Lunch today, on #FridayFishday, went back to my Bengali roots, to childhood memories of busy mornings followed by an afternoon meal of bhaat (boiled rice) with pona maachher jhol (freshwater carp in a fish stew with seasonal vegetables). Except I arrived there via a Vietnamese recipe (adulterated by an American website?).
That packet of premixed spices for a canh chua cá has been taunting me from atop the spice shelves for months. And I keep meaning to get some catfish—but life keeps getting in the way. And the spices fall by the wayside.
Except the last two months, life forced me back to my childhood home (or what was left of it after a lamentable upgrade)—and forced my own 5-year-old there as well, reliving many of my own childhood meals at that age. What I could not give him at the time, due to health constraints of family members, was the quintessential Bengali fish stew, maachher jhol, with seasonal vegetables. But this child is a fiend for fish, and was enjoying it so much, that I had to come back and get some home for the New Year's first #FridayFishday here in this household.
#FridayFishday is a page in a book of resolutions we made, the Aman and I, in 2018—to eat and use less animal products, and to also eat healthier. So Friday is Fish Day, and then the weekend is bookended by #MondayMaachh on the other side—sometimes leftovers from Friday's feasts, sometimes a fresh dish (Friday's often emerges from a can in landlocked Delhi on a late, hot evening).
Another resolution, more recent and personal, went into this time's menu: I started by challenging myself to try something new, or in this case an old fear I usually avoid, with a nervous but willing partner, per this Well challenge. For me, the challenge was using katla instead of catfish—I typically dislike the freshwater carps, called pona, much beloved in Bengal; the most common species are called rui (rohu) and katla (catla). For the child, the challenge was the recipe itself—it is new to me, but he was the uncertain one, trepidation rearing sharply at pineapples and okra and sprouts in a fish dish. He drew the line at sugar of any sort: "I don't like my fish sweet"—and that's fine, though this dish would be more rounded out, traditionally, by the addition of palm sugar. Chilli was withheld, likewise.
Yet a third condition bounded the dish: budget, which is going to be a tight, tight squeeze in 2019. So I dispensed with authenticity and allowed for approximation. There was no Vietnamese fish sauce; we used oyster sauce instead—and the child nearly stole the jar away, enticed by all that savoury, salty, umami fishy-business. We had no Asian tamarind sauce; we stuck to our own shores. And I certainly didn't go picking paddy herbs, nor forage for sawtooth at exquisitely overpriced delis in the nearby capital city.
That packet of premixed spices for a canh chua cá has been taunting me from atop the spice shelves for months. And I keep meaning to get some catfish—but life keeps getting in the way. And the spices fall by the wayside.
Except the last two months, life forced me back to my childhood home (or what was left of it after a lamentable upgrade)—and forced my own 5-year-old there as well, reliving many of my own childhood meals at that age. What I could not give him at the time, due to health constraints of family members, was the quintessential Bengali fish stew, maachher jhol, with seasonal vegetables. But this child is a fiend for fish, and was enjoying it so much, that I had to come back and get some home for the New Year's first #FridayFishday here in this household.
#FridayFishday is a page in a book of resolutions we made, the Aman and I, in 2018—to eat and use less animal products, and to also eat healthier. So Friday is Fish Day, and then the weekend is bookended by #MondayMaachh on the other side—sometimes leftovers from Friday's feasts, sometimes a fresh dish (Friday's often emerges from a can in landlocked Delhi on a late, hot evening).
Another resolution, more recent and personal, went into this time's menu: I started by challenging myself to try something new, or in this case an old fear I usually avoid, with a nervous but willing partner, per this Well challenge. For me, the challenge was using katla instead of catfish—I typically dislike the freshwater carps, called pona, much beloved in Bengal; the most common species are called rui (rohu) and katla (catla). For the child, the challenge was the recipe itself—it is new to me, but he was the uncertain one, trepidation rearing sharply at pineapples and okra and sprouts in a fish dish. He drew the line at sugar of any sort: "I don't like my fish sweet"—and that's fine, though this dish would be more rounded out, traditionally, by the addition of palm sugar. Chilli was withheld, likewise.
Yet a third condition bounded the dish: budget, which is going to be a tight, tight squeeze in 2019. So I dispensed with authenticity and allowed for approximation. There was no Vietnamese fish sauce; we used oyster sauce instead—and the child nearly stole the jar away, enticed by all that savoury, salty, umami fishy-business. We had no Asian tamarind sauce; we stuck to our own shores. And I certainly didn't go picking paddy herbs, nor forage for sawtooth at exquisitely overpriced delis in the nearby capital city.
