Those Delicious Letters .... a beautiful book by Bongmom Sandeepa and a Giveaway

After the resounding success of her first book, Sandeepa , or Bongmom, as she is best known , is back with her second book. 
And this time it is a novel. 

And what a beautiful read it makes for!

Two parallel stories woven beautifully together, with regular smatterings of traditional recipes, that are her forte and the real show stoppers.
The story is well plotted and has a beautiful mystery, in the form of a love story from a bygone era,that holds it all together till the end.

Moving through years, seasons and the roller coaster of daily life,
it depicts the determination of a lady who decides to make a name for herself and find an identity of her own.
And in the process, discovers herself.
And the relationships with the people in her life, with a fresh new realisation.
The story is simple, sweet and the characters lovable in their own places.

This book will touch your heart if you are living far away from the city and the home you have grown up in.
If you have loved the food that was cooked in your family and miss it when nostalgia takes over.
If you have experienced homecomings that awash you with warmth and revived memories.
And also if you love to read a book that is simple and yet is captivating at the same time.

Sandeepa is known for her lucid style of writing, with a tempering of humour, that makes her so popular.
And this book, is indeed in one word, delicious.
A must read.
Relish!

I was thrilled to get a copy from her.
Took a little time to read it.
Because it indeed deserves a slow read.
The undulating story, meandering through different characters, places, relationships, recipes and feelings makes you soak them in and takes you back home.
And makes you sit back, close your eyes and savour in the sweetness of the story. 

Just as I was happy and excited when I got her first book in my hands, I cherish this one too. 
Seeing it sitting with my other favourite authors is a sight I love. 😊

And I want to share that same happiness with all of you, my dear readers,  too. 
So I am giving away one  fresh copy right here .... on my blog. 

To win it, all you have to do is - 

1.  Leave your name and email id in the comments. 
2. Write in for how long have you been following my blog Kitchen e Kichukhonn
3.  Let me know if you prefer single dishes or full meal plates on my blog.  
4. Follow Kitchenekichukhonn as well as Bongmom on Instagram. 

Hurry!
Your  chance to win  a copy of the very delightful "Those Delicious Letters" is on till 20th of October. 
Give yourself a gift  this festive season ... now!!! 

Those Delicious Letters is  also available on Flipkart , Amazon and Kindle too. 

 

Samosa / Singara / Spicy, deep fried and sinfully good, savoury pastry

 
Growing up in a huge joint family has taught me, among other things, the ability to accept everyone as they are, without questions. 

We lived together, in Dadu's house. With its orchards, ponds, four main gates and three smaller ones too. And a big open space where stood a magnificent  mango tree that was uprooted by one of the cyclonic storms that was so common during my childhood. 
And a big patch of garden that bore seasonal vegetables, lovingly tended by the gardener.
And, with uncles and aunts and house helps and cousins.
Yes, it was both a picnic as well as mayhem ... our family was.

And naturally, we always had a lot of relatives around. Every Kakima's paternal side of the family was our family too.
I still remember our excitement when any particular relative was to visit.
That Mama, who was popular with us because  he would actually enact out whatever story he was narrating. 
Or that Dida who did not know any language besides Bengali .... and who we loved to grill with new words, asking her the Bengali equivalent. She naturally came up with wrong words and how we would dissolve into peals of laughter.
Or that Didi, who sang like an angel, and we looked forward to learning a few new songs, whenever she visited, especially Adhunik / modern songs. And a few more gems of Tagore. 
Or that Mashi, who we stayed clear of, because of her quizzes on maths and chemistry. 

I can go on and on. 

The best part of these visits was we got to eat food from outside, .... sometimes .... that was otherwise prohibited for us. 

On any day, during the evening tea, someone would want some ' gorom gorom tele bhaja' / deep fried street food. And as hosts, one of the Kakus would comply. 
Or we would get one of our favourite Didas to ask for them .... and she would happily oblige.
Knowing very well that she would not eat any, at all. 
And we children would get to eat the small sized, crisp singaras, filled with a dry, spicy potato and peas masala that was so hot it burned our mouths when bitten into. 

Those were different from the regular samosas that we get in North India.
But then, the samosa is such a common street food that its filling varies in texture and taste in almost every state of the country. 
Making it create a different memory for every different person growing up eating their local samosa.  

