At some point in our lives, we have all wanted to be born in a different era.
I might have been transported to one, centuries before mine, on a grand visit to the State of Sands: Rajasthan.
Every visit to that province cannot be anything but grand. Royalty resides there more than in any other place in India. The grandeur is palpable in every experience, every breath and every aroma one inhales. Over and above the splendour of an experience, the fact that it came to you as a child, is quite possibly the reason it has a lasting impact on the senses.
In my case, I was left with a zesty taste in my mouth.
And that is what has stayed.
I was a jubilant seven-year-old when an elephant ferried me up to the Amer Fort not far from Jaipur. The wobbly ascent, the magnificence of the fort that surrounded me and the finery I imagined myself to be adorned with, had I been a princess of the palace in the medieval era, made my head spin with delirium.
The only thing missing from my very real day dream was a defining bite of something that I would convince myself was from the palace kitchens.
To my surprise, a moustachioed chef ran a corner stall in one of the alleyways of the imposing structure. He prepared delicacies from local Rajasthani fare – their scent wafting well into the innards of the palace halls. I recall walking to his stall with my family, tempted by the sight and smell of his preparations.
It was then and there, for the very first time in my life, that I bit into a Pyaaz ki Kachori and it has been stamped in my memory for life.
Thank goodness my mother couldn’t help but ask the kindly cook how he prepared these round, crispy on the outside, soft and filled on the inside, spheres of deliciousness.
Smiling generously and just as well curling his moustache into a smile, he told us, with gleaming eyes, all it took to take ourselves back to this time in our lives and thereby, in some measure, to an era long gone, when these very spheres were the everyday lot of royals and locals alike.
Making some steaming hot, flaky, deep fried kachoris stuffed with a lightly caramelized and exceptionally seasoned onion filling takes:
Oil for deep frying.
2 cups of corn flour,
A quarter cup of melted Ghee (clarified butter) and
Half a teaspoon of Salt
For the Crust.
2 cups of finely chopped onions,
A teaspoon of nigella seeds,
2 teaspoons of fennel seeds,
2 bay leaves,
A teaspoon and a half of finely chopped green chillies,
2 tablespoons of Bengal gram flour,
2 teaspoons of coriander powder,
2 teaspoons of chilli powder,
A teaspoon of garam masala,
3 tablespoons of chopped coriander,
2 tablespoons of oil and
Salt to taste
For the Onion filling.
To prepare the Crust,
All the ingredients must be combined in a bowl and kneaded into a semi-soft structure, using adequate water, for a period of 5-7 minutes.
The dough is then divided into multiple equal parts and kept covered under a wet muslin cloth.
To prepare the Onion filling,
The oil is heated in a pan.
The nigella seeds, fennel seeds, bay leaves, green chillies and onions are added in and sautéed until the onions turn light brown in colour.
Further, the gram flour, coriander powder, chilli powder, garam masala and salt are added in and the mixture is sautéed for 2 to 3 minutes more.
The chopped coriander is then thrown in and everything is mixed together and well.
All the flavour from the bay leaves now extracted, they are removed and discarded.
The mixture is allowed to completely cool.
It is divided into as many divisions as were made of the dough and kept aside.
From there,
Each portion of dough is rolled into a circle.
One portion of the onion filling is placed into the centre of each rolled circle of dough.
The circle then closes into the filling and transforms into a sphere, with the ends tightly pressed and sealed.
Each dough ball is then flattened out slightly, without its contents spilling out.
A thumb impression is made into each flattened out, erstwhile globule
And they are deep fried in hot oil, over a slow flame until they turn golden brown.
The dough puffs back into its original spherical shape.
Allow it time to reach that state.
When it does, serve hot.
The eyes of our chef matched the colour of his Kachoris and they exuded a calm that his creations called for, to come into their own.
When he was through explaining, I offered him a spot on our elephant and pleaded with him to come home with us. To my repeated requests he gently said,
“The palace is your home. I will watch it for you until you return.”
And every time I bite into a Pyaaz ki Kachori, I do.
