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Monday, May 16, 2011

Pistachio Lemon Biscotti

Copenhegan is in news these days, lot of talks and discussion going on for climate change.While we were out in Central London for our usual weekend small tours, we landed up in Traflagar Square on Saturday.To our amusement ,ok also to my daughter’s amusement there was a sea of Santa there.Wondering about this and all curious , we went near to it , took some snaps,later we realized that they were protesting against global warming and climate change .They all shouted some slogans , don’t know what that was though .But some of them were in party mood with beer cans(Is beer cans bio-degradable?)We also happened to see a nice ice-sculpture of giant Polar Bear.Visit here for more details-- Ice Polar Bear
The ice sculpture was made on 11 th of December ,it will continue to be there upto 20 th of December to see and touch till it gradually melts away.This is all to depict the impact of global warming on earth.This is something incredible , while me and daughter were admiring ,touching the giant ice sculpture , one of the representative got in touch with my husband.They talked and my husband agreed to help out in small way giving little monetary benefits or donations to their funds. IF you also want to donate or know more then visit -- Here
That made me think, other than monetary benefits what are the other way we can help out to control global warming. I had started an event ,which got very few response, I am not surprised as these things always take back seat.If you feel , you may read it here --Save The Earth
Before I jump to the recipe, I must give you a rough idea that India is also on the radar of global warming( it is one of the few tipping points for global warming),recent drought affecting several states is just the tip of beginning. Think and act or it may be too late.
Since this is Christmas time ,I will be posting a simple biscotti recipe today, then in next post apple buns.
I don’t know exactly the difference between a cookie and a biscotti , but to me a biscotti is near to a cookie except the shape and the way it is baked or should I say twice baked.Butter and sugar is creamed together first and then the flour mixture is added gradually.baked to golden as long log/slab shape , then carefully it is cut into stripes of half to 1 inch of thickness.These slices are again baked till they are well toasted.



Pistachio Lemon Biscotti
Ingredients

1and 1 tbs cup –all purpose flour
¾ tsp of baking powder
Pinch of salt
1 egg
¼ cup of sugar(granulated cane sugar)
¼ cup of butter
½ tsp of fresh lemon zest
1 tbs of fresh lemon juice
¼ cup of shelled,chopped pistachio



Method
In a bowl,mix in flour,baking powder and salt
In a separate bowl, mix in sugar and butter until light and fluffy.
Now beat in egg,lemon zest and juice thoroughly.
Now slowly add the flour mixture and keep mixing till all the flour mixture is used.
Divide the dough into two parts.On a prepared sheet,shape each portion to a somewhat rectangular log of about 1 ½ inch wide by ½ inch thick by 12-14 inch long .
Bake in a preheated oven at 160 deg C or 325 deg F for 25-30 mints.(mine took exactly 25 mints) or until light golden and firm.
Take out and let it cool for 5 mints on a rack.
Now transfer it to cutting board .Using serrated knife, cut each baked log into slices.
Pace the knife at 45 deg angle and then cut each slices into ½ -1 inch thick slices.
Again arrange the cut slices on a baking sheet and bake another 6 mints .Take out and turn the slices, bake the other ends some more 6 mints or till dry and toasted.
Take out and let them cool.
Store them in an air tight container; at room temperature they remain fresh up to 1 week.
If you want, you may refrigerate and it remains fresh till 1 month.
One more close look,

Note-
You may double the recipe for more biscotti.
And you may add walnuts/hazelnuts/almonds in place of pistachio.
Or you may use dried fruits such as apricots, cranberries. Just soften it before mixing in the dough by submerging in hot water for few mints.Otherwise it may turn too hard.

