Waking up to a sweet

A Mouthful of Heaven

A slightly edited version finds place in TheHindu Sunday Magazine.

Thank you : The team at The Hindu, Richa and Kumar.

 

Image: Nimesh Ved

Sometime last year, during a book launch, I got to interact with the author after listening to his eloquent talk. He, a European, in turn, asked me if my name meant ‘that yellow coloured soft sweet which is had in the mornings’. I was already a fan of Malaiyo, which fits the description, but could not figure out what he meant!

 

A few weeks later, a friend asked if my name meant a Lucknowi dish available only during winters. A sweet similar to the Daulat ki Chaat she had had at Old Delhi. Vir Sanghvi’s account of the street food festival, at Delhi, where Banaras took the honours, had prompted her question. By this time, I was intrigued and looked up more on Malaiyo, Daulat ki Chaat and of course Nimish. It turns out the dish also has a fourth name – Malai Makhan.

 

Ashish Mamgain in his article ‘If you could eat the clouds . .’  clarifies, ‘The same ‘chaat’ is available in other parts of north India, but it goes by different names, such as Malai Makhan in Kanpur, Malaiyo in Varanasi, and Nimish in Lucknow’. In love with the sweet, he adds, ‘The moment you put it in your mouth, it just melts away. So much so, that a person trying it for the very first time is very likely to be left bemused’. Sabyasachi Roy Choudhury clarifies further, ‘The dish has subtle differences from place to place. Silver foil, rose water and mawa are some ingredients in these variations’.

 

Chand Sur and Sunita Kholi in their ‘The Lucknow Cookbook’ (Aleph, 2017) describe Nimish as ‘famous and unique Lucknow specialty’. Further details include ‘the basic preparation of Nimish is when milk is poured into large flat pans and left in the open before dawn. When the early morning dew falls on the milk, it creates a froth which is as light as air’. The dish, however, does not find mention in Mirza Jafar Hussain’s, ‘The Classic Cuisine of Lucknow: A Food Memoir’ (Sanatkada Publications, 2016).

 

Conversation with another friend who has grown up in Old Delhi reaffirmed what I had come across on the web – that the ‘cloud’ had disappeared some years ago and has made a comeback of sorts during recent times. Rahul Verma enjoyed it at Jashn E Rekhta - a festival celebrating Urdu and described it as ‘the best desert in the world’.

 

Image: Kumar Radhakrishnan

At Banaras I had a conversation with Somnathbhai who sells Malaiyo near Chowk; in between his brisk sales. As he handed over the ‘cloud’ in kullads he shared how Chowk and Chowkhamba, read the heart of Banaras, continue to remain THE localities in town for Malaiyo. The season for Malaiyo is the period between Diwali and Shivratri. Even within these, sales tend to dip post Makarsankranti; seasons still dictate the food here. As we extended our hands with the empty kullads, for re-fill – this time with milk; he proudly mentioned his having introduced flavours like chocolate and strawberry and of getting orders for parties during the ‘season’. The cost of a serving, approximately 30/-, includes the refill with milk.

 

I also talked with friends and acquaintances in Banaras. One of them mentioned that malaiyo was also an early morning offering to the deity in select temples. Some friends swear by it and others lament their not being able to have it. The later suffer from ‘being busy’. Of those who savour it few are glad that select outlets now make it available throughout the day while others conveyed that the ‘asli’ stuff is available only during the mornings.

 

Malaiyo I can savour before breakfast, after breakfast and both before and after breakfast. In each of these scenarios I usually end up in silent contentment. I am yet to figure out how a dish which appears so light gives such satisfaction. Perhaps, there is a message here!

 

Not everyone in Banaras is crazy about it though. At a school, located at the town’s out-skirts, I asked students of it. Studying in 8th class none of them had yet had it. Most of them belong to families located on the lower rungs of the social and financial ladders. I wondered if distance of their homes from the Malaiyo hub was also a factor.

 

Coming back to the friend who had initially talked of it with me. She was somewhat apprehensive of the quality of milk and the processes put to use to make the Daulat ki chaat in today’s time.

 

I would rather side with Pamela Timms here. In her mouth-watering book ‘Korma, Kheer and Kismet: Five seasons in Old Delhi’ she writes ‘It resembles uncooked meringue and the taste is shocking in its subtlety, more molecular gastronomy than raunchy street food, a light foam that disappears instantly on the tongue, leaving behind the merest hint of sweetness, cream, saffron, sugar and nuts; tantalizing, almost not there. I’ve often wondered if it is a preview of what might be on the menu should we make it as far as the pearly gates’.

More on Banaras

Sankat Mochan Sangeet Samaroh (FirstPost)

Ramleela (FirstPost)

Dhrupad Mela (FirstPost)

Dufferin / Double-decker / Rajghat Bridge (The Hindu)

Laat Bhairav (The Hindu)

Harmony Bookstore (The Purple Pencil Project)