily available, an arm's length away, growing in perfect neglect amongst the jackfruit and pampered mangoes, making it the leaf of choice. Dida would dab the fresh Ilish pieces with shorshe bata and kaancha shorsher tel, throw in a few green chillies and wrap them up in cut rectangular pieces of the Banana leaf. With an expert hand she then neatly tied the fish parcels with twine, an act which I looked at with much wonder. Not being a very dexterous kind myself, I found the whole "tying with twine" part a very complex act and based on that memory of neat parcels alone, I labeled paturi as a dish difficult to concoct.

Once the parcels were ready, Dida would tuck them into the steaming rice, that was cooking in a large pot on the coal stove. This tucking would happen towards the very end of the rice cooking and the latent heat from the hot rice would steam the fish in their banana leaf parcels. When those leafy envelopes were opened to reveal the mustardy fish, the fragrance was ethereal. Have you ever taken a strong whiff of banana leaf that has been warmed with steaming rice and then spiked with aroma of shorsher tel and Ilish ? It is hard to describe. Just like it is hard to explain the fragrance of tea in earthen kulhars or the perfume of yellow stalked sheuli that has touched the wet earth on autumn mornings.

Some days Dida would also tuck those leafy fish parcels in the dying embers of the unoon or coal stove. The fish cooked slowly, soaking up the flickering heat and smoke, while Dida cleaned up the kitchen, took a shower and offered white balls of nokuldana to her Gopal. That Paaturi tasted a little different from the one cooked in steaming rice. Here the kolapata was lightly charred and had a smoky fragrance where in the other the flavor was more clean and dominated with the fragrance of rice.

20 plus years later, the paturi that I make has the new woman's twist on it. The fragrance is not exactly as it would be in Dida's kitchen.

1. The Banana leaf is bought frozen, in exchange of several dollars from an Asian Store.
2. The fish is not always Ilish and fillet of fish like Swai, Salmon and Tilapia are abundantly used. 
3. Instead of tucking the fish parcels in a pot of steaming rice or in dying embers, I just put them in the oven.
4. And oh, I never use twine to tie them up. I use toothpicks to secure the packets and heave a sigh of relief.

But the taste is pretty close. The fish cooked in the banana leaf, is delicate and flavorful, the mustard paste is just as sharp and pungent, the fragrance of the banana leaf as ethereal.

Some things never change.

You can also steam them in a steamer like this or do them over a covered griddle on the stove. But I almost always do it in the oven, because that way I can forget about them while they cook on timer and go about my life of getting homework done, folding the laundry and prepping for next day's lunch.

When it is dinner time, "ting-ting" there is delicious paturi to be had. Amazingly I had blogged about a Thai Fish wrapped in Banana leaves a couple of months ago and given a choice between the Bengali fish paturi and Thai fish in banana leaf, it is hard for us to choose. We love both equally.

Maachher Paturi -- Fish in mustard paste cooked in banana leaf

Prep

Clean the fish and get it ready. If you are using fish fillet cut each fillet in about 3"x 3" pieceI started with 2 fillet of swai, each cut in 3.

Make homemade Kashundi. The best option and that Kashundi will serve many purpose.

If you are reluctant to do so make Mustard Paste as follows:
Soak 3 tbsp of Mustard seeds + 1 tsp Poppy seeds in water for 20 minutes
Drain and put in a blender jar along with 4-5 hot green chillies.
With a splash of water make a thick paste.

Now if I am using fish other than Ilish/Hilsa, I also add 2 cloves of garlic to the blender jar and make a garlicky-mustard paste

In a bowl, pour the
mustard paste
1 tbsp Mustard oil
salt to taste 
pinch of turmeric powder
Mix and make a smooth paste.

Variations: Sometimes with mild fish that does not have much flavor of its own like Swai etc., I add some more things to the mustard paste. Like I add couple of tablespoons of dhonepata chaatni(coriander chutney) to the mustard paste and then use it as the marinade. Try it. Mustard with fresh coriander adds a beautiful layer of flavor.

If you have bought frozen banana leaves, defrost them first by keeping them out at room temperature. Then cut them in rectangles of 6" x 6" or your preferred size. Wash each piece. Dry. Keep aside.

Now I buy frozen banana leaves which are already wilted and perfect for wrapping.But if you have fresh banana leaves, you need to prep them for wrapping. First cut off the central thick rib and trim the edges. Then cut them in preferred size. To make them flexible you need to wilt them. For that pop them in the oven at 200F for 5-8 minutes or warm them over very low flame of your stove/gas range. Be careful that you do not char or burn them in the process.

Start Cooking

To marinade the fish, you can either use your home-made Kashundi or Mustard paste.
Put the fish fillet on the banana leaf.
Rub with sprinkle of salt (mustard paste already has salt so very little on fish) and smear generously with the mustard paste.
Add few drops of mustard oil.
Garnish with a tbsp of grated coconut and slit and chopped green chilli. If using frozen grated coconut , defrost it before using.

Wrap the banana leaf to make a parcel as shown. Secure the loose ends with a toothpick.

Now usually I let these parcels rest for about 30 minutes before popping them in the oven. For a big party, I make the parcels a day ahead and refrigerate(NOT freezer). And then just an hour before the meal, I take them out and let them sit at the counter. I put them in the oven 25-30 minutes before the meal is to be served. That way you get fresh steaming paaturi with minimal effort on party day.

