Namita Das, An Bengali Indian mother cooks

Cooking Fish in Bengal

by Angshuman Das

I was born in Bengal, but grew up in the heart of India, in the state of Madhya Pradesh. As a child growing up in a steel township where my father worked as an engineer, my siblings and I had the opportunity to play in the yard, for our house was on the first floor of the building. It was part of a block that formed part of “quarters” provided by my father’s employer, a steel plant that spewed red smoke into the sky.

While I played in the garden, I could smell the smells that came from my mother’s kitchen. While I chased butterflies and dragonflies flitting from flower to flower, I inhaled the smell of mustard seeds that went pop pop pop in hot oil . I also smelled “panch foron,” the Bengali five-spice combination of fennel, mustard, kalonji, fenugreek and cumin.

But, above all, I smelled fish (no pun intended!). While I ran about the house to trap butterflies fluttering among yellow cosmos, I smelled the smell of fish frying in mustard oil. And, I heard the sizzle. I meandered into the kitchen and hovered around my mother. As a boy, I hung on to her apron strings (well, actually, sari), as it were.

I took to cooking as a duck takes to water. As my mom cooked, I would putter in the kitchen, looking for things to sprinkle in the kadai (a deep wok). Some things I sprinkled into the chulha (an Indian stove). Among these things was salt. The salt would pop and sputter in the fire, emitting blue sparks. I got hooked to the crackle of cooking right then.

As fish would cook, I would stir or flip it with khunti, or a steel spatula. I just loved stirring anything! My mother cooked all kinds of stuff: fish, goat meat, vegetables, egg and lentils. But fish was always a constant. Ours was a truly Bengali home, and so fish formed a principal part of our cuisine.

My father bought fish often. In the days before we had a car, I remember him riding a creaky bicycle, crossing railroad tracks in the darkness of winter evenings, and traveling several miles to buy fresh fish. I would sometimes ride behind him on the pillion seat. He would buy mostly rui and katla, both of the carp family, but also sometimes ilish and other fish, often whole fish.

We had fish almost every day. Two of the most frequent dishes that she cooked were macher jhal (peppery fish) and macher tarkari (fish and vegetable curry).

CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL VERSION.

Angshuman has a beautifully written blog that tells more about Bengal and its food. Please read his blog: www.cookingincalcutta.blogspot.com

previous mother next mother

		Cooking Fish in Bengal by Angshuman Das I was born in Bengal, but grew up in the heart of India, in the state of Madhya Pradesh. As a child growing up in a steel township where my father worked as an engineer, my siblings and I had the opportunity to play in the yard, for our house was on the first floor of the building. It was part of a block that formed part of “quarters” provided by my father’s employer, a steel plant that spewed red smoke into the sky. While I played in the garden, I could smell the smells that came from my mother’s kitchen. While I chased butterflies and dragonflies flitting from flower to flower, I inhaled the smell of mustard seeds that went pop pop pop in hot oil . I also smelled “panch foron,” the Bengali five-spice combination of fennel, mustard, kalonji, fenugreek and cumin. But, above all, I smelled fish (no pun intended!). While I ran about the house to trap butterflies fluttering among yellow cosmos, I smelled the smell of fish frying in mustard oil. And, I heard the sizzle. I meandered into the kitchen and hovered around my mother. As a boy, I hung on to her apron strings (well, actually, sari), as it were. I took to cooking as a duck takes to water. As my mom cooked, I would putter in the kitchen, looking for things to sprinkle in the kadai (a deep wok). Some things I sprinkled into the chulha (an Indian stove). Among these things was salt. The salt would pop and sputter in the fire, emitting blue sparks. I got hooked to the crackle of cooking right then. As fish would cook, I would stir or flip it with khunti, or a steel spatula. I just loved stirring anything! My mother cooked all kinds of stuff: fish, goat meat, vegetables, egg and lentils. But fish was always a constant. Ours was a truly Bengali home, and so fish formed a principal part of our cuisine. My father bought fish often. In the days before we had a car, I remember him riding a creaky bicycle, crossing railroad tracks in the darkness of winter evenings, and traveling several miles to buy fresh fish. I would sometimes ride behind him on the pillion seat. He would buy mostly rui and katla, both of the carp family, but also sometimes ilish and other fish, often whole fish. We had fish almost every day. Two of the most frequent dishes that she cooked were macher jhal (peppery fish) and macher tarkari (fish and vegetable curry). CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL VERSION. Angshuman has a beautifully written blog that tells more about Bengal and its food. Please read his blog: www.cookingincalcutta.blogspot.com previous mother next mother contact us membership agreement top of page


peppery fish (macher jhal)