The tacit art of Tagore's kitchen

Amsotto dudhey feli, tahatey kodoli doli
Sandesh makhia diya tatey...
Hapush-hupush shobdo, charidik nistobdho
Pinpra kandiya jay patey

Ascribed to a young Rabindranath Tagore, this is a rhyme that any self-respecting Bengali—even the rare poetically reluctant lot—would be able to recite in sleep. Four crisp lines, evoking a rich imagery of sun-baked mango pulp, soft bananas and sandesh being mashed into a bowl of milk. The mishmash is then polished off in generous slurps, as stray ants, cheated out of their share, retreat in tears.

Should one be inclined to interpret the poem strictly as the budding genius's wordsmithery, be sure, there are enough tales about the adult Tagore to establish the bard's rather whimsical romance with food. "Documented only erratically, Tagore's relationship with food was not necessarily grand, but like his poetry, it was highly experimental," explains Tagore scholar Manabendra Mukhopadhyay, Associate Professor in Shantiniketan's Visva-Bharati University. In a letter that Tagore wrote to Hemantabala Devi—with whom he shared aam-sandesh, long missives and a siblinghood of kindred spirits—the day's meal he talks about can be safely called ordinary.
Why would this polymath, with his refined taste for life, fritter away word space on toast-ruti dressed up with tomato jam, goat-milk tea, and a raw salad of spinach, celery and mustard greens, redeemed only with a dash of ginger-lemon?

A side dish called whimsy
It would be an oversimplification to attribute this dietary austerity to his age alone—Tagore was 74 when he wrote the letter. Truth is, the poet was prone to surprising himself and others in matters of life and food. On one hand, the globetrotter would collect menu cards from the highbrow buffets he attended across England, Spain or Turkey, introducing far-flung delicacies like salmon in Hollandaise sauce, British pie or Hindustani Turkish kebab into the kitchen. The very next minute, he could take to heart someone's health hack of consuming garlic and request entire meals of garlic paste vadas, fried deep. His gastronomic vagaries made sociable the most unappetizing foods—diced raw vegetables with a sparse seasoning of lime, bitter neem juice, and even raw eggs!

Chingri maach to chandrapuli
But this does not make Tagore less of an Epicurean. Tagore's literary club, Khamkheyali Shobha, was as famed for its high tea as it was for its high thoughts. Known to nurse a soft spot for maach (fish) and mishti (sweets), he was said to be partial to naarkel chingri (prawns in coconut milk), aadar maach (fish in ginger sauce), chachhori (vegetable medley flavoured with shrimp) and chandrapuli (a sweet-toother's delight, this half-moon shaped dessert is made of milk solids and shredded coconut). Incidentally, Tagore's wife, Mrinalini Devi was a deft hand at doling out artisanal treats like mankochu r jilipi (Taro root jalebi) and doi er malpua (fried pancake cooked in curd)—recipes of which remain documented in family books like Pragyasundari Devi's Aamish O Niraamish Aahar or Purnima Devi's Thakur Barir Ranna.

A legacy inherited
The archived glories are a reminder of the fact that while Tagore's adventures with food expanded the horizons of the Joransanko kitchen, its eclecticism neither began, nor ceased with the poet. Sumanto Chattopadhyay, Creative Director, South Asia, Ogilvy & Mather, agrees. Chattopadhyay's great aunt, Purnima Devi—a member of the Tagore household remembered for her fine collation of recipes—was quick to whip up these delicacies when he would visit her in Shantiniketan as a young boy. It is said she found inspiration in a rannar khata (notebook of recipes) she'd inherited from Tagore's darling niece Indira Devi.
Chattopadhyay traces back the family's fascination with food to the younger days of Indira's mother, Jnanodanandini, who, inspired by husband Satyendranath's vision of the modern Indian woman, travelled all over the country, especially the Bombay Presidency, and across the salt waters to England. As the wife of India's first ICS (Indian Civil Service) officer, Jnanodanandini mingled with nobility from diverse cultures, imbibing a global sensibility unknown to women in the late 19th century. It was a matter of time before this shift in consciousness swept into the Tagore kitchen, revolutionizing it quietly.

The veg and non-veg of it
Quietly, only till women of the subsequent generations floreted in independent expressions, with the likes of Tagore's (other) niece Pragyasundari Devi taking charge of organised documentation. Published as two volumes of vegetarian and non-vegetarian recipes, her arsenal included dishes unique even to the smug Bengali gourmand. Think kochhop er Irish stew (tortoise stew, Irish style),  jol gujiar Hindustani polau (Hindustani pilaf with water chestnuts), apeli polau (apple pilaf), khorgosh er pie (rabbit pie), jhinuk bhaja (oyster fries), brain fritters, turkey roast, pork chow chow, grapefruit ice-cream, kacha mahuwar kheer (milk condensed with unripe, butter tree blossoms), akhrot bhapa pudding (steamed walnut pudding), golapi jaam er ombol (chilled berry soup), kodbel er jelly borfi (wood apple jelly), potol bichir nona malpua (savoury pancakes with pointed gourd seeds) and so on!