Kosha Mangsho ( Bengali mutton Curry)







We have always loved eating Kosha Mangsho (Bengali Mutton Curry). Sunday meal was special as it was all part of a routine to cook kosha mangsho in our paternal home. During our growing up years, especially during summer vacation, we would go to visit our paternal homeland. Whole house would start bustling with laughter and contentment of togetherness.
We would be playing with our cousins and our fathers and uncles and aunties would end up chatting with each other or on rare occasion cooking Kosha Mangsho all together.
Making mutton curry/kosha mangsho was one thing when male members in our joint family would find it a way to showcase ones culinary skills and even giving directions to the ladies of the home .Sometimes often giving lectures on the correct amount of spices and onions or ginger or garlic. After all the big hotels have male chef not female chef. Isn’t?
Perhaps that’s why females in our home-Ma, Kakima and Thakuma would then used to ask our all kakus and Baba (My father is the eldest of all brothers) to help out in making Kosha mangsho.
We would then gather round our mother and kakimas to help them out in peeling, chopping, cutting, marinating but not frying the mutton. There were no short- cuts for Freshly Prepared masala paste on Sheel Nora ( a type of Mortar/ Pestle -Sheel nora – grinding stone flab of about 16 inches * 10 inches , and a stone roller of 9 inches, roller is slide into time to time to make a smooth paste of masala over Sheel/Stone flab).

Making Kasha Mangsho, includes grinding onion, garlic and ginger into a smooth paste over Sheel Nora and then deep frying mutton in Kadai or Dekchi at med till the oil separates out, stirring in between and cooking it in at low like a slow pot cooker .Everything used to be slow and smooth, and the taste incomparable, probably there is no substitute for Hard work and the end result smooth gravy and juicy mutton pieces cooked to perfect with spices. One bite and the taste burst into the mouth, whole lot of chemical reactions and salivations makes the dish so relish.
Recipe below is my vague captivation of the vivid memories that I have on my part while growing up.
And I would say I have seen my Ma-in-law making Kosha mangsho this way. Adding potatoes as some of you would say is not part of making Kosha mangsho, but this is how I have seen my Baap’er Bari (Paternal Side) and my Shoshur Bari ( In-laws Side) making Kosha Mangsho.
With the invention of pressure cooker and Mixer grinder , things becomes far easy for us .This recipe is little bit short and time saving as mutton is being cooked in Pressure cooker after deep frying it in kadai , but the originality of taste still is maintained .


Kosha means deep Fry mangsho means Mutton




Bengali Mutton curry
750 gms of mutton
3-4 medium size potato cut into half
1-2 tbs of mustard oil for frying potato
3-4 onions
For Marinating the mutton
garlic 10- 1ginger-1 ½ inch
2 tsp of turmeric powder
2 tsp of red pepper powder
1 ½ tsp of salt
4 heaped tbs of yogurt
1tsp of garam masala
For tempering
10- 12 black pepper
3 bay leaf
4 whole cardamom ( Gota elaich)
5 cloves (long)
½ inch long cinnamon stick
1 tsp of sugar
½ cup of mustard oil
How To Proceed
Marinating the mutton

Fisrt make a smooth paste of Garlic and Ginger by grinding in Mixer , add little bit of water also.Do the same with onions .
Marinate the mutton with Turmeric powder ,salt ,Coriander powder, Red pepper powder , Yogurt and 1-2 tbs of mustard oil and the garlic /ginger paste and half of the onion paste .Let it sit there for 1-2 hrs.

Heat up a kadai/ heavy bottom Pan ,add 1-2 tbs of mustard oil and fry the potatoes till brown on every side .Take out and keep aside .

Tempering The oil and deep Frying
Add rest of mustard oil and temper it with Black pepper, Cinnamon stick,Bay leaf , whole Cardamom ,Cloves and sugar .Caramelization Of sugar gives a nice Red color to the Mutton gravy .Fry at low for 1 mints . Add the rest of the onion paste, and fry for 3-4 mints till the rawness of the onions is gone.

