Calcutta style Chicken Rolls

I had set a record for unabashed gluttony at 5. I seemed to have accomplished more at 5 than I did at 25. Apparently, and I swear I have no real memory of this incident, a mother-daughter duo, friends of my family, had come home to spend an evening. I remember them though, they used to come home regularly and we visited them often, until they shifted to Australia a decade ago. Anyway, so they were home and since chicken rolls were the daughter’s weak spot that was what was brought for evening snack. It seems I had been making innumerable trips to the kitchen ever since the rolls arrived and were kept on the kitchen counter. Then one of the helps caught me sneaking out a piece of chicken from one of the rolls in the casserole and the nincompoop didn’t know better than to scream her lungs out. She had the option to merely ask me out politely, but no she screamed.

One slap later, I settled down for a while. Finally the rolls were served. And then, as the family legend goes, there was no stopping me. I stared at the daughter’s plate so hard, much to my mother’s dismay, she finally offered me a bite. At that point I conjured the most surprised look a 5-year-old possibly could and turned to my mother, with that “what should I do now, should I say no, what is the polite thing to do ma?” look. By now the daughter was insisting I take a tiny bite at least (tiny?) and my mother said “go ahead” in that sweetest voice that would usually terrify me. But now I had a bite of chicken roll to think about. If my mother thought that the embarrassment was over for the day, she couldn’t have been further from reality.

Once I had taken a bite of the daughter’s roll, I made my way to the living room upstairs, where the mother was enjoying her egg chicken rolls. My aunt was keeping her company. So, supposedly, I go into the room, pick a spot, park myself and the staring starts again. But the mother wasn’t as sensitive as the daughter you see. She seemed to not notice how a little girl, deprived of the goodness of street food, was staring at her plate. She carried on about her Nigerian daughter-in-law (I am sure that’s what she was talking about, she always did). And as I saw the size of the roll diminishing, I could no longer leave things to chance. So I decided to act. I asked, “How do you like your roll?” She said, “Oh they are wonderful, thank you.” And then I said, just as my mother stepped into the room, “Your daughter shared hers with me.” The incident scarred my mother for life I think. She decided she had failed at raising me well. But come on food is my weakness, has always been, will always be.

Yes I do not remember the incident, but my father will not let me forget it either. At every family get together, every other night at the dinner table, every time new guests come home, every time a conversation shifts to me, my father narrates this incident, in the same set of words, with minor alterations. I think he thinks that narrating this incident is imperative to introducing me to anyone. Yeah, it’s embarrassing, and I can’t begin to imagine what a thrashing I must have received that night, but I have learnt to laugh along. It’s boring now, hearing it over and over again. But dad seems to enjoy it so much, I don’t mind.

Yes rolls are my weak spot too. As a child my mother supervised everything I ate and she didn’t allow me the indulgence of street food as long as she could. So, I was for a long time only an onlooker while everyone around me feasted on that street-food wonder that is my city’s pride, but when I started eating rolls there was no looking back. Ah those juicy, spice morsels of meat wrapped in a crispy paratha. I do not like sauce in my rolls, just lots chilies and lime juice. And yes I like the paratha crisp mostly, and my rolls well endowed, lots of meat that is. 

I live in New Alipore in South Calcutta, and  for the longest time a majority of the residents of the area’s M, N, O, P blocks (quite a large area, I tell you) swore by the rolls from Mayuri roll centre, which went by the name of Rabi Da’r Roll. The original owner of Mayuri is no more, and in recent years Mayuri is no longer the same, but to me talking about rolls would always invoke memories of Rabi Da’r roll. Yes I love the legendary Nizam rolls, and there are a few other places in the city that make great rolls, but when I tried making chicken rolls at home, my inspiration was Mayuri, of course the Mayuri of yesteryears.

Ingredients 

(makes 4-5 rolls)

For the filling

Boneless chicken cut into 2 inch cubes – 500 g

Ginger paste – 1 tbsp

Garlic paste – 3/4 tbsp

Juice on 1 small onion (grate the onion and squeeze out the juice really)

Coarsely ground black pepper – 1 tsp

Salt to taste

Juice of 1 lime

Garam Masala Powder – ½ tsp

Roasted cumin powder – 1 tsp

Roasted coriander powder – 1 tbsp

Turmeric powder – ½ tsp

Red chili powder – ½ tsp (or more if you want heat)

Vegetable oil – 2-3 tbsp

For the paratha

Flour (Maida) – 300 g 

Vegetable oil – 4 tbsp

Water as required 

Salt to taste 

Sugar - 1/2 tsp 

Other ingredients

Thin sliced onions – 2 large

Finely chopped green chilies

Lime wedges

Salt and pepper

 

Method

Marinate the chicken with all the other ingredients listed under “For the filling” except the oil, for 3-4 hours.  

Heat oil in a pan and toss in the marinated chicken pieces.

Fry until chicken is tender and all the juices dry up, and oil separates.

In a bowl add lime juice, salt and pepper to the sliced onions and green chilies and keep aside.

In the mean time knead soft dough with the flour, oil and water. Roll out into thin, round disks. Shallow fry the parathas on a hot griddle or tawa. Actually, first bake the paranthas on both sides, and then spoon in oil, little by little, just enogh to give the parathas a crispy skin. We don't want the parathas to be too greasy.

