Tamal Ray’s recipes from Kolkata, the fresh fish capital of India

Tamal Ray’s recipes from Kolkata, the fresh fish capital of India. Both sides of he’s family were originally from East Bengal (now Bangladesh).

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This article titled “Tamal Ray’s recipes from Kolkata, the fresh fish capital of India” was written by Tamal Ray, for The Guardian on Wednesday 8th June 2016 14.53 UTC

I’m in the Lake Market in Kolkata, West Bengal, staring hungrily at the most beautiful crustaceans – giant armoured titans with spindly blue claws, unlike any prawns I’ve seen elsewhere. I’ve been craving these critters on and off for the two years since I was last here. My mum tuts with disapproval: when she was a child, she tells me, they were two or three times this size.

I was born and raised in England, but my parents came from Kolkata, and my extended family still lives there. Both sides of my family were originally from East Bengal (now Bangladesh). My father remembers my grandfather’s land becoming – almost overnight – a refugee camp for those fleeing the brutality of the 1947 partition. They moved to Kolkata three years later. My mother’s family came later, but already had a home waiting for them in the city. My grandmother had become concerned at the growing discontent in their homeland, and urged my grandfather to build the house in southern Kolkata by Rabindra Sarobar lake where she still lives today.

This place has been at the heart of every trip I’ve ever made to India. Coming back to Kolkata can be a shock, thrown from the swanky new international airport to the chaos of the city, air thick with pollution, unmarked roads crowded and screaming with horns. You might find it difficult to reconcile the chaotic sprawl of modern Kolkata with the refined splendour it once had. When the East India Company first sailed up the Hooghly river in the 17th century, they found small villages along its banks; trade built it into a grand capital that would come to be known, after London, as the second great city of the British empire. The spacious mansions and wide avenues fostered a unique spirit where culture could thrive. It was Kolkata that gave India some of its greatest modern intellectuals and artists, icons such as Rabindranath Tagore and Satyajit Ray.

That affluence and aesthetic spread from Kolkata across its home state. It used to be said, “What Bengal thinks today, the rest of India thinks tomorrow.” But the city has been playing catchup for decades with the burdens placed on it by an ever-increasing population. Much of the old colonial architecture has fallen into disrepair. There is still beauty in the place, though – the elegant old mansions, with their crumbling masonry and tattered green shutters, stand still and silent over the beat of the city. Everywhere, there is energy and life – from the verdant shine of fresh vegetables seemingly sold on every street corner to the excited chatter of Bengalis going about their day’s business.

India is a country of rivers – and nowhere is that more true than in Bengal. The vast labyrinth of rivers and wetlands scattered across the region provide Bengalis with their greatest love: fish. Kolkata’s markets teem with an abundance so varied it is bewildering to the uninitiated. Piles of fat carp sit alongside catfish and the beloved ilish, an oily fish similar to herring. Venders sit astride imposing mounted blades called botis, ready to carve and scale fish for their customers. There is no hum of industrial freezers here; this is truly fresh fish, brought in several times daily on a convoy of bicycles, rickshaws and trucks to feed the city’s insatiable appetite.

In many western kitchens, fish is treated as a delicate ingredient suited only to gentle seasoning, some herbs and a squeeze of lemon juice. Centuries of honing their cuisine have taught Bengalis, however, that fish is robust enough to carry bold flavours. They fry it with onions, garlic and ginger, or poach it in broths with cumin, turmeric and coriander. My aunt will prepare the monster prawns we bought earlier in the traditional way, cooked in their shells with fresh coconut and mustard oil. To truly do them justice, you’re supposed to chew the shelled head and body to extract all their gutsy flavour. I can never quite do it – the crunch of the shells gives me the unpleasant idea that I’m chewing a giant cockroach. This earns me disapproving looks from my parents as I push the shells to the corner of my plate, a sin as terrible as throwing away the skin on fried chicken.

