by Jeff Koehler
Preheat to the oven to 200°F/95°C.
Place the flour in a mixing bowl and work in about ½ cup/120 ml warm water. The batter should be pasty and silky and just thicker than pancake batter. Add in a touch more water, or flour, if needed. Whisk in the turmeric, black onion seeds, cilantro, green chilies, and salt. Add the onions and blend well with the hands, separating the segments and slightly crunching them down against the bottom of the bowl. The batter should coat the onions but not be clumpy.
In a deep skillet or sauté pan, heat at least 1 inch/2.5 cm of oil to 375°F/190°C. When the oil is hot enough, a small amount of batter should float and vigorously bubble.
Working in small batches that don’t crowd the pan or bring the temperature of the oil below 350°F/180°C, drop spoonful-size globs of the mixture with a pair of soupspoons into the oil, flatten out slightly, and fry until crispy and a rich, deep golden brown, 3 to 5 minutes.
Remove with a slotted spoon, and place on absorbent paper towels to drain. Transfer to a baking sheet and place in the oven to keep warm until all of the pakoras have been fried.
Remove any solid bits from the oil before adding the next batch of pakoras. Fry the remaining batter, being sure that the oil has returned to 350°F/180°C before adding the next batch. Serve hot.
TIMELESS CUCUMBER SANDWICHES
Few items on the tea tray are more unappealing than a poorly made cucumber sandwich with soggy bread. But when done well, nothing makes a better companion for an afternoon cup of Darjeeling tea: small, crustless, and prepared using thin slices of bread and cucumbers sliced so thin that they are transparent. Cut into rectangles—properly called fingers—they might seem a touch dainty, but they won’t (unlike scones or pound cake) spoil one’s appetite for dinner. More important, their delicate, fresh flavors won’t overpower even the subtlest first flush Darjeeling tea.
Spreading the butter evenly but not thickly is key, as it makes a sealing layer to keep bread from getting moist. Prepare only at the last moment so that both bread and filling are at their freshest.
Makes 12 finger sandwiches:
1 firm medium garden cucumber
Salt
8 thin slices fresh white or brown bread
Unsalted butter for spreading, at room temperature
Scrub the cucumber and remove any wax. Slice crosswise as thinly as possibly, ideally with a mandoline. Place in a colander and lightly salt. Let the cucumbers sweat and draw out the flavors for 15 minutes. Place on paper towels and pat dry.
Lay out 4 slices of the bread and on one side, spread a thin, even coat of butter from crust to crust. Arrange the cucumbers in 2 or 3 layers. Butter one side of the remaining 4 slices of bread in a thin, even coat from crust to crust, and lay on top.
Gently press down with the palm and trim the crusts with a serrated knife. Cut each sandwich into three even rectangles. Neatly arrange on a platter and serve immediately.
GLENBURN’S CHICKEN-AND-FRESH-MINT HAMPER SANDWICHES
Flights into Bagdogra Airport—Darjeeling’s closest access point by air—all land just after lunch. For guests staying at Glenburn Tea Estate, the four-hour journey up to the garden is broken with a stop on a knoll below Kurseong. The driver unpacks a picnic hamper that includes a thermos of tea—shockingly good, considering it was prepared in the morning—slices of cake, fruit, and some sandwiches, including this delicious Glenburn classic.
Makes 3 sandwiches:
2 bone-in, skin-on whole chicken legs, about 1 pound/450 g total
¼ cup/60 ml mayonnaise, preferably Hellmann’s
¾ tsp Dijon mustard
2 Tbsp finely chopped, fresh mint
6 slices white bread
Place the chicken in saucepan, cover with water, and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer until tender, 30 to 40 minutes. Remove from the heat, uncover, and let legs cool in the water. Remove and discard the skin, and debone the chicken. Hand-shred the pieces. There should be about 1½ cups/175 g of loosely packed chicken meat.
In a mixing bowl, whisk the mayonnaise with the mustard and mint. Fold in the chicken.
Spread the filling on 3 slices of the bread. Cover with the remaining slices. Trim the crusts. Cut the sandwiches diagonally. Wrap in wax paper.