I still remember the samosas we ate during our trip to Ranthambore, Rajasthan. Standing in the middle of the vast highway, in a small shed, stood a man frying hot samosas on a make shift kitchen with the barest of things. We waited till he got them out of the hot oil ..... smoking hot. 
And standing there on the empty highway side, biting into those crisp, spicy, hot little triangles of pure bliss, sipping on cardamom tea and watching the sun go down slowly in the horizon, I felt that was one of the best moments of my life. 

A few days back, once the rains started in earnest here, I was reminiscing about the monsoons back home and how the ponds overflowed and the fishes came up right to our doorsteps,
how we would sit near the bay windows and look out at the big droplets create beautiful patterns on the pond,
how Dadu or Jethu would ask us, one by one , to sing their favourite Rabindra sangeet on the rains, 
how we hurried to shut the wooden windows when sudden gusts of water laden breeze came in .... but would leave just a little gap to be still able to smell the wet air .
And that  was when I remembered this beautiful singara from my hometown. 

I wanted to make it. B was game.
He enjoys these stories and what better than crisp, hot singaras to go with them. 
To his credit and because he is from the kachori and namkeen city of Rajasthan, B is an expert when it comes to actually handling the singara. So I did the cooking and B did the maneuvering part. 
And we made some really good samosas that evening. 

They were so good and the cover was so perfectly crisp that I thought I will document it and  share here. 

So here is my recipe for the perfect Khasta Shingara / Khasta Samosa . 

Need : 

For the dough : 

Maida / Apf - 2 cups 
Cooking oil - ½ cup or more, if needed 
Baking soda - one small pinch
Kalonji / nigella seeds - ½ tsp 
Chilled water - enough to knead with 
Salt - to taste 

For the filling : 

Potatoes - 2, medium, chopped very small 
Green peas - ½ cup
Turmeric powder 
Red chilli powder 
Amchur / dry mango powder 
Chilli flakes 
Black pepper powder
Salt - to taste 
Cooking oil - 1 tsp 

Cooking oil - enough to deep fry 

 How to : 

To make the dough, knead the maida with the rest of the ingredients, except water for some time. 
When the oil has mixed in well, it should form a lump when held in the fist. 
Now add the chilled water, very little at a time, and knead into a tight dough. 
Do not over knead it.

For the masala, heat oil in a kadahi and let in the chopped potatoes and peas. 
Add the rest of the ingredients and cover and cook till done. 
Remove cover and dry it up completely. 
Remove to an open plate and cool. 

For the samosas, 
cut out medium sized balls of the dough. 
Roll each one out . Do not roll it too thin. 
Cut in half. 
Pick one half, make a twist and seal the edges with water. 
Scoop in a spoonful of the stuffing mix and seal the ends. 
Set aside. 

Take a heavy kadahi or deep pan .... preferably an iron one. 
Fill it with oil. 
Set it on to heat. When the oil turns lukewarm, let in the samosas. 
Never heat the oil too much ... it will cause blisters on the samosa cover and will remain raw too. 
Do not over crowd the kadahi. 

The samosas will slowly float up to the top as they cook. 
Cook them on low heat. 

The perfect khasta samosas are always light in colour and yet perfectly cooked and the cases crisp. 
Dark coloured samosas mean over cooking or ... in the case of shops ... re frying. 

When done, remove with a slotted spoon and place on a paper towel. 

Our samosas turned out to be perfect. 
When I tapped the cover, it was perfectly crisp and tough. 
And when I broke it open, it showed the layers of the casing too! 
Just have a look. 😊

We munched on them, right there in the kitchen, while still frying. 
The rain sang on outside and it was cold and dark. 
But our kitchen was warm.  
And fragrant. 
With memories; and the hot samosas. 

Stay home everyone! 
And stay safe! 


Ps: photos clicked in the dark and low light. 

Motorshuti bhaja / Stir fried fresh green peas

 

 Winter is finally here. I mean not by the names of the months but by the temperature outside.
We have been missing the real winter for the past couple of years in Pune. But this year it has turned real cold and the fresh, crisp air outside has that perfect smell of winter ... dry leaves, smoke from a faraway bonfire mixed with the beautiful, sweet smell of the Eucalyptus leaves that waft around in the light breeze.