You have to work fast here, actually. While the paratha is piping hot, line the chicken pieces a little off the centre of the parathas, top it with the onions and green chilies, add a squeeze of lime if you want to and roll them up.

Wrap one end of the roll in tissue or butter paper, and tuck the open ends into the hollow of the roll. This is necessary to keep the chicken pieces from tumbling down.

Serve on the go. Rolls need to be piping hot.

NO YOU WILL NOT HAVE KETCHUP WITH IT. DOESN'T MATTER HOW MUCH YOU LOVE KETCHUP 

Maangsher Korma: A sweet and spicy goat curry

The past three weeks have been extremely challenging for me. My mother took off on a solo trip to Pune, leaving the house and two difficult men, my father and my brother, in my care.

I know numerous 27-year-olds who are adept at managing home, some of them are even raising kids; most of them have a job too. Not me. I have never managed home, I am not good at managing things; I am the one who needs managing, I am the out-of-control, not-a-care-in-the-world, harmony-in-utter-chaos, drama-is-the-essence-of-life, kinds. No I am not irresponsible; I merely steer clear of taking added responsibility, at least as long as I can. But that’s another story.

I don’t have a real job (my relatives have convinced me that blogging is not a real job, who pays you? is the recurrent question) in fact I don’t even have my priorities straight (who quits a job, a good one at that, merely on a whim?) Few of my family and friends have suggested marriage as a solution to my willfulness and sheer lack of judgment.

I like to believe I belong in the realm of thoughts. I do a lot of thinking, trust me. They are extremely important, you know, these thoughts. After all thoughts become things, (Yes I have read The Secret). I am a free bird that soars high in the skies above, never to be tied down by mundane niceties, though mostly you’ll find me perched by the computer in the corner of my room, which by the way, has sky blue walls.

Anyway, the point is I have had to compromise with my lifestyle and struggle quite a bit in the last three weeks trying to keep the house up and running; seems like I did a neat job too. In fact I had even begun to enjoy my new role, but it was a role I was ready to give up nonetheless. I believe in moderation. So, my relief and joy knew no bound the day Ma returned. I was so grateful that she didn’t indulge my cousin’s repeated insistence that she stays in Pune another week and what is a better way to show your love and gratitude than to cook a great meal for the person.

Ma loves a good mutton curry and I made one that my grand ma, Didun, taught me. It is a sweet and spicy meat curry that’s goes by the name of Mangsher Korma at my place, a family recipe we all love. Now Didun is a master at cooking with very few ingredients. Simple but stunning food with clear cut flavours is what she would dish out every time. It is a pity that age and health doesn’t permit her to cook anymore. She misses her kitchen immensely, and she misses feeding us. I think what she misses the most is that look of pure satisfaction on our faces when we relished a meal she had cooked.

However at times, especially on special occasions, she would prepare a more elaborate dish and the Mangsher Korma is one such dish; Didun usually made it during the Durga Pujas or during winter get-togethers and every time she made the Mangsher Korma, each one us were reduced to licking our plates. She usually made a Bengali style fried rice; we call it ghee bhaat, to go with it. Gobindo Bhog rice, chopped carrots, beans and peas, laced in ghee and tempered with whole Garam Masala. Those were some of the best meals I have had. Didun passed on the recipe to me and though I can never make a Mangsher Korma as brilliants and hers, I have made the dish my own, in my own way. Here’s how I make it…  

Ingredients

Mutton - 1kg

For marination

Minced onion – 1 large

Tomatoes (grated) – 2 large or 3 medium

Ginger paste – 1.5 tbsp

Garlic - 1 tbsp

Minced papaya – 2 tbsp

Turmeric powder – 1 tsp

Red chili powder – ¾ tsp

To roast and grind together

Whole Cumin seeds – 2tbsp

Dry red chili – 2

Cardamom – 1

Cloves

Garam Masala: To grind and make a paste

Cardamom- 3-4

Cloves – 3-4

Cinnamon – 2 inch

Black Cardamom – 1 (only seeds)

Mace – 1

Nutmeg – a pinch

Peppercorns – 8-10

Other ingredients

Finely sliced onion – 1

Coriander powder – 1 tbsp

Salt to taste

Sugar – 1+1 tbsp

Bay leaves

Mustard oil

Method

Marinate the mutton with all the ingredients listed under “to marinate” section, for 3-4  hours.

Heat mustard oil in a pan (be a little generous) and once the oil starts smoking, reduce heat and add a tbsp sugar.

Once the sugar liquefies and turned a deep golden brown, toss in the finely sliced onions and fry until the onions are a deep brown.

Add the marinated meat and fry until the meat has browned on all sides and oil begins to separate. This should be done on medium high heat.

Now add salt, coriander powder, roasted cumin-chili powder and fry further till oil separates.

Now add the Garam Masala paste, mix well, fry for another few minutes and then add warm water, enough to cook the meat through. Bring to a boil, add sugar, reduce heat, cover and cook until meat is almost tender, stirring occasionally.

Remove cover and cook on low heat until meat is tender and the water reduces. Heat the ghee in a small bowl and pour it over the meat before removing from heat.

Serve hot with roti or rice.