There is something else Bengalis are famous for, and that is their love of sweets, known locally as mishti. The city’s most famous sweet shops have become legendary institutions, closely guarding their secrets. During the many religious festivals celebrated throughout the year, the shops will be crammed with jostling customers. Some sweets will be prepared as offerings to deities (prashad) to be consumed with reverence after receiving divine blessing. Others will be given as gifts, wolfed down eagerly by young and old alike. It is a shame that mishti have failed to capture the world’s favour in the way that savoury Indian cuisine has. I love them, but concede that they are eye-wateringly sweet. As they are usually created from milk, massive amounts of sugar was needed to preserve these sweets in a tropical climate before refrigeration.

More recently, western-style bakeries have been popping up across the city, giving Bengalis another opportunity to indulge a sweet tooth. Domestic ovens remain a rarity in the average household kitchen and, for now, fruit tarts and choux buns are treats that have to be bought in. I wonder if that might change in the next few years, though. Perhaps we’ll see a new generation of Bengali patissiers combining a knowledge of eastern flavours with European baking skills to bring something new and exciting to the world. If it were to happen anywhere, I’d put money on it happening in Kolkata, inspired by the same marriage of east meets west on which this great city was founded.

Prawn and coconut curry

Mustard oil is an essential ingredient in many Bengali dishes, where it is valued for its unique pungent aroma. It is subject to an EU ban as it is rich in erucic acid, which has been linked to heart disease in animal studies (in humans, the link has not been conclusively established). You can buy it in Indian stores, with a warning that it is for external use. Like numerous Indians across the world (and Nigel Slater and many chefs in Europe and America), I cook with it and have included it in my recipe – but this is an individual choice.

(Serves 4)
20 king prawns, shell-on
¼ tsp turmeric powder
½ tsp table salt
2 tbsp mustard oil (or vegetable oil, if you prefer)
2 bay leaves
½ tsp turmeric powder
1 tsp cumin powder
¼-½ tsp kashmiri chilli powder (according to taste)
1 white onion, finely chopped
80g desiccated coconut
400ml tin of coconut milk
3cm cinnamon stick
2 green cardamom pods
3 cloves

Keep the prawn shells on – they enhance the flavour of the dish immeasurably. Coat the prawns in the turmeric and salt, then fry them in the mustard oil (if using) on a medium-high heat for one or two minutes, until pink. Remove from the pan and set aside.

Bring a little more mustard oil to a medium heat, then drop in the bay leaves, the remaining turmeric, cumin and chilli powder, and cook for 30 seconds. Add the onion and fry for 10 minutes, stirring until soft and browned.

Add the desiccated coconut and coconut milk and bring to the boil, then reduce the heat to a gentle simmer.

Toss in the prawns and cook for five minutes. Add extra salt, if necessary.

Add the cinnamon, cardamom and cloves, and cook for another couple of minutes. Serve with plain basmati rice.

Gulab jamun

These little fried balls are my brother-in-law’s favourite mishti. They are traditionally made with milk solids, but a quick version can be made with powdered milk and flour. There is an obscene amount of sugar in the syrup, but as an occasional treat they can’t be beaten.

(Makes 12)
150g milk powder
40g plain white flour
1 pinch baking powder
200g double cream
400ml vegetable oil
400g caster sugar
40g golden syrup
115g water
1 pinch saffron (about 10 strands)
3 green cardamom pods

Sieve together the milk powder, flour and baking powder. Add the double cream, then knead into a smooth dough. Form the dough into 12 balls, working quickly and with a light tough – the balls should be free of surface cracks, which might cause them to burst when cooking, but also not too dense from pressure during rolling.

Heat the vegetable oil to a low-medium heat (about 140C/284F) and carefully tip in half the balls. Keep them moving in the pan for six to eight minutes, so they colour evenly to a chestnut brown, then repeat with the second batch.

Meanwhile, in another pan, gently heat the sugar, golden syrup and water, until the sugar has all dissolved. Bring the pan to the boil and add the saffron and cardamom. Boil for a further two minutes to thicken, then remove from the heat.

Remove the balls from the pan, shake off any excess oil and add them to the hot sugar syrup. Leave them to soak for a few hours before eating.

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