Pretty as a picture

The Parsi Kitchen, visually riveting and steeped in memories of a childhood spent in a Parsi home, could have offered a bigger bite of cooking

Everyone in the Parsi community has a favourite Patra-ni-machchi version linked invariably to the wedding caterer who serves it. Mine is late Katy Dalal’s; my mother’s is Godiwalla. The tenets of the traditional recipe that sees fish coated with a lush green masala and steamed in banana leaves tied with a sutli, stands across renditions. What changes is “pramaan” or ingredient portions. It’s what makes the chutney that coats the fish “jara fikki” (bit bland) or “ghani mitthi” (way too sweet). A food memoir, I think, is a lot like this chutney. Too much grated coconut, and it can lose its piquant kick.

Anahita Dhondy’s The Parsi Kitchen, is one of the most slickly produced culinary titles in recent times. Its glossy pages flaunt carefully-styled dining table shoots with crocket doilies and Old Country Roses (or some such) dinnerwear, with an art director no less overseeing the overall aesthetic. The last time I noticed an art direction credit in a recipe book was in Maunika Gowardhan’s elegant, Indian Kitchen. 

This and the nostalgia brought alive by old family album photographs make this a deeply personal read. Where the balance wavers slightly is in the core cooking content and recipes. I was left hungry, wondering if there could have been more. This doesn’t seem like a title for a foodie from the Parsi community. The 25-odd recipes Dhondy chooses are community staples that most Parsis with a reasonable knowledge of their culinary legacy would have tasted, cooked and served. What it could be is a tempting introduction to those outside, eager to learn the stories and hacks behind Parsi dishes. That personal family stories lead into each of the primary dishes she chooses to detail, could make the entry for a first timer less daunting. Vera’s Ravo, a semolina, milk and vanilla dessert that Parsis serve on auspicious occasions, comes with a story about Vera Gandhi, Dhondy’s maternal grandmother, who in Allahabad was the first to bring in a popcorn maker that popped kernels proudly at the family’s heritage cinema.

I like that she chooses to throw in two modest preparations, khaara bheeda (sauteed lady finger) and narial doodh ma cauliflower (cauliflower in coconut milk) into the mix. Most believe Parsis subsist on rich dhansak, pulao dal and chicken farcha. The community has a wealth of everyday cooking that’s delightfully unique in its influences from Gujarati culinary traditions. Regrettably, most restaurateurs (a nod to Kala Ghoda Cafe’s Farhad Bomanji who put the pora pav and sali par edu on his den wine bar’s tapas menu), chefs and cookbook writers rarely show gumption to display these in the Parsi menu repertoire, sticking to wedding feast items. Khara gos ma kamodiyo kand (mutton gravy with purple yam), papri ma kavab (mince balls in flat beans), kacchi keri ne kohra nu dohru (raw mango and red pumpkin gravy) and gravy na cutlets (mutton cutlets soaked in spiced tomato slush) are just as distinct and delicious.

If you have a grand to spare, pick up Dhondy’s book for a vicarious peep into the good Bawa life, where chutney cucumber sandwiches sit delicately at afternoon tea freshly brewed with mint in Waterford teapots with Pemberley tea cosies. For serious kitchen soldiers, there’s Jeroo Mehta, Niloufer Mavalvala, Bhicoo J Maneckshaw and Katy Dalal.

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