The forgotten spring-summer hero

Summers in India is pretty much synonymous to mangoes - eating them just like that, pulping them, shaking them with milk, moussing them, et al. In fact, it is quite rare to find an individual who does not love mangoes. No wonder it enjoys the royalty status, in the country. While, the maximum production of mangoes in the country come from its southern states, Bengal has its own snooty taste for the produce within the state. And for us Bongs, it does not matter much if the Alphonso is considered king of the clan. We will always, and forever, hold the Langra, at a higher pedestal. Because it is ! (you might want to differ with me but then everyone has a right to have an opinion)

But this post is not about the mango. At least not the ripe yellow ones. It is rather about the one that comes before the yellow one. The green mango. The younger one. 

While ripe mangoes is more of a summer symbolism, the green ones represent the advent of spring. The onset of spring is marked by the yellowish-white mango blossoms adorning the dark green trees. And just when you start noticing them, they mature into tender green mangoes. 

And with their advent, also arrive a plethora of dishes, where the hero of the dish is the humble kaancha aam. Well thanks to cold storages, they are now available all the year round in some parts of the country. But the piquant sharp taste, and the delicious sour aroma of the ones which we find in the ones during the season, is something else totally. 

As far as my knowledge goes, Bengalis make the most use of kaancha aam, than any other Indian community does. While in most parts of the country, it is used mainly for pickles (sweet or sour or sweet-sour-spicy), bengali cuisine makes use of this ingredient in various other ways for various delicacies (of which I know well, only a few). 

Kaancha Aamer Chatni

Chatni (or chutney) is one such variant. We have many chatni recipes, but we insist on having kaancha aamer chatni throughout the summers. While rest of India enjoys chutney as condiments or as a relish, it holds a pre-dessert slot in a full course Bengali menu. Bengalis love to have it after the meal and before popping in few rosogollas. It is almost always prepared fresh and is eaten to accent the meal. Normally simmered in jaggery and tempered with paanch phoron, it is one of the topmost things that come to the head when talking about tender mangoes.

Next in line would definitely be the Aamer Tok Daal (red lentils cooked with green mango). This tok daal defies the golden rule of having lentils the Indian style, which is, having it garam-garam. We rather insist on having it at room temperature, owing to the soaring temperature conditions. And would normally accompany it with some rice and bhaja. In certain households, this daal is actually eaten right at the end of the meal, to ensure that the sweet-n-sour taste lingers on after the fish or meat part of the meal is done with.

Maacher dimer ombol (fish roe/fish eggs in a sweet n sour gravy) is yet another dish where the commonplace fish roe cutlets are taken to a oh-so heavenly level, because of the sweet sourness of the kaancha aam. This ombol is also made using some small fish varieties like chuno puti or mourola. 

Sliced unripe mangoes sprinkled with red chilli powder

Kaancha aam makha (the closest translation would be a mango salad) comes next in the line. in this dish the mango is not cooked at all. Instead, it is grated and marinated in salt, sugar, red chilli powder, and is punched with some mustard oil, just till the juices of the mango are married to the sweet, salty, spicy and pungency of the other ingredients. And is served along with the meals and sometimes eaten out of small bowls while the family chats up after the meals. 

Aam porar shorbot (drink made of roasted green mangoes) is another gem which, one can never have enough of. Known to be a saviour during the hot summer months, it is quite close to the popularly known aam panna, but is still very different and distinct in taste. The roasted green mangoes in the aam porar shorbot, give it a unique smoky taste, which when mixed with the tastes of sugar, black salt and cumin, yields a concoction that, like i mentioned before, one can never have enough of. 

Aam Porar Shorbot

The goodness of the green mango is quite a known thing (if not, it is just a google search away). But while we, the urban-ers of today, have known its goodness and its taste alike, are starting to look away. The reason - will be best answered by yourself. This sour-yet-sweet taste can comfortably be called something that has been a part of our growing up. Something that we should not give up so casually. 

So here’s a toast to this humble ingredient, which has given us some of our most memorable spring-summer memories.

Bhetki Maacher Kaanta Chorchori (curry made with fish head and bones)

As a kid, I never liked this chorchori. And I could never understand why my mum loved it so. I used to wonder, what is the fun in eating parts of the fish which do not have any flesh. It was only much later in life, when I learned, it is the fish head and its bones that are packed with flavour and make the fish taste the way it does. And the way this (slightly more spicy) chorchori is prepared, using only a few ingredients, only intensifies all that flavour, a hundred times more. Just imagine !

Just so you know, Bhetki or Bekti (Asian Sea Bass) is quite popular in many regions of the country. Apart from Bengal, it is also quite well loved in the southern states and is called Koduva, Kalaanji or Pandugappa. This fish is also very popular in Thai cuisine. 

Bengalis love the Bhetki and make a lot of things out of it. Besides curries, some of the most popular delicacies that the Bhetki yields are - fish fingers, fish cutlets, fish chops, bhetki paturi and the most loved of all, fish fry. The fish is normally filleted for these dishes; and the head and bones are used for making this amazing chorchori. This is one of the treasures (in my mum’s and my opinion) of the bengali cuisine which can be found only in the bengali households. And sometimes even in staff meals of bengali fine dine restaurants. 