Shashuri Ma's treats and tricks
The hunger to dig deep fanned by Pragyasundari Devi's attractive descriptions, it was time to turn to Purnima Devi's daughter-in-law and Supriyo Tagore's wife, Subhra Tagore. Thakur Barir Ranna, published after Subhra's marriage, includes not only dishes passed down the generations, but some influenced by Subhra's childhood residence in Uttar Pradesh, where she grew up as a member of a separate branch of the Tagore family. "Ma loved sharing recipes and cooking tips," laughs Subhra, recalling nifty tricks she picked up from her in-law. Like Pragyashundari Devi, who advised that curious vegetarians mix asafoetida marinated in ginger juice with their vegetable curry to replicate a guilt-less, onion-less onion flavour, Purnima Devi too, had her share of kitchen hacks. Subhra swears by one in particular—if you've added a little too much salt to a dish, the damage can be minimised by placing a warm-water-soaked towel over the covered vessel. Along with the rising vapour, some of the excess salt will get captured in the towel. 

Thumbing through names like magur maach er hingi (cat fish in asafoetida curry) and niramish dim er dalna (vegetarian egg curry; recipe below explains the odd nomenclature), Subhra identifies a dish that she believes she brought into the index—aloo ka rassa, which her mother-in-law had refashioned as aloo koraishutir rosha (potatoes and peas in tomato gravy). The only catch? Purnima Devi had missed out on specifying the proportions. "But it should not be a problem for someone who's used to the kitchen," Subhra assures.

Rabindranath Tagore's note to the author of Panch-Mishali, Tanuja Devi

A mystery to munch on
While Chattopadhyay is familiar with the better known books on his family, he can't shake his mind off an obscure one called Panch-Mishali, published in 1949, and presumably out of print for decades. The book's author, he shares, is a Tanuja Devi, who nobody in his immediate family can identify. Yet Tanuja Devi's place in the Tagore household must have been of significance. Why else would Kobiguru compose an adoring rhyme thanking "kolyania Tanu" for her sandesh-sweet hospitality, lines that the book uses as its preface? Chattopadhyay delves deeper into the photocopy of the book that his grandmother Monjusree Devi "had just ordered over the phone many years ago". (The original has been since misplaced). Unlike Purnima Devi's book, which is divided into meal courses (vegetables, fish, meat, sweet dish, etc.), this one follows an alphabetical order, concluding with a seven-day menu.  

The feast is however, likely to spill beyond a week with dishes like Chingri maach er Chine kebab (Chinese lobster kebab), pona maach er roast (Roasted baby Rohu), Goan stew, Parsi Dhansak, Portuguese mutton korma, meter dopiyaza (spicy liver curry with onions), paka tetul er chutney (ripe tamarind chutney), potol er morobba (candied pointed gourd) and komla nebur sandesh (cottage-cheese sweet flavoured with oranges). Through it all, a question persists—who is Tanuja Devi?

Fruits of labour
Help comes in the form of scholar Mukhopadhyay, who finally locates Tanuja Devi in author Chitra Deb's seminal book on the Tagore family—Thakurbarir Andarmahal. "Like many in the family, Tanuja was related to the family through not one, but two lineages," explains the professor. "Tanuja Devi was a descendant of the 5th house/line of Tagores, but more significantly, she was married to Suprakash Tagore, grandson of Rabindranath Tagore's elder sister Saudamini Devi". 
Turns out, Tanu, whom we can now refer to as Tagore's grand-daughter-in-law, had cast quite a spell on the poet when he once visited Suprakash's family in Baroda (Vadodara). Whether the sandesh she prepared for Rabi Thakur finds mention in her book is a mystery for another summer. Another pochishe baishakh.

Thakur Barir Ranna by Purnima Devi

Want to recreate niramish dim er dalna, magur maach er hingi or doi er malpua from Thakur Barir Ranna? Here are the recipes:
 
Vegetarian egg curry
Ingredients: Peeled potatoes, split Bengal gram, onions, ginger, chillies, turmeric, and garam masala.
 
Cut the potatoes from the middle, in half-egg shape. Scoop out the insides and stuff it with lentil mix of split Bengal gram that's been soaked in water overnight and ground-up fine with seasoning of salt and sugar. The filling should resemble an egg yolk.
 
Heat oil in a pan and fry the stuffed potatoes. In a separate pan, add onions, ginger, chillies and turmeric to the oil. Fry it till the oil separates and the masala starts drying up. Add a little water and let it simmer. Throw in the potatoes and keep stirring till they are cooked well. Sprinkle ghee and garam masala on top, then cover the pan for some time. Serve hot.
 
Cat fish in asafoetida curry
Ingredients: Cat fish, mustard and jeera powder, potatoes and green bananas (diced and lightly fried), milk, asfoetida and garam masala.
 
Fry the Cat fish marinated in salt and turmeric. Set aside. Mix the mustard and jeera powder and soak it in a little water for a few minutes. Heat oil in a pan. Add the paste. Stir it for a while and put in the fried vegetables. Add some water, bring it to boil. Once the vegetables are nearly boiled, add the fish, which tends to cook fast. Add salt, and sugar (if required) and stir some more. Boil milk with a pinch of asafoetida. Add this to the vegetables and let the mixture thicken. Sprinkle garam masala and cook till required. Serve with rice.
 
Fried pancakes cooked in curd
Ingredients: 500 gm sweet curd, 100 gm flour, ghee, fennel seeds, thick sugar-syrup.
 
To make the batter, add oil into the flour and knead it. Once ready, mix well-whipped curd, weighing out the proportions to keep the consistency thick. Add fennel seeds to it. Heat ghee in a pan. Scoop up the mixture with a round ladle and lower it in the pan. Cook in low heat so the curd does not separate. The rounded portions would puff up and turn red. Once the malpuas have taken shape, place them in the sugar syrup and cook for around 20 minutes. Serve as dessert.