I step out on to the balcony every evening to catch the gorgeous sunsets. And to watch the stars come out. These days the sky is so clear that they sparkle a couple of shades brighter. And the new moon comes up looking all shiny and clean.
Needless to say, I love winters.
I can knit all I want to, wear the ones that I have knitted earlier, enjoy my hot cuppas of sometimes tea or coffee and soups at other times.
I can sit in the sun for longer times ... my bay windows are now awash with sunlight ever since the sun has shifted south.

I have recently twisted my knee ... yes, how can the year go by without my falling ill properly at least once .... and am confined to rest right now.
I do try to hobble around and rustle up quick meals but my leg turns too painful and I go back to my corner in the sofa. Near the window, in the sun.
And do what I do best ... knit. 
And reminisce.
Which I do a lot these days.
Of days gone by, of the winters of my childhood.
Losing the elders of the family one by one, memories are the only things that stay with me these days.
So I think of the winters of my childhood, the breakfasts of crisp, toasted bread and poached(fried) eggs ... sitting out in the sun.
Lunches of steaming hot stews. Teatimes with cakes at times and traditional snacks at other. 
And it was from one of those memories that I made this traditional, simple stir fry that spells winter as well as memories for me in many ways.

This used to be a favourite evening snack for us at home.
Ma would make this with the fresh green peas, soft and oh so sweet, that the season brings, and that have been freshly shelled.
Iin the afternoon, after lunch, Ma and the other kakimas would sit out in the soft winter sun in the uthon / courtyard ... some drying their long hair, some knitting .
All around, there would be achars/ pickles sunning as well as  batches of boris here and there. 
The breeze from the pond, which was so welcomed in the summer, would make them shiver and draw their shawls around them a little more.
Thamma would be there too, soaking in the sun, eyes closed and narrating small incidents ... mostly form the past.
The house helps would join in too, enjoying the leisurely time.
They would bring along with them small pending jobs .... one of which was the shelling of peas.
We children would drift in and out, picking up handfuls of freshly shelled sweet peas and munching on them.

While I love raw peas in about everything .... I add them to my egg scrambles / anda bhurji, stir fries, upma, uttapams, salads and muri / puffed rice, I love this stir fry just as much.
In the evenings, when at a loss as to what to make to accompany the evening tea, Ma would rustle this up while Jethima would prepare the muri.
She would add a dash of mustard oil and some chanacchur to the muri. ( It will not be the regular moshla muri ). And serve them in individual bowls.
At times, the muri would be tempered with some kalo jeere / nigella seeds and dry red chillies too ... but only if it has turned soft. This tossing on heat crisps the muri up as well as add some flavour too.

Meanwhile Ma would temper some heated mustard oil with kalo jeere / nigella seeds and whole dry chillies. Then she would add some chopped onions and stir fry them till just soft. No browning.
And then tip in a bowlful of shelled green peas and a pinch of salt.
The peas will release water and everything will turn soft.
Just a few tosses ( you may cover and cook it for a while too ... but not for too long ) and it is done.
They would top the muri and the bowls would be handed out to everyone ... along with some thick, milky ada cha / ginger tea.

I can still see everyone sitting around the dining table, some sitting on the low window sill when there are no empty chairs left, some even on long, low bench that stood near the wall at the far end of the dining room .... munching, sipping, talking, laughing, discussing dinner's menu.
The dining room would no longer be cold .... there was so much love and warmth all around.
The peas would be so soft they would just melt in the mouth. And the crisp muri was the perfect foil, with its crunch.

Here is my bowlful of muri and motorshuti bhaja that I made one evening.
I had shared it on my Instagram and my facebook page .... but then memories overwhelmed me and I decided to make a post too.
For you.
And for posterity.

Hope you have a wonderful winter.
Have lots of hot food and make loads of memories.

Enjoy!!

Mushur Dal Sheddho / Boiled Masoor Dal

To me, summer means a hardworking sun.
Summer means new leaves and fragrant flowers on the mango trees.
Summer means that light, soothing breeze from the pond, in the afternoons, when the fans did not work due to load shedding.
Summer means the sweet, ripe mangoes that were plucked in the morning and kept on wet sand, for us children to wake up  from our afternoon nap and bite into.
Summer means yellow, mango juice stains on white frocks.

