The story of the most unfussy Bengali ever. And it’s a curry!

 

You are Bengali?

Aami ekta ekta Bangla jaani.

Aami tomake bhalobashi.

You must love machher jhol and roshogolla.

Firstly, ekta means one and not little. Secondly, it might be a bit strange if you are a burly sardarji or a Marwari gentleman with cousins in Kolkata and say that you love me. Er, please don’t get woke on me. I am all for gay rights. And have many gay friends.

And there are more sophisticated sweets than roshogolla, the latter is more a bits & pieces player. Plus most of us are diabetic in any case!

And it’s o as in ‘oar,’ and not as in ‘or,’ in jhol. 

More importantly not every Bengali loves fish curry. 

I, for example, am indifferent to it. 

Let me tell you about the real deal instead. 

The curry that’s is the trusted footman of the Bengali kitchen.

I am talking of deemer jhol. Egg curry. The one whose love unites all, Marxist, Leninist or Didi-ist. It’s a runny onion based gravy. Tomatoes usually feature in it. Potatoes are a must. Green peas in winter.

Some call it deemer dalna. What’s the difference? You need to turn to someone more erudite. I am just a punter who loves to write about what he eats, and then sleeps.

I had deemer jhol this afternoon. Sunday afternoons were once reserved for meat of course. Mangshor jhol. Runny and yummy, not kosha mangsho by the way. The latter was more the stuff of the cabin cafes and weddings. The germs of these alliances might have been planted in the former at times if it was ‘laabh’ (love) and not ‘arranged’. Mangsho or meat stood for goat or ‘moton’.  Chicken or murgi came in much later. Late 80s perhaps when, poultry became an industry. When businessmen began to rule our diets as Marx would have, or should have, warned that they would. Maybe Hegel had.

Before that eggs would be hasher deem (duck). 

Kocchop (tortoise and before it was banned, I’ve seen tortoise in wet markets in the early 80s and have had kochhoper jhol too).   Had

Ghorar deem. Horse eggs. A more polite way of dubbing something as BS. And no, I don’t subscribe to the view that that’s what free range is. 

I swear by free range eggs now. But then I live in Bombay. Bandra at that. Have to do something hipsterish men.

Before I cause any outrage by the fact that I had deemer jhol on Sunday and before you head to the Brigade Parade grounds to protest, and please wear a mask and not just a monkey cap if you do, let me explain why I did so. Unlike it being a coveted once a week affair when I was growing up, we consume meat far more frequently now. Hence I decided to have an egg curry today.

Of course having two eggs at one go would have been inconceivable when I was growing up. Pet gorom hoye jaabe. It’s heat inducing (and family budget busting) to have two at a go. ‘Your father and his five siblings split an egg when they were kids,’ said my thakurma (dad’s mom) to me when I was 8. I never got to fact check this.

When there was no ‘protein’ at home. Fish. Or meat. 

Then the good old egg would come to the rescue. 

Sometimes as a maamlet (Bengali for omelette) or poach (Bengali for fried egg) or sheddo (boiled) if not jhol (curry). What is non-negotiable is that the boiled egg for the jhol has to be peeled, smeared with turmeric, chilli powder and salt, scored (split across the four sides) and fried, before being put into the gravy.

What do you pair a deemer jhol with? No am not taking of Pinet Noir and all that stuff. 

If a runny jhol, then bhaat (steamed rice) is best. Or haathe kora ruti (chapati). 

If deem kosha (thick onion based gravy), often served in roadside eateries or college and office canteens) then porotha, luchi or even pound ruti (non-artisanal white bread loaf from local bakeries) would do, for that’s the thing about deemer jhol. 

It’s the most non-fussy and undemanding Bengali that you will ever find.

My recipe for egg curry