Add the marinated mutton at this point , deep fry at med for 15-25 mints, TIP-.If the oil comes out by the side of kadai , Mutton is deep fried well .If the mutton is Kochi mangsho it may take few minutes less to deep fry it.
Add fried potatoes and 2 cups of water ( it depends on the gravy you want , if you want a thick gravy don’t add much water)
Transfer the entire fried mutton to Pressure Cooker, add 1tsp of garam masala at this point, one whistle at high and then lower the flame and cook for about 15-17 mints .
Alternately you can cook the entire thing in a deep bottom pan or kadhai at low for 1hrs and make sure it's covered,the gravy will be very dry or makho-makho.
Let it cool and open the pressure cooker pan and sprinkle fresh chopped coriander leaves .
Serve with rice or Loochi /luchi of your choice .
You May want to look some variation of kosha mangsho and some steps in making Kosha Mangsho then go here--

Saturday, March 5, 2011

The Taste of Bengal

Elish—or hilsa—is a fish. For Bengalis, it is also an event. Rather like the American shad, with which the hilsa shares its taste, texture and heritage, this elusive, silvery fish spends several winter months in the deep, turbulent waters of the open sea. Then, around late February, it leaves the Bay of Bengal and, in large shoals, begins finning its way up the Ganges and other rivers and rivulets of the Ganges delta to spawn- and to take its chances with Bengali fisherman.

Bengalis are, on the whole, an infectiously passionate lot and few things unite them more than their common passion for food—especially for fish. No meal is considered complete without it. Symbols of fertility, fish are touched by husbands and then sent to their brides before the wedding ceremony. Fish heads are put into pots of split peas to add peas richness and flavor; tiny shrimp are stir-fried with vegetables; fish are steamed, fried, smoked, made into balls and patties, even stuffed into creamy green coconuts and baked.

In a strange idiosyncrasy, most Bengalis will not touch salt—water fish, complaining that they lack sweetness. Luckily for them, there is abundant fresh water in the spreading fingers of the vast Ganges estuary. The verdant earth, too, is pitted with lakes and ponds. Every ditch, every major puddle seems to swarm with some variety of fish—perch, mullet, crab, carp, prawn, crayfish and lobster. All are loved. But it is the expensive, seasonal hilsa that is prized above all.

At a recent soccer match between Bangladesh (east Bengal) and India’s West Bengal’s fans—in shows of good-natured jingoism—waved hilsas from their own waters as banners, the Bangladeshis claiming that their fish from the Padma river were the sweetest and the West Bengalis shouting them down with equal – and louder—claims of their own. Bengalis, anxious to satisfy deep cravings of their relatives abroad, have been known to rub fresh hilsa pieces in salt and turmeric – the latter being an antiseptic—drown them in mustard oil and then pack them in polythene bags and carry them all the way to New York. This, it may be relief to know, is only tried in the winter season and the only accidents reported have been loss of suitcases, not spoilage of fish!

Bengalis not only love fish, they are exceedingly particular about it when they shop. Early mornings, heads of households can be seen in Calcutta’s 19th century New Market, sporting plastic of jute shopping bags. They not only examine the eyes of the fish for clearness and the inside of the gills for redness, they know that leta fish is good for invalids and must be bought live, as should be koi or climbing perch, as well as the carp-like rui and female crabs, all rich with roe. They know that only fools discard prawn heads, as that is where most of the flavor resides, and that local hilsa should be snapped up whenever the availability of fish happily coincides with the availability of extra cash needed to buy it.

Hilsa may be cooked in many ways. The hotel Oberoi Grand in Calcutta, an oasis tucked into a crowded thoroughfare, serves a superb Anglo-Indian version, all beautifully smoked and boned, while every Bengali hoe prepares that most elegant of hilsa dishes, elish bhapa. In a breathtakingly simple procedure, cut pieces of hilsa are mixed with a mayonnaise like paste of ground mustard seeds (yellow if mildness is desired, black if a certain bitter pungency is favored), mustard oil, red chilies, green chilies, turmeric and salt. The combination is either wrapped up in an airtight package of banana leaves and cooked along with rice or, if banana leaves are not handy, the mixture is put into a covered metal bowl and the bowl left in a larger pot with just enough water to steam the fish. The fish stays moist and tender while allowing the simple spices to permeate it to its very core.