DELHI SANDWICHES
During the Raj era, some of the only fish found in hill stations such as Darjeeling—or even landlocked places such as Delhi—were tinned anchovies, sardines, and salted fish. Cooks sometimes got creative with their use in recipes. Michael Smith, culinary advisor to Upstairs, Downstairs and The Duchess of Duke Street television miniseries, offers the Delhi Sandwich (“Straight from the Days of the Raj is this one!”) in The Afternoon Tea Book.6 I have adapted it only slightly. Smith recommends spreading this between slices of brown bread or hot over buttered toast or over split, toasted English muffins.
Makes 5 or 6 sandwiches:
6 anchovy fillets
6 ounces/170 g skinned and deboned tinned sardines, about 1¼ loosely packed cup of fillets
1 tsp mild chutney
1 medium egg
¾ tsp mild curry powder
Salt (optional)
2 to 3 dashes of Tabasco or 1 pinch cayenne pepper
10 to 12 slices brown bread
In a blender, add all of the filling ingredients and blend to a paste. Transfer to a saucepan.
Over low heat, cook until the paste has firmed slightly and cohered, about 5 minutes. Spoon into a bowl and let cool.
Spread the filling on 5 or 6 slices of the bread. Cover with the remaining slices. Trim the crusts. Cut the sandwiches diagonally.
Arrange on a platter and serve.
LOCAL FAVORITES
TEA GARDEN MOMOS
Much beloved by locals, Himalayan steamed dumplings, filled with meats or vegetables and known as momos, is the dish more associated with Darjeeling. While cooks here roll out the dough from scratch before stuffing, using readily available dumpling or wonton wrappers make these easy to prepare. Cold momos can be reheated in a frying pan with a small amount of oil.
Makes about one dozen momos, serves 2:
1 packed cup/100 g finely chopped green cabbage
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 medium-small carrot, grated
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
½ Tbsp minced fresh ginger
¼ tsp ground cumin
¼ tsp ground coriander seeds
½ fresh red chili, diced
Salt
2 Tbsp vegetable or canola oil
¼ tsp turmeric powder
Broth for filling steamer, preferably beef bone or chicken, or water
12 to 14 dumpling or wonton wrappers
In a mixing bowl, add the cabbage, onion, carrot, garlic, ginger, cumin, coriander, and chili, and season with salt. Blend well.
In a large saucepan or wok, heat the oil over medium heat and add the vegetable mix and about 2 Tbsp water. Cook, stirring frequently, until the cabbage and onions have softened and the carrots turned a yellowish orange, about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the turmeric powder. Return to the mixing bowl, and let cool. There should be about 1 cup/175 g.
Remove the rack(s) from the steamer. Fill the bottom of the steamer with at least 1½ inches/4 cm of broth. Cover with a lid and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and keep hot. Meanwhile, rub the steaming rack(s) with oil and set aside.
Fill a small bowl with water. Place a wrapper on the open palm of a hand, rub a touch of water around the top edges, then place a generous tablespoon or so of the mixture in the center. Fold into a semicircle, and working around the edges, pinch into pleats forming a slight crescent-shaped curl. Be sure the edges are well closed. Place on the steaming rack perpendicular to the edge with the pinched pleat facing upward.
Repeat with the remaining wrappers. Arrange the momos close but not touching in the steaming pan following the curl of the momos in a pinwheel formation.
Carefully place the rack(
s) in the steamer, cover, and steam over high heat until tender to the touch, 15 to 20 minutes. Serve hot.
THUKPA
This favorite Darjeeling noodle dish is perfect for those cold, clammy evenings around the tea-covered hills.
The recipe make four generous, hearty bowls with plenty of warming broth. Serve with a spoonful of piquant chili oil (following recipe).
Salt
12 oz/360 g dried egg noodles
6 cups/1.6 L Light chicken, beef, or vegetable stock
3 Tbsp vegetable oil
1 large onion, finely sliced
Salt
1 medium carrot, grated
1 small turnip, peeled and grated
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
10 oz/300 g thinly sliced or ground beef or pork
Finely chopped, fresh coriander (cilantro) for garnishing
In a large pot bring 4 quarts/4 L water to a boil. Generously salt and then add the noodles. Boil until tender, 2 to 4 minutes, but follow the directions on the package. Drain and rinse with cold water to keep them from clumping together. Divide among 4 deep soup bowls.
Meanwhile, bring the stock to a simmer. Cover and keep very hot.
