When Sundays meant seasonal produce, wood fires and a caretaker-cum-gardener-cum-cook who enjoyed feeding both body and soul.
When Sundays meant seasonal produce, wood fires and a caretaker-cum-gardener-cum-cook who enjoyed feeding both body and soul.
grew up in Calcutta (now known as) Kolkata), where food is something akin to religion, and my memories of great food and sumptuous meals in a house headed by my mother, who was a brilliant cook, are singular. Yet, when I sat down to write this work, only one memory flashed through my mind – an old memory that should have faded by now. Only, it hasn’t happened. still sad today sunday In the afternoon, I recount my day trips to Barasat on the outskirts of Kolkata, where we had a plantation (literally, a house with a garden), and where the caretaker would cook lunch for our visitors. The food was nothing fancy, but sitting al fresco and eating chips, mismatched plates while the birds kept a sleepy monotony of cooing in the trees above, everything tasted heavenly.
The caretaker-cum-gardener-cum-cook’s name was Ponchu. he must have had a more decent name, or Bhalo Nami, as we say in Bangla. But he was known throughout the world as Ponchu. i called him ponchu Da. In winter, and also in autumn and spring when the weather is pleasant in Kolkata, we went there plantation At least one Sunday every month, either with extended family or a few close friends of my parents.
‘Shingara’ and ‘Jilipi’ on the way
Barasat was not the bustling suburb of Kolkata in the 1970s it is today. In fact, it was quite enigmatic, and every time we went there, I felt like we were traveling to a distant land. Once you leave the confines of the metropolis, the road becomes magical, swaying on both sides by shimmering water bodies and lush vegetation.
The dining experience started along the way. Around 9.30, we would stop for a massive breakfast Mishtno Store (sweet shop). Leaning in front of our ambassador cars, we ate freshly fried, thin-crust shingra (Samosa) stuffed with cauliflower and potatoes, Crispy Kochuri (flaky kachori), and delectably crunchy jilippy (jalebi) and memory ,Imarti), passing around the packets of newspapers that contained these gifts, our fingers greased with ghee and our palates burning with joy.
You would think that after such a heavy meal, there would definitely be no eleven and lunch would be a moderation affair. But no one was watching their cholesterol back in those days. And I doubt Ponchu Slave Seriously astonished and hurt if anyone had.
Because from the moment we got there, he kept on bringing the food plantation garden There will be several rounds of tea and sprigs to go with it – daler bora (Lentil dumplings), macher slow bhaja (fish roe fritters), innocent (eggplant fritters), Panaji (onion dumplings)… Sometimes the tea was left over for drinks that adults brought along, while I looked through a bottle of Fanta.
single storey turn part of (house) plantation was very rudimentary, but the grounds had plenty of air – a large vegetable garden bursting with seasonal vegetables, and a pond, lined with trees such as coconuts, mangoes, jackfruits, wood apples and bananas Slave claimed, there were a lot of fish, though I rarely caught a glimpse of them through their crust cochuripan (hyacinth) that floats on it. Much of the food cooked on those memorable Sundays came from the produce of that land, and that probably accounted for its intensely fresh and satisfying taste.
As a cook, Ponchu SlaveThe repertoire was quite limited. Our late lunches usually consisted of a standard menu: smoking hot rice with aromatic, locally sourced ghee, Narkel Diya Cholar Dal (Bengal chana dal cooked in coconut chunks), maybe with some fried topsy fish on the side, Phulkopi-Alu-Korashutir Dalna (potato-cauliflower vegetable with peas), chingri-alur tarkari (shrimp with potatoes), Rui Maccher Kalia (a rich curry with rohu fish) and a chicken or a mutton or a crab curry, followed by tomato chutney and Mishti doi.
Ponchu Da said, ‘It is the fire of wood that makes everything healthy and tasty. , Photo Credit: Getty Images/iStock
Sitting in the waning shade of the winter sun, we ate this elaborate meal slowly. Every dish had a hearty, somewhat rustic flavor, was slightly high in spice, and high in its ability to speak directly to the spirit. one that i particularly liked was chingri-alur tarkariSeasoned with a Simple Farmer-Style Prep panch phoron and prawns, cooked with sliced potatoes and onions. Ponchu was asked by my mother Slave for its recipe. She obliged, but sadly added that she would never be able to replicate its taste, because like the food she cooked for us, this dish was done over a wood fire. “It’s the wood fire that makes everything healthy and delicious,” he said.
Maybe there was some truth in it. Or maybe it was the sylvan setting, sparkling air and soothing bird calls that gave those meals the elevated, soulful dimension they seemed to have.
Or maybe it was some magic done by Ponchu SlaveThe chef and multitasker extraordinaire we never saw again after that plantation It was sold a few years later.
The author is a journalist and author with a strong interest in food.