So here’s the recipe (my mum’s version) of this finger-licking-good-fish-dish. Have it for lunch with some steamed rice. Make sure that you don’t cook too many things along with it. You might land up overeating. Big time. 

Ingredients:-

• Head and bones of 1 medium sized fish
• Onion (sliced) - 1 large
• Potatoes (cut into big chunks) - 2 medium sized
• Ginger-garlic paste - 1tsp
• Bay leaves - 2 small ones
• Green cardamom (tear open the pods) - 2 small ones
• Turmeric powder - 1 tsp
• Red chilli powder - 1 tsp
• Coriander powder - 1 1/2 tsp
• Green chillies (slit) - 2 nos
• Salt
• Sugar - 1/2 tsp
• Mustard Oil

Procedure:-

Add some turmeric powder and salt to the fish, mix well, leave aside for approx. 5 minutes, fry lightly and keep aside. Fry the potato chunks also, till they are golden in colour and keep aside.

Now temper bay leaves and green cardamom. Add onions and fry till they turn golden brown. Then add ginger-garlic paste and green chilies and sauté for a couple of minutes more. 

At this point add sugar. Let the sugar caramelise and then add turmeric, red chilli and coriander powder. Add salt too, and sauté this masala till oil starts surfacing.

Now add fried potato chunks and fried fish. Toss them in the masala for 2-3 minutes. Then add some water. Let it come to a boil, cover the dish and let it simmer on a low flame. The idea is to let the potatoes get cooked in the flavour of the fish, onions and the spices. 

Once the potatoes are cooked, turn off the flame and let the dish stand for sometime. Serve it with some hot steamed rice.

The king of good limes - Gondhoraj

Literally translated, “King of flavours”, the Gondhoraj Lebu holds a special place in all bengali households. And lends its unique fragrance to some celebrated dishes. In fact, it is deemed that without a few drops of the its juice, the Bhapa Ilish (hilsa) might end up losing a lot of its VIP status in the Bengali meal. To a Bengali, Gondhoraj captures the essence of Bengal. 

Quite oblong and with a thick green rind, it is quite hard to nonchalantly squish the Gondhoraj by hands. Unlike its modest cousin the Pati Lebu or nimboo or lime, neither does it offer a lot of juice, nor does it add any sourness to the dish. It’s sole purpose on earth, seems to be enhancing flavours of whatever it is squeezed in, by yielding the most fantastic heady aroma which is absolutely unmatched and unparalleled. 

The celebrity status of the Gondhoraj becomes apparent when we take into account that even its leaves are used to add flavour to the most characteristic Bengali food. It is simply mashed with rice and some ghee (clarified butter) to make lebu ghee bhat that has for ages been fondly relished by the rich and the famous in Bengal. Or mixed in fermented rice and enjoyed as a staple in the more humble households. 

This characteristic use of its leaf, for flavouring, makes the Gondhoraj quite similar to the Thai Kaffir lime. Their similarity is further extended by how these two resemble each other quite a bit, though the Gondhoraj not always possessing the same textured skin as the Kaffir lime. But that is only the first dissimilarity. Because, it is primarily the leaves of the kaffir lime that is stewed widely in delicious Thai curries. The actual lime is rarely used in cooking and is summarily trimmed off the tree to encourage a lush crop of scented leaves. The scent of the kaffir is indeed beautiful and even in India, many nostalgic Bengalis settle for the Kaffir as the Gondhoraj. 

This in fact brings us to a very curious place. Why is the Gondhoraj, so less known? Why is it, that despite being such a unique ingredient (it has indeed been found to have no parallel), it has not been explored much by the culinary world. Is it because the Bengalis have kept this wondrous citrus under wraps so that it does not get hijacked? Hardly, so. 

The Gondhoraj, it seems does not take to the soil of any other part in India, except in Bengal. Hence the challenge in procuring it, even within the country. It has a very close cousin in southern India, which is called the Naarthangai (aka Citron) and is used mainly in pickles. It is quite intriguing that all the citrus fruits in the world trace their roots back to the fertile land between the Himalayan foothills and Burmese plains. And that is where the Gondhoraj seems locked in too. 

Restauranteur Anjan Chatterjee, has traced origin of the Gondhoraj in Rangpur, a city in the alluvial plains of Bangladesh (erstwhile East Bengal). It grows in abundance there, in the golden yellow soil of Rangpur, from where it draws its scientific name - Rangpur Lime or Citrus Limona. It is a rare blend between a lime and a mandarin, and grows in various avatars. According to Chatterjee, the Gondhoraj has scattered followers across the world - it is known and loved as the Canton Lemon in South China, as Hime in Japan; and goes in the making of marmalades and an old brand of gin in London. 

Curiously, limes are not intrinsic parts of any dish in India, except for pickles of course. Bengali restauranteurs, however, have sniffed a star in the Gondhoraj and have started featuring it liberally in their menus as innovative dishes. But considering that India is among the world’s largest producers of limes and lemons, the existing anonymity of the Gondhoraj is quite baffling. And unfair. 

Like the Thai Kaffir, Carribean Key and Chinese Canton, it will only be fair if the Gondhoraj, with its uniqueness, is named, accepted and promoted as the wondrous citrus of India.