The first time I saw drizzle in England, I realised that I was really far away from home – far away from my beloved monsoon rain. It wasn’t just the rhythm of the rain that was different – the water didn’t linger on the leaves like it did in India, the rain in England came and went without the petrichor fragrance, which always followed a monsoon shower. I missed the excited calling of the birds, which signalled that the rain was coming. The most beautiful sound was the call of the peacock, which would usually be shrill and grating, but when it rained, you knew, hidden among the leaves, they had spread out their feathers and were dancing. It felt as if the earth was celebrating. The long summer months had parched the earth and finally, nature was watering its garden. All the leaves were washed and sparkled like precious stones in the sunshine once the rainfall relented.
This book is an homage to all the seasons, but the monsoons in India hold an almost spiritual significance for me. It was when the world stopped and nature displayed its benevolence through rain.
There is a uniqueness in the way we divide seasons in Bengal. Instead of the traditional spring, summer, autumn, and winter seasons seen in many parts of the Western world, Bengali seasons ebb and flow poetically with nature. The seasons dictate the way we weave flavours into our food. The fruits and vegetables in the bazaar and on our dining table told a story of these changing seasons, and my childhood experience of seasonal cooking and eating is embedded in my foundations as a chef. Divided into six chapters, each chapter tells the story of the foods we ate in my family home over Grishsho (Summer), Bôrsha (Monsoon), Shôrot (Autumn), Hemonto (Dry Season), Sheet (Winter) and Bôshonto (Spring).
The soul of my cooking is the symphonic layering of vibrant flavours that work together like instruments in an orchestra. In India, we do not have a tradition of “meat and two veg”, where every bite of an entire meal tastes the same. We use spices to bring in contradictory flavours, and different cooking techniques to highlight or accentuate a particular flavour. Salt is used in different ways to change the texture or cooking method of an ingredient. There are rituals, stories and spirituality in our ancient culinary tradition. The six Ayurvedic flavours define our culinary heritage: sour, tangy/astringent, spicy/pungent, sweet, salty, and bitter. The most satisfying meal is the one that stimulates as many of the six flavours in our palate as possible. A well-balanced meal should incorporate at least two elements of these to create a harmonious and stimulating dining experience. A perfect balance of flavours comes from contrasts: a touch of bitterness or sweetness, an astringent finish to a meal, or a refreshing tang midway through – not as a separate course, like a sorbet in fine dining, but as part of a flavourful, cohesive meal. Even the simplest Indian dishes are far from uniform.
First-Class Railway Curry
The origin of this mild beef curry with coconut milk, as its name implies, was the Indian railways dining car. During colonial times, this dish was created for the English passengers travelling in first class as a change from the standard English meal of meat (usually mutton chops) and two veg, which was prepared specially for them. The popular story is that an English passenger was tempted to try the standard mutton curry the staff were eating and enjoyed the flavours but not the chillies. The cooks added coconut milk to the gravy to temper it down. The addition of vinegar to this dish was possibly to preserve the meat for longer. The potatoes are meant to be cut in large chunks, which is popular in Bengal. You can use stewing beef, mutton leg pieces, or lamb shanks to make this dish.
Ingredients
4 tbsp vegetable oil
4-cm (1½-in) cassia bark (or cinnamon stick)
3 cloves
3 green cardamom pods
1 Indian bay (cassia) leaf
1 dried red chilli
1kg (2lb 4oz) stewing beef/mutton/lamb shanks
2 small onions, finely chopped, then crushed to a paste
4 garlic cloves, crushed to a paste
1 tbsp fresh ginger paste
½ tsp ground turmeric
1½ tsp ground coriander
1½ tsp ground cumin
1 tomato, diced
2 tsp salt
4 tbsp malt vinegar, or more to taste
700ml (scant 1¼ pints/2¾ cups) water
2 large potatoes, peeled and quartered
400ml (14fl oz) canned thick coconut milk
1 whole green chilli optional, to garnish
Method
In a heavy-based pan that has a lid, heat the oil over a medium to high heat. Add the cassia bark, cloves, cardamom pods, bay leaf, and dried red chilli. Stir until the spices and the chilli have darkened in colour, then use a slotted spoon to remove the spices to a plate and set aside.
