Some people have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind my belly very studiously, and very carefully. For I look upon it, that he who doesn’t mind his belly will hardly mind anything else. —Samuel Johnson
I have a few more posts of holiday snaps, and while I was perusing my photos of a visit to a rural village (next to come), I saw photos of noms, which of course I had to put up immediately. Here is some food connected with our four-day stay in Santineketan.
We stayed in my hosts’ house right outside the town (they also have an apartment in Calcutta and one in Delhi aside from their major residence on the campus of Jawaharlal Nehru University in Delhi). There was a cook—a nice woman named Rupali (which, I believe, means “silver” in either Hindi or Bangla); but my hostess, who has stringent criteria for food, also worked in the kitchen. The result is that we had breakfasts like this, consisting of fresh fruit and (from left to right on bottom), rasgulla (sweet cheese balls in a syrup), a spicy soup (like sambar, but thicker), and luchi, small disks of freshly fried bread filled with mashed peas. This was all washed down with coffee and Darjeeling tea. The combination of sweet and savory foods makes for a great breakfast.
Breakfast on another day. Rice, pakora (vegetable fritters), a kind of Bengali kedgeree made with a mixture of stuff (perhaps an Indian reader can give me the name), mashed eggs with spices, and, at the left, pati sapta: Bengali crepes filled with a cooked mixture of coconut, condensed milk, and jaggery (sugar made from palm sap):
We arranged a special lunch at Mitali Homestays, which is a B&B but also a kind of restaurant where one must reserve well in advance (you’re competing with the residents). There was ample food, including these dishes of mixed vegetables, red cabbage, fish in mustard sauce (katla), rice, curd (raita), and several other dishes on another table. You could eat as much as you wanted.
My plate before the main dish was served (see below). This has mixed veg, red spinach, tamarind chutney, dal (lentils; upper right) and eggplant in a sweetish sauce with sesame seeds, as well as rice:
I believe I’ve posted this photo before, but here I am in the rooftop garden, about to add to my plate some large prawns cooked in a sauce with butter and spices. I am a happy man: this dish was so large that even four of us couldn’t finish it, and believe me, we would have if we’d had more tummy room (there was dessert of rice pudding and fruit to come). I treated everyone to lunch, and the tab for four, at this fairly fancy place, was about $20.
The next day the other guest on the trip treated us to lunch at an unprepossessing but famous place that had terrific food. It’s called Bonolakshmi and is in the country—in the small town of Bolpur. It’s the Indian equivalent of a roadhouse, and also has a sweet shop and a souvenir shop. People come long distances to sit in the dark dining hall and chow down on traditional Bengali dishes. Some of the patrons tucking in (with their hands, of course):
Lunch is served on thalis (metal trays); here is what they put on your plate immediately after you sit down: dal, fried potato sticks, rice, and an unknown vegetable dish. These are replenished as often as you want:
The pièce de résistance: Bengali style seafood. The two dishes on offer were bhapa ilish (the steamed fish hilsa [Tenualosa ilisha] with turmeric and mustard sauce)—one of the most famous Bengali dishes—and lobster in coconut sauce. We had the fish, and it was stupendously good, even though I’m picky about my fish.
Back in Santineketan, my hostess, Shubhra, was kind enough to give me several cooking lessons. Here I am taught to make a dish of stir-fried cabbage with other vegetables (left) and a Bengali rice pudding (right). It’s not hard—if you know what to do, have years of experience, and have the Indian ingredients on hand! Most Indians who are reasonably well off cook on these small gas burners fueled by propane canisters, for gas lines are not practical, and you can’t cook Indian food on an electric stove.
Indian street food at the Poush Mela fair in Santineketan. This man was selling cubes of unripe guavas with a mustard sauce, which doesn’t sound like a terrific snack (and indeed, I tried it and didn’t like it much), but one that was bought up avidly by the locals:
My host had a cone of the guava and nommed it eagerly:
But I love most Indian snacks dearly, and here’s one of my favorites: jhal muri, a Bengali snack made with puffed rice (muri), peanuts, raw onion, coconut, and a sweet and spicy dressing (to see more, click on the “jhal muri” link on this page). It is always served in a paper cone, and the ingredients vary widely. This one, served on the train between Kolkata (Calcutta) and Santineketan, is renowned; I was told to buy the stuff from a particular guy who roams the aisle, mixing the jhla muri freshly in a big metal can, with the ingredients and sauces stored separately in a box around his waist. It was 10 rupees per cone (16 cents) and is a substantial snack.
It was great: a real melange of flavors. This photo is out of focus because I took it with one hand on a moving train:
