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.
A funny thing happened when I started approximating, though. I found this globalised recipe for possibly a more American palate. Right up to the point where the mustard oil and red onions went in the pan (ah yes, more local flavours and improvisation), I was planning to add the fish, stock, vegetables and just stew, adding the packet premix at the end. I hadn't really planned to use my own sauces—just looked in the larder, not sure why, while reading the recipe. But now... I found myself putting the packet back on the shelf, and wading into uncharted the brown waters of the stew like the village fisherwoman in the muddy brown carp bound, slinging about sauces and pastes.
I ended up with a dish with both much more and much less authenticity, depending on your taste for regional cuisines and the English language(s). To my tastebuds, it was delish—and the child did not mind it either, having somewhat grudgingly given a thumbs-up to the pineapple chunks and a no-more-please to the okra in the stew. He did lick the bones clean, like a good Bengali boy should.
1 red onion, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons tamarind paste
1½ tablespoons oyster sauce
A sprinkle of salt to taste
6 cups of water
~350g fish pieces (I used catla), Bengali-style or curry cut, i.e., darne*
1 cup diced pineapple*
250g very tender okra (ladies' fingers, alarmingly in Indian English)*
200g mixed sprouts (we had mung, gram, horsegram and a little black-eyed pea mixed in)
1 teaspoon cumin powder
2 ripe plum tomatoes, quartered into wedges
A handful of chopped coriander leaves*
* If authenticity is your riff: The pineapple is best fresh; if using tinned, you had better add it last with the fresh herbs and adjust the seasoning. I had no coriander leaves, so simply topped each bowl of rice and fish stew with coriander chutney. As for the more authentic version, you should be using sliced elephant ear (taro) stems with the okra, as well as rice paddy herbs at the end, and a sliced hot, red chilli. And of course, the true Vietnamese soup uses catfish.
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.
A funny thing happened when I started approximating, though. I found this globalised recipe for possibly a more American palate. Right up to the point where the mustard oil and red onions went in the pan (ah yes, more local flavours and improvisation), I was planning to add the fish, stock, vegetables and just stew, adding the packet premix at the end. I hadn't really planned to use my own sauces—just looked in the larder, not sure why, while reading the recipe. But now... I found myself putting the packet back on the shelf, and wading into uncharted the brown waters of the stew like the village fisherwoman in the muddy brown carp bound, slinging about sauces and pastes.
I ended up with a dish with both much more and much less authenticity, depending on your taste for regional cuisines and the English language(s). To my tastebuds, it was delish—and the child did not mind it either, having somewhat grudgingly given a thumbs-up to the pineapple chunks and a no-more-please to the okra in the stew. He did lick the bones clean, like a good Bengali boy should.
Fish Stew, between Jhol and Ambol
1 tablespoon mustard oil1 red onion, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons tamarind paste
1½ tablespoons oyster sauce
A sprinkle of salt to taste
6 cups of water
~350g fish pieces (I used catla), Bengali-style or curry cut, i.e., darne*
1 cup diced pineapple*
250g very tender okra (ladies' fingers, alarmingly in Indian English)*
200g mixed sprouts (we had mung, gram, horsegram and a little black-eyed pea mixed in)
1 teaspoon cumin powder
2 ripe plum tomatoes, quartered into wedges
A handful of chopped coriander leaves*
- Heat the oil until smoking. Immediately lower the heat to minimum and add the sliced onions. Cook till softened but not coloured, about 3–5 minutes.
- Stir in tamarind paste and oyster sauce; season to taste. (This is where you would add the palm sugar or jaggery as well, if using.) Add the water and let it come to a boil.
- Lower heat as you add the prepped ingredients. Pineapple goes in, and fish—mine was still frozen and cooked at a simmer in about 3–4 minutes. (The traditional catfish would need a couple of minutes more, perhaps, than the carp—the steaks tend to be meatier.)
- With fish cooked through, add the okra and simmer a couple of minutes—you do not want them soft, just barely cooked through and tender-crisp.
- Sprouts and tomatoes in, just till the raw smell leaves the tomatoes and the sprouts look a little wilted/curlier and lose their bite a tad.
- And you're done—unless you have and want to add paddy herbs or coriander or basil. Serve with lime, if you will, and sambal or hot green chutney.
* If authenticity is your riff: The pineapple is best fresh; if using tinned, you had better add it last with the fresh herbs and adjust the seasoning. I had no coriander leaves, so simply topped each bowl of rice and fish stew with coriander chutney. As for the more authentic version, you should be using sliced elephant ear (taro) stems with the okra, as well as rice paddy herbs at the end, and a sliced hot, red chilli. And of course, the true Vietnamese soup uses catfish.
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