This foodie's diary: A Calcutta state of mind

I am Bengali and I hate hilsa. So bring it on!

Shreya Goswami Shreya Goswami
नवंबर 09, 2016
Your friendly, neighbourhood foodie talks about her favourite topic.

Something smells very fishy. You know what it is. It's Calcutta.

I don't mean the smell of rotting, dried little fish here. If that were the case, the Gujarati coastline would win the prize (really, anybody who's been to Somnath temple can attest to the fact that the seaside breeze there isn't as sweet smelling as it should be).

No, I'm talking about the delicious smell of fried fish, the pungent allure of ilish (hilsa) cooked in mustard paste, the sublime tones of doi maachh.
Do I sound like a pure Bong obsessing over how scrumptious fish tastes--and smells?

Far from it. I love fish. But I hate hilsa, the fish many Bengalis swear by. There, now we have extremely scandalised Bengalis just raring to tear me down because I don't like hilsa! I'm not scared--I've faced hilsa-related scorn all my life--so bring it on.

Shorshe ilish, or fish cooked in mustard paste, is a dish a lot of Bengalis believe to be te best. Picture courtesy: Instagram/pallavisen88 Shorshe ilish, or fish cooked in mustard paste, is a dish a lot of Bengalis believe to be te best. Picture courtesy: Instagram/pallavisen88

To be honest, I might be one of the rare Bengalis who thinks hilsa is overrated. I dislike it so much that I--the perennial cook who doesn't take a break from the kitchen even when on vacation--have never, ever tried cooking it!

Unfortunately, my mum does cook and love hilsa, and she's tried her level best to convert me. But more about that later.
 
So what's my problem with this staple Bengali fare you ask? I just don't like the smell. Hell! I find even the most pedestrian rahu, katla and maagur better. And I love all the little fish varieties--be it mourola or gourami, punti or barb, and even chanda or the smaller pomfret.

Of course, you might want to accuse me of being just another prawn-loving Ghoti. In which case, I happily concede: yes, I am just that.

Maacher jhol is a quintessential Bengali dish that everyone loves. Picture courtesy: Instagram/deepshikha_das_dac Maacher jhol is a quintessential Bengali dish that everyone loves. Picture courtesy: Instagram/deepshikha_das_dac

For those who exist in a Bong-free zone, Bangals and Ghotis are the two basic categories of inhabitants of Bengal. The Bangals are East Bengalis (geographically, present-day Bangladesh), and the Ghotis are West Bengalis. You might want to thank the Brits for this added complication, but I've always blamed the Bengali community for continuing with it.

Coming back to my fishy taste, or rather, the lack of it--it's really all about being raised outside of Bengal, among unsuspecting Gujjus and Punjabis. And, strangely enough, I can never cook a proper Bengali fish recipe, except for my mother's plain and simple maachher jhol!

Every time I pick up a few fish fillets, I cook up a Kerala fisherman's curry. Or a Thai ginger and soy fish broth. Or, Paatra ni machchhi, that banana-leaf wrapped fish recipe which just screams gourmet Parsi! Incidentally, that's what I'm cooking today--while I'm in, wait for it, Calcutta!

Yup, I'm in Calcutta, and I'm cooking a Parsi dish.

Patra ni macchi is a gem of a dish from Parsi cuisine. Picture courtesy: Instagram/deuxfoodsmy Patra ni macchi is a gem of a dish from Parsi cuisine. Picture courtesy: Instagram/deuxfoodsmy

My dad just went to the market, and got me a great big banana leaf, a huge bunch of fresh coriander leaves, some chillies and garlic, and a whole coconut. Did the shopkeepers guess we're not making the Bengali Paturi, the hilsa, or bhetki wrapped in banana leaf? I don't think so.

I'm feeling so gleeful about my subversive act. I do this every time: I take typical Bong fishy ingredients and make something non-Bengali with it. I don't think about why I choose to do this, because it comes oh-so-naturally. Both my parents are brilliant cooks (and Ghotis), and I've always had typical Bong meals with sukto, posto, bhaja moonger dal, and maachher jhol.

But when I enter the kitchen, I want to stand out, make something different, and bring a new flavour to the table. I've never cooked the same things my parents did. Even my cakes taste different from my mum's! So I leave the doi maachh to the people who enjoy cooking it. I love eating it, and I'll always love all the muri ghonto and punti chachchori that comes my way.

But when I pick up that ladle in the kitchen, I use my Bong-genes to cook up the most delish fish dishes--so what if they're not Bengali?

That's it from me today--your friendly, neighbourhood foodie. My culinary misadventures and I will catch you next week. Until then!

 

 

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