In a deep frying pan or wok, heat the oil over high heat. Add the onions and a pinch of salt and cook until they begin to turn transparent, about 5 minutes. Add the carrots and turnips and cook until they have softened and changed color, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, cook for about 1 minute until aromatic, while stirring continuously. Season the beef with salt and add, cook, stirring continuously until browned, 2 to 4 minutes. Stir in a spoonful or two of the simmering stock to moisten and remove from the heat.
Arrange the mixture on top of the noodles.
Ladle in the stock, adding it to the side of the bowls so that the meat stays in place on the top of the noodles. Generously garnish with the cilantro and serve immediately.
CHILI OIL (TSU-LA-TSU)
A spoonful of this piquant and deeply flavorful oil gives a stunning jolt to a bowl of thukpa (page 245). It also makes an excellent dip for momos (page 244). This recipe is adapted from a small, locally produced book by the Inner Wheel Club of Darjeeling, published nearly twenty-five years ago and sold exclusively at the Oxford Book & Stationery Co. on Darjeeling’s Chowrasta. With its deep-scarlet cloth cover glued over cardboard, faded gold letters, and landscape shape, it can be mistaken on the shelf for an album of antique panoramic photos of the Himalayas.
Makes about 1 cup/240 ml:
2 tsp minced, fresh ginger
5 or 6 spring onions (scallions), trimmed and minced (or chopped cilantro)
3 garlic cloves, minced, about 1½ tsp
1 Tbsp chili flakes or ground red, dried chilies
¼ tsp salt
1 scant cup/200 ml peanut oil
Place the ginger, onions, and garlic in a sturdy, heatproof bowl that can comfortably hold the ingredients and oil. Add the chili flakes and season with salt.
In a small saucepan, heat the oil to boiling, then carefully pour the oil over the ingredients. Stir and let cool.
To store, cover and refrigerate.
SPICED CHICKEN CUTLET
The firmest, and perhaps finest, piece of advice that Rajah Banerjee gave on a visit to Makaibari Tea Estate was to allow enough time in the Bagdogra Airport when flying back to Delhi to try the legendary chicken cutlets in the terminal restaurant owned by its employees and run as a cooperative.
“The great fault of Indian cooks in regard to cutlets is over- handling,” sternly warned the 1898 edition of The Complete Indian Housekeeper and Cook. “They beat, chop, and season the meat out of all distinctive taste. Now, a plain cutlet should simply be cut and trimmed, dipped in the yolks of eggs, bread-crumbed, and fried a light golden brown.”7
Happily, cooks in the eastern Himalayas today rarely prepare plain chicken cutlets. Instead, as in the Bagdogra Airport restaurant, they rub the chicken with ginger, garlic, cilantro, and chilies before breading and frying. A delicious treat.
Serves 4:
4 boneless chicken breasts, about 1¾ lb/800 g
3 garlic cloves, peeled
1½-inch/4-cm piece fresh ginger, peeled
1 medium-small onion, finely chopped
½ to 1 small, green chili, minced
2 heaped Tbsp minced fresh cilantro (coriander leaves)
Salt
Freshly ground white pepper
2 large eggs
All-purpose flour for dusting
1 cup/140 g fine, dry bread crumbs
Sunflower, canola, or light olive oil for frying
Thinly slice the chicken on the flat into 3 or 4 pieces. If desired, gently pound with a meat tenderizer or mallet until flattened.
In a mortar, mash the garlic, ginger, and onion together into a paste. Blend in the chili and cilantro. Rub the paste over both sides of the chicken slices. Season with salt and white pepper.
In a wide bowl, whisk the egg. Place the flour in a bowl and the bread crumbs in another.
Generously coat the bottom of a large sauté pan or skillet with oil and heat over medium-high heat until the surface shimmers. Reduce the heat to medium.
Working in small batches that won’t crowd the pan nor bring down the temperature of the oil, lightly flour the cutlets, dip them in the egg mixture, then evenly coat with bread crumbs. Fry until golden brown on the outside and cooked through on the inside, 1 to 2 minutes per batch. Place on absorbent paper, and fry the remaining cutlets. Serve hot.
