The meteorological prognosis of an imminent storm lifted my spirit and my home phone rang to hear – ‘Aaj khichuri hobe. Purnima’ke bole dao’ [We’ll have Khichuri tonight. Let the cook know] - a decree very direct, unequivocal.
Climate dictates my cravings. Storm reminds me of Mian ki Malhar, Anais Nin and Khichuri - a spartan dish, inexorably popular in Bengal, made with rice and lentils (dal). Khichuri wielded a charm from time immemorial that didn’t even spare Seleucus and Ibn Battuta from singing its praises. Choosing the side is the most critical part in savouring Khichuri – today I chose Beguni [fried Brinjal] to the exclusion of everything else.
Isn't the golden hue fit to die for?
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