Seasonings that could be classified, as ‘Bengali’ would have to include two used in the steamed hilsa dish, mustard oil an mustard seeds. Both have Jekyll and Hyde characteristics. If whole mustard seeds are thrown into hot oil and allowed to pop, they turn nuttily sweet; if they are ground to a paste as many Bengali recipes require, they develop a delicious, nose-tingling pungency. Mustard oil is sharp when used raw; it turns docile and sweet if it is heated. Many Bengali dishes require mustard seeds to do triple duty—as an oil, as a popped, nutty seed, and as a fiery seed paste as well.

Many of the young English East Indiamen lived in a style they could hardly have managed back home. An ordinary household could have as many as thirty servants. There was one to cool the water, one in charge of the wine, others for the garden and the children. There was tailor, a laundryman, a head steward, waiters, and stableboys, a servant to pull fans, and even one to light and take care of the hookah or hubble pipe—which had become quite the rage.

By the 19th century, amusements included amateur theatricals, riding in the morning, promenading by the water in the evening, fancy-dress balls and all manners of banquets. Almost every major English family had a relative in Calcutta—and the history of the city is filled with names like dickens, Turner, Thackeray, Macaulay and Cornwallis.

Because of the heat, mornings started before dawn, often with a ride for the men. According to the diary of a 19th century East Indiaman, breakfast could be ‘a preparation consisting of a little butter, two or three green chilies, a pyramid of boiled rice, a ditto egg, and a pound of dried fish, with salt and cayenne at discretion, all mashed up on a hot water plate and baled down the throat with a spoon’. This Anglo-India dish, sounding suspiciously like what the British were to call kedgeree, was served with tea, coffee and lots of Indian fruit.

Ice began coming into Calcutta in the 1830s – strangely enough, all the way from America, as the ballast in ships. ‘Up to then it had been collected in small quantities and hoarded like gold dust.’ The day it came, ‘everybody invited to dinner, to taste claret and beer cooled by the American importation.’ Banquets, already glittering affairs, glittered even more with lumps of ice shining from butter dishes and water goblets. Such banquets served soups, beefsteaks (Americans, it is said, marveled at the beefsteaks, saying that they were better than those in their homeland), ‘quails or ortolans piled up in hetacombs’, an overgrown turkey, ham, a sirloin of beef, a saddle of mutton, legs of mutton boiled and roasted, geese, ducks, tongues, pigeons pies, curry and rice, mutton chops and mutton cutlets. Wine was served in ‘petticoated’ bottles (wet ‘clothing’ to keep them cool), port; claret and Burgundy in crimson with white flounces, sherry and Madeira in white. Dinner was followed by the gurgle – gurgle of the hookahs, which were placed behind each chair. Many people died in Calcutta during this period of what was called ‘the vapors’. This may well have been a euphemism for over-indulgence.

But, just as the Bengali- however westernized—never gave up his language, neither did he give up his Bengali food and his passion fish, rice—and sweets. In face, Bengalis have—with justification –such high regard for their food that one gentleman at a dinner turned to me and said with quiet conviction, ‘There are only four great cuisines in the world—French, Chinese, Italian and Bengali!’

Today, a Bengali’s day in the country might well begin, gastronomically speaking, with a big bowl containing moori (puffed rice), thick creamy milk and healthy dollops of freshly mashed fruit such as sweet, ripe mangoes or musky jackfruit. In the city, a clerk rushing to the office in a white kurta and dhoti (voluminous lower garment) might hurriedly partake of a steaming cup of tea and moori in its savory form, just tossed with mustard oil and chopped green chilies. Being Bengali and terribly sweet toothed; he might nibble a lump of date palm jaggery on the side to balance the savouriness of the one with the sweetness of the other. Then, he is likely to pick up his brolly and rush to catch a clanging tram or careening red double-decker bus already bursting at the seams with a profusion of humanity.