Put the packets on a oven proof tray.  Pre-heat oven to 350F. Bake these fish parcels for 20-25 minutes until you see the banana leaf charring slightly around the edges.

I serve the parcels individually along with steaming white rice.

Aam Kashundi -- the Bengali Mustard Sauce

Before I write even one more sentence, let me dispel any doubts about this being the traditional recipe for real Kashundi or Kasundi.

It is not.

I don't know how to make the traditional Kasundi. My mother never made it. I don't think my grandmothers did it either.

But my father's grandmother and grandaunt did. They were the designated Kashundi makers of the family. In the days when Kashundi was not bottled and sold, they were the ones who kept up a steady supply of that pungent, sharp Bengali mustard sauce in our home.

My father's grandmother "Baro Ma",  a highly esteemed foodie and a lady famous for her culinary skills, passed away when I was a mere year-old child.Sadly, I wasn't intelligent enough to absorb her kashundi making process in that early year of my life. My Ma as a relatively new mother at that time probably thought the task to be too daunting and never learned it either.

Mustard seeds, mango, garlic, green chilli

My father's grandaunt then continued the tradition in her own home, and other than receiving couple of bottles of that mustardy goodness every year and discussing how grandaunt with her frail health still kept up at her kashundi making, no one in my immediate family ventured in that direction. "Khub shokto", "Very Difficult" is all that I heard. "The kashundi can be made only on certain days with utmost cleanliness and respect. You can not talk or touch anybody while making it. A little carelessness, and all that hard work will have gone to waste as the kashundi will get spoilt".

By the time grandaunt stopped making Kashundi, small cottage industries and then brands like Radhuni etc. were selling bottled Kasundi like hot cake. We bought Kashundi from the stores and a need to make it at home never arrived.

Those days, in absence of food processors and spice blenders, the brown and yellow seeds of mustard were to be ground on the sheel, the pockmarked slab of stone which is a major landmark in a Bengali kitchen. That must have been the "hard work" part. Now, when I pause and look back, I understand the "cleanliness" part, it was the same thing with achhar(pickles) and bori. In absence of any preservatives or refrigeration, it was necessary to maintain these standards for the finished condiment to have a long shelf life.

Though my grandmother did not make Kashundi, she made bori in the dry sunny days of winter. It was an elaborate affair with the dal being soaked overnight and then ground next day in batches. Early next morning the bori making would ensue at the terrace where washed and starched spun cotton saris and dhotis would be stretched out, their corners secured by rectangular red bricks. My grandmother would take a quick bath, change her clothes and then arrive at the scene. Small dollops of the lentil pastes would be dropped on the those stretched cloth and left to dry in the winter sun.

Younger children or the house help would be assigned the job to keep away birds from those raw boris, waiting to bake in the sun. However we were not allowed to go near, touch or poke those small mounds of lentil pastes. Those mornings we were not allowed to run around on the terrace either. The whole affair was shrouded in an environment of sanctity and we looked at "bori making" with lot of respect.

Now here in the US, I get my yearly supply of Kasundi from India. This means I use it with much care, using it sparingly and trying to get most for the tablespoon of kasundi I use. I cannot be as generous with kasundi as I can be with soy sauce. The niggling doubt of what-if-my-stash-of-kasundi-does-not-last-until-Ma-visits consumes me on my worst days.

So a few years ago when my blogger friend Sharmila @ KichuKhon vouched for another blogger Delhibelle's Aam Kasundi, I thought what do I have to lose. It also helped (a lot) that her recipe was super simple and involved nothing of the word "shokto" aka difficult. It used raw mangoes with mustard seeds to produce the tangy spicy taste. Maybe it does not exactly taste like the real Kasundi but so what, it comes close, very very close and believe me it tastes awesome.

I have made this couple of times in the last year and recently made another batch. I refrigerate the bottles as I am not sure if they will stay good outside. Refrigerated they stay well for weeks. I mostly use it in dishes like shorshe salmon or bhapa ilish or in a shorshe murgi which I will share soon. It is also very good as a dip and with a bottle of it in your collection you will not miss the real Kasundi all that much.

Aam Kasundi

Delhibelle's Original Recipe

Here is how I made it

Soak in water
4 tbsp Mustard seeds ( a mix of brown and yellow gives the best color but I had only brown this time). Ideally soaking for 30mins to an hour is best as it softens the mustard seeds for grinding.

Grate a small mango to yield
3/4th-1 cup of grated raw Mango
(I put peeled and cubed raw mango in the mixie to get roughly grated mangoes.)

In a blender jar add
strained mustard seeds
grated mango
5 fat clove of garlic chopped
8-10 hot green chilli chopped

Add a splash of vinegar (approx. 2tbsp) and 1/3rd Cup of Mustard Oil to the blender jar. Make a smooth paste. Try to make the paste in one go instead of pulsing.

When the paste is almost done
drizzle 4 tbsp mustard oil (more is better but I went low)
a pinch of turmeric
salt to taste
sugar (about 1 tbsp but more depending on the tartness of the mango)
Give a final whizz and your Aam Kasundi is ready

Pour out in a glass jar with lid. Top off with Mustard oil and leave it on the window ledge for a couple of days.