Summer meant waking up to the fragrance of the Bel phool ( Mogra flower ) plants under Thamma's window, near her head.
Summer means evenings with a balmy breeze.
Summer means that beautiful smell of dry, thirsty earth when I watered our garden with a hosepipe.

Summer means light food.
Summer means Ma's watermelon juice.
Summer means the bunches of sweet Lichu (Lychee) that Bapi brought.

Summer means Thamma's achars and ambols.

Summer means Dadu's house and paanto bhaat.
With aloo sheddho, dal sheddho, maach makha, bori bhaja and shaak bhaja.
With a drop or two of achar er tel or pickle oil.
Summer means lying on the cool floor of red cement, polished with time, in Dadu's house after a lunch of paanto.
And listen to the repeated creaks of the old fan, that slowly lulls you sleep.

Summer is made of things memories are made of.

I can go on and on.
Though officially summer hasn't set in, not yet.
But the weather outside surely spells summer.
It is extremely hot and given Pune's dry and humid free weather, burning hot is more apt to describe it.
But nature still is in spring and the trees are still bare.
New, baby leaves are yet to come.

And in these days, all I crave is plain steamed or boiled food.
As light as possible.
Given my way of cooking, food can't get any lighter in my home. But I still cannot stand a tempering of spices, leave alone frying pastes and making gravies.
Which is why I am resorting to plain boiled food.

In the Bengali way of cooking, plain boiled food can be made extremely tasty.
If you have made friends with the mustard oil, then you have won the battle already.
And if not, there is always ghee.
One dollop and a boiled and mashed vegetable, with some green chilli mashed in, it tastes like manna from heaven.
You have to try it to believe me.

I make this dal sheddho a lot, both during summer and winter.
Red masoor dal is high in protein and is very healthy.
In winters, I use it to make vegetable soups.
Or just sip on its water when plain boiled , with a drop of ghee or butter and some freshly ground black pepper.
Does wonders to a sore throat.

In summer, I jazz it up with some raw chopped onions and green chillies.
A dash of mustard oil is all that is needed for fragrance and that kick, to take it to the next level.
If having it with the paanto bhaat, I keep it thicker so that it is easy to mash.
And for eating it with rice, I keep it slightly diluted.
Like I did this time, when I made it for lunch.

The recipe is fairly simple.

Need :

Red Masoor dal - 1 cup
Turmeric powder - ½ tsp
Onion - 1 medium, chopped into very small pieces
Green chillies - 2, chopped
Coriander leaves - chopped ( optional , I use only in winters )
Salt - to taste
Mustard oil - 1 tbsp
Water - 3 cups ( use the same cup used for measuring the dal )

How to :

Boil the dal with the turmeric powder + water + salt in a pressure cooker.

Remove and cool a little.

Add the chopped onion + green chillies + coriander leaves.
Add the onions only when the dal cools down.

Top it with mustard oil.

Serve warm with rice.

Here is a picture of my light, simple lunch with the Dal sheddho, some Dharosh (Okra)  bhaja  and some biulir daler bora.
Post on Dharosh bhaja is coming up soon.

Enjoy!!

Mirchi ka Achar / Green chilli pickle - 2

In every moment, hour or day, in our life, there is a lesson hidden. Every person, every animal, every change in nature teaches you something. You are vigilant enough, quiet enough inside .... you get to learn.
Like I am doing these days.
I am learning what 'class' is ... all over again.

Life has doled out to me my share of bullies ... and more. And to tell the truth, I have never been one to handle them well. I'd rather stay back and let them do all they can to get attention. I had learnt early that bullies want attention. To feel important. To feel they are in control.
Starting in school, where I had to face this bully of a girl who had slid down two classes and landed with us and her little sister, who was my friend.
Her idea of superiority lay in scaring us, just before exams, with numerous ideas of what could go wrong and how we could either have to hand over a blank paper or write every answer wrong and end up with a zero.
Cruel.
My getting good marks was not enough to instill even a little courage, or wipe away the fear this caused, in me.
It has stayed on as a terrifying memory always.

Later in life, there have been other bullies too.
But what I had noticed most was their pattern and motive was always the same.
To create fear. To subdue. To feel superior. To grab attention.