Date jaggery is quite a delicacy and is made by tapping the date palm. An elegant hostess in Calcutta laid out-as one of the final dinner courses- a jaggery board, just as one might a cheese board, with six different varieties of jaggery. Only one of them was made from the juice of sugar canes. The others were made from date palms, varying from dark brown and ochre lumps sitting on the board to golden and brown treacle-like

syrups in bowls. They were to be eaten with loochi; a deep fried bread made out of white flour, and were delicious beyond description.

Any Bengali will confess to you that he has a great weakness for sweets. Because millions of sweetmeats are consumed hourly in Bengal,

A singhara is a Bengali samosa, consisting of vegetables such as cauliflower or potatoes, all nicely spiced, wrapped in a triangular pastry, and deep fried.

Perhaps the most classical, and perhaps the oldest as well, of all the chhana sweets is sondesh. Chhana is simply mixed with thick sugar syrup and cooked over a very low flame until the moisture evaporates. It is then pressed into pretty wooden moulds, emerging with imprints of flowers and trailing vines. Sondesh is a delicacy served throughout the year but is specially good in spring when, instead of sugar syrup, it is prepared with the season’s new jagery. This nutan gurer sondesh has a lovely, caramel colour and flavor and is quite a rare delight.

Once the morning’s jalkhabar is done, housewives can rest, read, shop sing Tagore songs, or begin preparations for lunch.

A lunchtime favorite is sukto. It starts the meal and consists of melange of diced and fried vegetables, some bitter (like bitter gourd), some pungent (like white radish), some starchy (like potato), some stiff (like sheem, a hard skinned flat bean), and others soft, such as delicious stems and leaves which only Bengalis seem to eat. To this are added bori (sun dried morsels fashioned out of ground split peas). The resulting melange is then cooked with some milk and water and flavored with ground ginger, ground mustard seeds, cumin and turmeric. As a final fillip, some roasted and ground panchphoran is sometimes added. Panchphoran is a spice mixture used only in Bengal and consists of whole cumin seeds, whole fennel seeds, whole kalonji, whole fenugreek seeds and whole radhuni, which resembles parsley seeds.

At this same lunch would follow some rice and dal accompanied by a fried titbit or bhaja. Bhajas can be made out of most vegetables and fish, but one of my favorites remains alur khosa bhaja, made with the potato skins that most people just throw away. (An English bishop, arriving in Calcutta in 1823, remarked that potatoes, once unpopular, (are) now. much liked, and are spoken of as the best thing the country has received from its European masters.) There might be some rui machher jhol, carp; ikeces cooked in a simple sauce of cumin, coriander, turmeric, red chilies and water. This would be followed by sweet and sour chutney (perhaps my favorite), aam jhol, a thin, watery, sweet and sour soup made out of green mangoes flavored very lightly with mustard oil and mustard seeds. Since Bengalis must have a sweet, there might be misti doi, a thick, sweetened yoghurt set in earthen cups, and perhaps some pretty diamond-shaped pieces of sondesh to finish off.

Early evenings might see families strolling near the enormous white pile known as the Victoria Memorial, or along the cooling banks of the Hoogly to enjoy snacks like jhal moori, a spicy combination of moori (puffed rice), potatoes and cucumber. These families may, on the other hand, enjoy the river more with a puchka in their mouths. This mouthful-and it is that-is a scrumptious delight. First you fry up a small, very crisp, ball-shaped poori, crisp enough to hold its shape. Then you poke a hole in the top and stuff in some spicy potatoes. Then-- and here is the best part--- you fill it to the top with tart, cumin and red chili flavored tarmarind water, and, before it can drip, carry it, whole, to your mouth and stuff it in. There is no pleasure like that of eating puchkas, one after another, though I suppose it is not quite the thing for politer circles.