TEA SPECIALS
TEA-MARBLED DEVILED EGGS
This is Sanjay Sharma’s divine take on deviled eggs with an Indian twist and a nod to those ancient teahouse eggs found in China. The results give the outside of the peeled eggs a lovely brown marbling and the filling a powerful combination of balanced flavors. The use of fresh mint here is less a reflection of the traditional Darjeeling kitchen than the influence of Sanjay’s mother. She loved mint’s flavor and added it to many of her dishes. With a large bed of it growing beside the burra bungalow on Glenburn, Sanjay followed suit.
Makes 12 egg halves:
6 large eggs, at room temperature
2 heaped Tbsp loose-leaf strong black tea or 3 or 4 tea bags of black tea
2 Tbsp minced onion
2 heaped Tbsp minced, fresh mint
½ to 1 small green chili, minced
¼ cup/60 ml mayonnaise, preferably Hellmann’s
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Place the eggs in a small saucepan and cover with at least 1 inch/2.5 cm water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to medium low, sprinkle in the tea leaves, and gently boil for 9 minutes. Remove from the heat.
Without discarding the liquid, remove the eggs with a slotted spoon, and using the back of a spoon, smack the shells to create webby veinings of cracks. Do not peel. Place in a large bowl.
Let the tea-infused water from boiling the eggs cool for a few minutes, then it pour over the eggs. Allow them to sit in the liquid until completely cooled, at least 1 to 2 hours. Turn the eggs from time to time for even marbling.
Gently peel. Slice in half lengthwise, carefully setting aside the whites. Place the yolks in a mixing bowl.
Add the onion, mint, chili, and mayonnaise to the bowl, season with salt and pepper, and blend with a fork.
Spoon a generous amount of filling into each of the egg halves and mound attractively with the inside curve of a spoon. Arrange on a platter.
DARJEELING TEA SORBET
This sorbet, loosely adapted from Anthony Wild’s The East India Company Book of Tea, is indulgent, even festive, and shows off one of Darjeeling tea’s many culinary possibilities. It can also be prepared in a sorbet or ice-cream maker. Instead of freezing and whisking with a fork as follows, pour the chilled tea mixture into the machine and churn, adding the whisked egg white toward the end of the freezing time.
Makes about 1 quart/1 liter:
3 Tbsp/10 g high-quality loose-leaf Darjeeling tea
¼
cup/50 g sugar
Juice of 1 ripe lemon, about 3 Tbsp
1 large egg white, at room temperature
Place the tea in a large, heatproof teapot. Bring 3 cups/700 ml freshly drawn water to a boil, remove from the heat, let cool for a moment, then pour over the tea. Let infuse for 5 minutes.
Pour the liquid through a fine sieve or muslin bag into a freezerproof mixing bowl. Stir in the sugar, then the lemon juice. Allow to cool.
Once the liquid has cooled completely, place in freezer and allow to freeze. Once the liquid begins to freeze, start frequently scraping the edges of the bowl with a fork or spoon and stirring.
Meanwhile, in a clean bowl, beat the egg white with a mixer over medium speed to soft peaks that are opaque and still moist.
When the liquid is nearly frozen, fold in the egg white and whisk with a fork. Keep in the freezer until ready to serve.
Serve in chilled sorbet glasses.
Store, tightly covered, in the freezer and use within 1 week.
Author’s Note and Acknowledgments
Upon finishing university in the early 1990s, I flew to London and attempted to travel overland to Cape Town. I didn’t make it, and that planned year on the road morphed into four of backpacking around Africa and Asia before I settled down in London to do graduate work. In a litany of exotic places, I discovered the disparate world of tea, learned that it was far more than just a hot drink, and that, in the diverse manners of its preparation and service, it played an integral part in the daily life of many cultures. Perhaps more than anything else those years, I was sustained by numerous daily cups of tea—generally milky, always sweet, often spiced.
I had been on the road for a couple of years when I traveled to Darjeeling and tasted tea itself for the first time: pure and fresh, no sugar, no milk, no lemon, no cardamom or ginger, no black pepper. It was winter, and that week, huddled near an ineffective coal fire in my room at the Planters’ Club, a pot of autumn flush under a knitted tea cozy with fraying threads on a side table, tea warmed me after lengthy strolls around the surrounding tea-covered hillsides (glimpsing, briefly but memorably, Kanchenjunga). The liquor seemed just as bright and fresh as the mountain air.