Ma had always tried to drill it into me, "Never give in to insolent might" ... quoting a line from one of Rabindranath Tagore's poetries, that we often sang at our school assembly along with other hymns.
"And always remember your class. "

I often wondered how difficult it must have been for Ma, a spunky and educated lady, belonging to a prominent family, brought up in a city like Delhi and later married into an equally prominent but very traditional family, to bring up a quiet, shy, sensitive and introvert daughter like me.
She did make sure that I took part in everything ... and excelled too. School dramas, debates, singing competitions, good marks ... every possible thing.
And I loved them too.
However, while this made me every teacher's pet, it made matters worse when it came to the bullies.
Thankfully, my growing up in a joint family hugely helped in not turning me into an unsocial person.

When I left home to come to this city for further studies, things started to change.
My friends here brought me out of my shell. Family instilled values and Ma's constant encouraging voice was already inside me. Coupled with my friends encouragement, I started to open up.
Learnt to express my thought and feelings ... to a certain extent albeit.
Bullies were around in college life too ... but they very few. And very subtle.
My achievements would draw a couple of cold shoulders ... that is all.
But with wonderful friends, they were happily ignored.

Ignore.
That is when I started to learn how to deal with the bullies.
Ignore them.
They wanted the attention they could not get by their usual activities ... which were hardly of any worth, not surprisingly. Hence the aggression.
Slowly, I learnt. Later in life, there have been different kinds of bullies in every turn.
Some love to hurt with words. Some love to show aggression.
But they were all the same. To me.

And I learnt to ignore. To keep my head high. To stay quiet and move to the back of the crowd.
To not stoop and retaliate.
To remember what 'class' is. 
And to do the best in whatever I am doing.
That, eventually, would shut them up.

It is difficult to develope a thick skin, but in the end you learn to dust the hurt off your shoulders with, if not a flick, a good two or three hard pats, and resume on with life.
There would be tears for a while, but as I grew older I realised not everyone had the patience to deal with them.
Life is a teacher. And a good teacher too.
And last night, something happened to remind me of bullies .... that eventually led to this writeup.

On the streets just outside our housing complex, roams an abandoned dog, since last monsoon, when he was still a growing puppy. He is healthy, his black coat has a shine and walks with a grace unseen in other strays.
Clearly, he belongs to a good breed.

Our watchmen and other people of the society adopted him when food was concerned. He sleeps under the watchmen's table. But he needs company.
Bouncing with energy, he approaches anyone nearby to play with him.
While the humans often respond with love and attention, the street mongrels are not so friendly.
In fact, they refuse to allow him to be anywhere near them.
We watch with hope that he would be able to mingle with them eventually and learn the ways of surviving on the streets.

Last night, I watched as he tried to approach and befriend a group of street dogs, who reside in this area, again. Futilely.
The dogs started to growl and bark at him. Some, who were on the opposite side of the road, rushed in too.
And jumped on him, all the while barking furiously.
But all he did was keep stepping back. Neither once did he growl back, bark or show any kind of aggression. Which is surprising for a fully grown dog.
But no. Not once did he retaliate.
I have seen this happening a lot of times, and as always, he quietly stepped back and slowly walked away. Head high, nary a sign of defeat in his stance.
The rest of the mongrels kept barking at him till he turned around the corner and disappeared.

And all that came to my mind was " That is 'class'."

A few days back I got these very fresh Kashmiri green chillies and wanted to make something new with them.  Did not feel like cooking them the usual way and see them wilt.
So chopped them up and made this quick Mirchi ka achar or pickle.
The fresh crunchiness stayed. And mixed with the pickle masala and vinegar, tasted beautiful.
I did not have hing/asafoetida at home ... so this is a no hing achar.

Need :

Fresh, green Kashmiri chillies - 6 pieces, chopped into big pieces
Paanch Phoron - 1 tsp ( Saunf+Sarson+Kalonji+Methi+Jeera)
White/Yellow mustard powder - 2 tbsp (I just gave a pulse in the grinder)
Red chilli powder - 1 tbsp
Salt - 1 tsp
Vinegar - 2 tbsp (I had chilli vinegar)
Mustard oil - 6 tbsp

How to:

Heat the mustard oil in a kadahi, till it smokes.
Remove from heat and cool slightly ... so that the Paanch phoron does not burn.