As dusk falls over this Indo-British town, with its ghosts of English damsels who came searching for rich husbands and East Indiamen who seldom lived long enough to enjoy their fortunes or their new wives, the laborers of this maritime city might gather in local taverns to sip liquors made out of distilled jaggery while they tear up and devour the tasty flesh of spicy crabs (kakra chaat). Around this same time, the more westernized rich- those who own advertising agencies and tea plantations –might relax with their whiskies and their recordings of Mozart, slowly moving on to a grand dinner served on large kansa (an alloy of tin, copper and zinc) plates.

The leisurely meal, punctuated by accounts of a son at Oxford or a daughter at Harvard, would start traditionally with rice, dal and bhaja. The rice might be an elegant pilaf, the dal, flavored with a fish head (macher matha diye mooger dal). And the bhaja, delicate pumpkin flowers dipped in a chickpea flour batter and deep-fried.

Next would come the fish- perhaps large estuary prawns simmered in coconut milk (chingri malai)- and vegetables such as the pungent sorse dharush (okra cooked with a paste of mustard seeds) and kopir dantar dalna chingri maccher diye (cauliflower stems cooked with tiny shrimp).

Meat would follow- perhaps mangsho jhol nicely marinated lamb cooked in mustard oil with potatoes and onions. The chutney course would be next- this could be made with tomatoes, nicely studded with bits of preserved sweet mango- accompanied by soft loochis (breads). Then would come the sweet yogurt, bhapa doi (steamed yoghurt) perhaps, smelling elegantly-and expensively- of saffron. Finally, would come the sweets- the glory of Bengal: rasmalais (a chhana sweet) floating in cardamonm-flavoured cream, kala jamuns (dark round balls made out of fried chhana), and Lady Kennys (fried chhana balls stuffed with raisins) – the last named after a foreign woman, Lady Canning, the wife of a governor-general, who once, a long time ago, admitted that she had a partiality for those dark Bengali morsels. The gentlemen in their fresh bush shirts and the ladies in their crackling cotton saris would now be able to indulge themselves to their hearts content.

History of the Rossogolla

It was the golden age of Bengal’s renaissance. Things were blooming in every direction. In confectionery, too. The man who chose this area for engaging his genius was Nobin Chandra Das. The beginning was humble. In a tiny obscure corner of Baghbazar in North Calcutta, Nabin Chandra set up a sweet shop. But he hated running a mere sales counter. The passion to create something of his very own haunted him. His primary ambition was to break the supremacy of the ubiquitous sandesh. Imagination, skill and tenacity were his forte. And, these eventually paid dividends when Nobin Chandra invented the ROSSOGOLA . It was an innovation strong enough to vie with sandesh. And, for Nobin Chandra, it was a route to history where he has been lodged. Securely. Permanently. Connoisseurs of sweets remember him till today as Nobinmoira. Highbrow Bengalis often used the word moira slightingly, but they revised their outlook when tagging it as a suffix to Nobin Chandra’s name. Nobinmoira is a legend born out of, and sustained by, love.

Nobin Chandra left his legacy of genius to his worthy son Krishna Chandra Das (K.C.Das) . A chip of the old block, Krishna Chandra enlarged his inheritance of this genius in the art of Bengal’s sweetmeats. What’s more, he planted in his family a vibrant tradition that keeps on exploring new vistas outside the beaten track. It is virtually through the pioneering efforts of the Das family that the Rossogolla can confidently claim today the status of the national sweet.

Besides being privileged to have a great father, Krishna Chandra had yet another source of inspiration in his mother’s family. His mother was the grand daughter of Bholanath Dey who is better known as Bholamoira in the cultural history of Bengal. A successful professional confectioner, Bholamoira added bigger dimensions to his career as a minstrel.

Krishna Chandra started his first shop, "Krishna Chandra Das Confectioner", in 1930, with his youngest son Sarada Charan. It became a crisper "K.C.Das" before long. Within five years, the venture was a spectacular success.

