Bhojohori Manna inspires

The Bengali has about him an intellectual air but remains equally essentially a gourmand. The demands of his cuisine are such that a satisfactory meal is (or, as we shall see, has been) only to be expected at home. It is all about the delicacy of taste; and the dollop of fragrant ghee, the slice of lemon and the green chilli at the periphery of the dish are as indispensable as the sequence of service. The karela (bitter gourd) or neem-begun (aubergine) at the beginning and the chutney at the end serve as bookends to shaak (spinach or other greens), shukto (bitter mixed vegetable), dal-bhaja (fried lentils), fish and meat. The meal would, of course, end with doi and sweets.   Admittedly, the full spread would be on display only on special occasions and feasts and, perhaps, Durga Pujo in more affluent localities. But the principles remained the same, and no Bengali true to his salt would ever dream of mixing up the order of things, even if the number of dishes were restricted. Bengali cuisine also requires strict adherence to the procurement of fresh fish and vegetables, and the principled rejection of mixers and grinders. But with the numbers of captive mothers and aunts and willing sisters diminishing, with wives often also working for the family's daily daal-bhaat, and cooks hard to come by, a really good Bengali meal was rapidly becoming something one only dreamt or read about. No restaurant or hotel, whatever the number of stars it sports, ever matched the exacting demands of a true Bengali connoisseur.   That is when, a few years ago, five fine gentlemen of Calcutta took matters into their own hands. Distressed that authentic Bengali cuisine was becoming rare at home and unavailable outside, and inspired by Bhojohori Manna, the world-conquering hero-chef of a song by the famous Bengali singer Manna De, they decided to set up an eatery carrying that mythical name.   My first acquaintance with Bhojohori Manna was at their first outlet, on Ekdalia Road. It was a most unostentatious little cabin, and required faith to enter. As is still the rule today, reservations were not made and you needed to wait your turn. But the waiting time was never too long, as the turnover was rapid. The dishes available at any given meal were not many and changed by the day, but kept to the Bengali culinary ethos. I remember my first meal at Ekdalia Road comprising bhaat, daal, dhokar dalna (fried lentil strips in gravy), topse maach bhaja (fried topse fish), daab-chingri (shrimp cooked in coconut water) and shorshe ilish (hilsa fish cooked in mustard oil). The obligatory slice of lemon and green chilli came without fanfare. The prices were amazingly low, and quite clearly had the constraints of the middle class
in view.   Bhojohori Manna now has three other outlets in Calcutta, and some of my subsequent visits have been to their air-conditioned restaurant on Hindustan Road. Here, a more expensive menu offers a wide range of dishes, and the most popular are barishali ilish (to remind you of where the best ilish comes from) and mutton dak bungalow (anyone over 50 should remember how yesterday's khansamas prepared their mutton). No less evocative – and true to life – are the goalondo steamer curry, a powerhouse of nostalgia, and the dhakai kachhi biryani, without which there is no Dhaka wedding or serious party. I should leave you to check out the rest of the menu in person, but cannot help mentioning the murshidabaadi raan and the pomfret paturi (pomfret cooked in banana leaf). I only hope that after they open their branch in Dhaka next year, Bhojohori Manna will add to their menu some of the wondrous bhartas from Bangladesh, ranging from the skins of vegetables to shutki (dried fish) and ilish.   A visit to Bhojohori Manna is a must, including for non-Bengalis. Seated here are artists such as M F Hussain and Taslima Nasreen, ordinary people like us, and the suited Chinese gentleman at the next table using his fingers to negotiate his ilish maach in a tribute to Bengali cuisine. Even my mother and sister would have agreed that Bhojohori Manna passes their exacting test.

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