Add the Paanch phoron and return to heat.
When it starts to splutter, add the chopped chillies and toss well.
Add salt + red chilli powder.
Fry well, till the chillies are a little cooked. Do not cover.

Add the mustard powder and the vinegar and toss well on high heat.

Lower heat and give a good stir and remove.

Cool before serving.

This stays well in the fridge,covered, for a week.
You can add half a teaspoon of sugar too ... if you want it slightly sweetish.

Goes great with a meal of hot rotis and sabzis.
 Or on the side of a rice meal too.
I often dunk in the masala and a little oil in a simple dal ... takes the dal to a different level.

Here is a snap of my lunch plate with his pickle ... Rice, Bhaja mooger dal, Aloo Borboti fry, Salad and Mirchi ka achar.

Enjoy folks !!

My other Mirchi ka Achar, made with small green chillies is here 
... with an equally long, but hilarious, write.
Coincidence!!

Bong Mom's CookBook ... Stories from a Bengali Mother's Kitchen

 

 
The first time Bong Mom left a comment on my blog, I did a jig. Or maybe a number of jigs.
Today I have her book in my hands. And am loving every moment reading it as I do when I read her blog posts.

I will not call this a review.
That would be audacity. Bong Mom's Cookbook has always been my refuge when ever I needed a nice read.
Hence I'll call it an experience.
A beautiful experience of getting to read her blog all over again. In the form of this book ... Bong Mom's Cookbook.

I had been offered a copy from Indiblogger, but did not get it finally, for reasons best known to them.
But fretting I was not, as I had already booked my copy from Flipkart, which reached me one cloudy evening, just as we were going out.
 And yes, I did a jig then too.

Bong Mom's Cookbook is a joy to read. Simple, lucid language, heartwarming anecdotes, subtle humour, all combined with a homely feel. Sandeepa successfully blends tradition into modern day living. And takes you on a beautiful journey of memories ... sights, sounds and smells of the kitchens of her childhood, to the new home that she set up after her marraige, to her own kitchen today.
Whether you are a Bengali, or not, you will surely go back to your childhood , more than once, while reading this book.
With short, anecdotes filled chapters, that end with a recipe each, the book holds you in its spell of simplicity.
And while that chore awaits, you tell yourself "just one more page and I'll keep this down" ... and yet you cannot. :-)

Sandeepa takes you on a whirlwind tour, giving vivid descriptions of the smallest details. One moment you will be with her, "sitting on a colourful rug" at her Choto Dida's place, eating crisp, fried rutis fresh off the tawa ...  on another she takes you to her mother's kitchen "atop the hills" where "she made soups with chunk of vegetables" in winters. One moment you are transported to the Sundays of her childhood, where the Mangshor jhol makes the day ... as is wont in any Bengali family;  the next moment you are witnessing with quiet amusement her struggle to present a complete Bengali menu to her guests during her "novice party hosting days".
Not to mention the beautiful chapter on reviving traditions ... her tryst with Pithey making.
Where ever she takes you, it is redolent with a little familiarity ... of memories and spices and food alike.

I like the way the chapters are arranged. Starting with breakfast, on to lunch, dinner and winding up with chutney and desserts.

Bong Mom's Cookbook is not just a or another recipe book. It is not only about recipes.
It is about a Bengali mother, who tries to hold on to traditions, which naturally include food, as much as possible while living overseas, and trying to instill them in her family too.
It is 'Stories from a Bengali mother's kitchen'.
Which she puts down in her blog ... which goes by the name of Bong Mom's Cookbook.
And the book is a reflection of the same.

If you love to read and appreciate simple, good writing, this book is for you.
If you are looking for recipes, this book is for you too.
But if you pick this up with the sole aim of finding a recipe, I'll say you will be missing out on something more beautiful.

I, for one, am happy ... now that I have this book in my possession.
For no more will I be at the mercy of fluctuating internet connections to be able to read Bong Mom's Cookbook.

Congratulations Sandeepa! Looking forward to a sequel soon.

The Bong Mom's Cookbook is available on Flipkart  and Amazon. So go ahead and book your copy, if you haven't yet.
It is also available in book stores in India. Go grab a copy ... pronto!

And enjoy!!