Manikkaka looks up anxiously at the charcoal-scarred sky. It is barely nine am this June morning, the first day of the Ashad month, although it feels closer to sundown.
It’s going to pour today Ginnimaa, he alerts Grandma, I better rush to the market.
And he heads out.
An oversized black umbrella, older than Manikkaka as Dada often jokes, and his pair of bajarer thole (shopping bags) in tow. The shopping bags, I often muse, are an interesting couple.
One exclusively for vegetables and fruit, the other for fish and meat.
And under no circumstances whatsoever, so is Grandma’s strictest mandate, can their roles swap. The cloth bag, the white long bleached to a dull lackluster cream, is reserved solely for niramish bajar (read fruits and vegetables), washed religiously once a week, its seams scrutinized frequently for any tear and if there are any, Didi’s healing hands immediately set to repair the wounds with utmost care and finesse.
The other one, used for aamish bajar (read eggs, fish and meat) is a nylon one, with blue and green vertical stripes, weathered with age and use, scrubbed and washed thoroughly beside the well in the courtyard after use and left to dry on the cobbled floor, four stones at the four corners restricting the urge of the bag to fly to freedom.And then come the rains.
The horizons blur out.
The birds seek refuge in the mildewed rafters.
The young calf, still diffident and coy, moos in agony. Didi rushes out, leads her to the warmth of the shed and returns drenched.Manikkaka returns home a good couple of hours later. Soaked in the showers. A broad grin though lighting up his face.
And before Didi can enquire, he takes out an Ilish, pristine silver, from the battered nylon bag and holds it up like a coveted trophy.
Paddar Ilish. He announces, beaming with pride. Came across the border this morning.
And once hes done with eulogising the gorgeous ilish, as an afterthought remarks, Ginnima, look at these pineapples. The first of the season. Fresh from the farm. Didi gets to scaling, gutting, chopping and slicing the ilish. I sit like a kitten a few feet away, my eyes set on the prized ilish maachher dim. (Hilsa roe)
It’s going to pour today Ginnimaa, he alerts Grandma, I better rush to the market.
And he heads out.
An oversized black umbrella, older than Manikkaka as Dada often jokes, and his pair of bajarer thole (shopping bags) in tow. The shopping bags, I often muse, are an interesting couple.
One exclusively for vegetables and fruit, the other for fish and meat.
And under no circumstances whatsoever, so is Grandma’s strictest mandate, can their roles swap. The cloth bag, the white long bleached to a dull lackluster cream, is reserved solely for niramish bajar (read fruits and vegetables), washed religiously once a week, its seams scrutinized frequently for any tear and if there are any, Didi’s healing hands immediately set to repair the wounds with utmost care and finesse.
The other one, used for aamish bajar (read eggs, fish and meat) is a nylon one, with blue and green vertical stripes, weathered with age and use, scrubbed and washed thoroughly beside the well in the courtyard after use and left to dry on the cobbled floor, four stones at the four corners restricting the urge of the bag to fly to freedom.And then come the rains.
The horizons blur out.
The birds seek refuge in the mildewed rafters.
The young calf, still diffident and coy, moos in agony. Didi rushes out, leads her to the warmth of the shed and returns drenched.Manikkaka returns home a good couple of hours later. Soaked in the showers. A broad grin though lighting up his face.
And before Didi can enquire, he takes out an Ilish, pristine silver, from the battered nylon bag and holds it up like a coveted trophy.
Paddar Ilish. He announces, beaming with pride. Came across the border this morning.
And once hes done with eulogising the gorgeous ilish, as an afterthought remarks, Ginnima, look at these pineapples. The first of the season. Fresh from the farm. Didi gets to scaling, gutting, chopping and slicing the ilish. I sit like a kitten a few feet away, my eyes set on the prized ilish maachher dim. (Hilsa roe)
Maa offers one of the pineapples to the deities, as is the custom in the house for any first fruit or vegetable of the season. And for lunch, she pairs the ilish with the other pineapple and cooks a divine Anarosh Ilish.Outside the rains continue unabated.
Anarosh Ilish. Another East Bengal delicacy. Gorgeous Ilish. Farm-fresh pineapple, a sublime sweet delicately balanced by a crisp tart. The warmth of ginger. The heady aroma of fennel seeds.
This indeed is food heaven !!!
This indeed is food heaven !!!
If you are looking at something unique to do with your pretty Ilish this weekend, my Anarosh Ilish is indeed a must-try !!!
Anarosh Ilish (Hilsa with Pineapple)
Anarosh Ilish. An East Bengal delicacy. Gorgeous Ilish. Farm-fresh pineapple, a sublime sweet delicately balanced by a crisp tart. The warmth of ginger. The heady aroma of fennel seeds.
This indeed is food heaven !!!
Ingredients
- 4 pieces Ilish or hilsa
- 1 small semi ripe pineapple peeled and cut into medium cubes
- 1-2 green cardamom
- 1-2 bay leaves
- 1/4 tsp fennel seeds
- 1 tsp turmeric powder
- 1/2 tsp red chilli powder
- 3-4 green chilies slit
- 1 tsp ginger paste
- 1 tbsp fennel powder freshly ground
- 4 tbsp mustard oil
- salt to taste
Instructions
- Blend half the pineapple cubes in an electric blender, strain, keep the juice aside.
- Dissolve the turmeric powder, red chili powder, fennel powder and ginger paste in a little water, keep aside.
- Marinate the fish with a little turmeric and salt, keep aside.
- Heat oil in a pan, shallow fry the fish, keep aside. (If the fish is very fresh, do not bother frying it.)
- To the same oil, add the crushed cardamom, fennel seeds, bay leaves and green chillies, allow the spices to splutter.
- Add the spice paste, saute for a couple of minutes till oil starts to release from the masala.
- Lower the flame, gently pour in the pineapple juice, throw in the remaining pineapple cubes, cook for 3-4 minutes.
- Add 1/2 a cup of warm water, gently place the fish in the curry. Add some more ginger paste and/or fennel powder if needed. Cook for a further 3-4 minutes.
- Adjust seasonings. Serve hot with rice.
I have been following you for a while. I love your food. ❤️❤️
Thank you !!