In the same chilli-infused oil, fry the meat pieces until brown on all sides. Do not allow the meat to cook through; the aim is just to seal the meat. Remove the meat from the pan and set aside, leaving as much of the oil in the pan as possible.
Add the onions, garlic and ginger pastes to the pan. Take care as the pastes will splutter in the hot oil. Next, add the ground spices followed by the diced tomato and cook for 2 minutes before returning the whole fried spices and sealed meat to the pan. Add the salt, vinegar, and measured water, and bring to the boil. After 1 minute, cover the pan with the lid and reduce to a simmer. After about 1 hour, when the meat is three-quarters cooked (it should be soft, but not falling apart, and the edges should be curled), add the potatoes and stir to coat with the gravy.
Stir at regular intervals to ensure the potatoes are cooking evenly – do not shake them too much as they may break.
Once the meat and potatoes are cooked, remove the lid and reduce any remaining liquid until the oil seeps to the edges of the pan. Usually, I add some vinegar at this stage too – it depends on whether the vinegar aroma was lost in the cooking process. Add the coconut milk and taste for seasoning before serving.
Quick Bengali Murgir Korma
This is a mild chicken korma we would make at home when there was leftover yogurt in the house. Usually, kormas were made for special occasions and feasts, and had additions of nuts, saffron, and raisins. This recipe is a comforting everyday recipe that can be made quickly and requires few ingredients to prepare. I have added a bit of chilli powder, which is often omitted in many Bengali households. Korma is a mild dish and adding excessive chillies will take away from the mild and sweet flavour of the dish.
Ingredients
800g (1¾lb) on-the-bone chicken thighs (if using skinless thigh fillets, use 650g/1½lb)
2 tbsp ginger paste
1 tbsp garlic paste
100g (3½oz/scant ½ cup) full-fat plain yogurt
100ml (3½fl oz/scant ½ cup) vegetable oil
150g (5oz) brown onions, thinly sliced into half-moons
1 tbsp ghee optional
4 green cardamom pods
4 cloves
5-cm (2-in) cassia bark (or cinnamon stick)
2 bay leaves
ó tsp chilli powder
1 tsp salt
300ml (10fl oz/1¼ cups) warm water
1 tsp sugar (any type)
Method
If you are using boneless chicken thighs, cut them into even-sized pieces, 5-cm (2-in) square. If you cut the pieces too small, they will break and disintegrate if you don’t reduce the cooking time. The most important thing is to ensure that all the chicken pieces are the same size. This also applies to on-the-bone chicken thighs. If the thighs are of different sizes, cut the bigger thigh in half so it cooks at the same rate as the rest. If the pieces are uneven, bigger pieces need longer to cook and smaller pieces start to fall apart while the bigger pieces are still cooking.
Mix the ginger and garlic pastes into the yogurt, add the chicken pieces, and coat well, then cover and set aside for 30 minutes. (If you refrigerate the chicken, remember to bring to room temperature before cooking.)
Heat the oil in a deep saucepan with a lid over a medium heat until shimmering. Add the sliced onions and stir-fry until they are dark brown and the edges are looking crispy. Be patient and keep stirring to ensure the onions are cooked evenly. Remove with a slotted spoon to a plate and spread them out to cool and crisp up. Try to leave as much of the oil behind in the pan as possible.
Put the pan back over a medium-high heat and add the ghee (if using). When hot, add the whole spices and stir for a few seconds. Add the chicken to the pan, stir well, then add the chilli powder and salt. Crush half of the browned onions and add to the pan along with the warm water. Stir and bring to the boil, then cover and reduce to a simmer. Cook until the edges of the chicken thigh curl. If using on-the-bone chicken, check after 20 minutes. Boneless chicken cooks faster, so pierce a piece to test – if the juices run clear, the chicken is ready. Add the sugar and stir to dissolve it, then taste for seasoning.
Garnish the korma with the remaining browned onions and serve.
Excerpted with permission from Monsoon: Delicious Indian Recipes for Every Day and Season, Asma Khan, Penguin Random House India.