Through the ages, Bengalis have proved their irreplaceable love for sweets. No dietary idea is complete without it. Sugarcane grew in abundance in the state and much of it went into making sweets. The cane extract was boiled in large earthen pots and made into gur (jaggery), the crushed bagasse being used as fuel. It was then converted into sugar. It is perhaps one of the earliest recorded instances of the production of sugar. The gur was then covered with pata, a type of moss. The bacteria present in the moss fed on the reddish brown impurities in the molasses / jaggery, leaving behind granules of crystal sugar. The sugar produced, despite the rudimentary methods of refining, was almost as pure as, and much tastier than, the mill-made sugar. Today, it is a lost art.

Nobin Chandra’s ancestors were sugar barons. They had once controlled the entire sugar industry in Bengal. But by 1846, when Nobin Chandra was born, their dominance had diminished. Nobin Chandra lost his father three months before his birth. Left with little scope to complete his education, he started a sweetmeat shop at Jorasanko in Calcutta in 1864 at his mother’s instance. It was a failure. Most of the sweetmeats made then were either sandesh, a delicacy exclusively for the affluent, or sweets made of dal (lentil) or flour from various grains. He started a new shop in Baghbazar in 1866.

Meanwhile, the clamour among the city’s elite for an alternative to sandesh was running high.

And Nobin Chandra was resolved to give it a good response. Success came in 1868 when Nobin Chandra offered his soft, spongy and syrupy Rossogolla. It was the ultimate delicacy. There was

Then no cult of advertising and Rossogolla took time to gain in popularity.

Nobin Chandra waited patiently for the recognition of his wonderful creation. Fortune smiled on him at long last. One fine morning, a magnificent landau came to a halt before his Baghbazar shop. A wealthy businessman, Bhagwandas Bagla, and his family were in the carriage. One of Bhagwandas’s children was thirsty, and the carriage stopped in search of water. Nobin Chandra met their demand. The little boy was given a drink of water and Rossogolla. The child was delighted at the taste of this unique delicacy and asked his father to share his delight. The father was as ecstatic. He bought a huge quantity for his family and friends. It was very rudimentary and unorthodox publicity but proved immensely useful. Nobin Chandra and his Rossogolla became famous in about no time.

Hailing originally from Burdwan, the Das’s have, however, been living in Calcutta for eight generations. Their house on a horseshoe shaped bend on the Hooghly in Sutanutty, now Baghbazar, was fairly well-known. Being respectable and prosperous sugar merchants, Nobin

Chandra’s family did not take kindly to his decision to be a sweetmeat seller. His family itself called him "moira " (confectioner) contemptuously. Little did they suspect that history would dissolve their contempt into an enduring legend.

Nobin Chandra’s only child , Krishna Chandra, masterminded the Rossomalai, another perennial favourite. To popularise the Rossomalai, Krishna Chandra opened a new sweetshop at Jorasanko in 1930 from where he also introduced the canned Rossogolla. K.C.Das’s enterprising youngest son, Sarada Charan, quickly expanded the business, adding to the number of shops in Calcutta. K.C.Das was incorporated as a private limited company under the Companies Act in 1946, with Sarada Charan as its Founder Governing Director.

Sarada Charan’s finest contributions are sweets for diabetics and the latest Amrita Kumbha sandesh, which is an exciting departure from all conventional concepts of shape and taste.

It was not, however, a cakewalk all the way. The stringent Milk Trade Control Order in West Bengal cramped and smothered the enterprise initiated by Nobin Chandra and built into a tradition by his successors. Barring the Esplanade establishment, which was selling savouries besides sweets, all the K.C.Das shops had to close down, along with that of Nobin Chandra Das in 1967.

The K.C.Das Company began its southern campaign in 1972 when Sarada Charan set up a factory and a shop in Bangalore. It has been highly successful, the Rossogolla being undeniably the most popular. According to Sarada Charan, the doyen of the Indian confectionery industry and the present head of the K.C.Das family, the business has survived many crises and constraints such as the Milk Control Order in West Bengal and the spiraling price of sugar. Non- availability of quality milk and shortage of electricity added to the problems, according to him. The cottage industry status of Nobin Chandra’s shop in 1866 has assumed the stature of a small scale industry through the development and growth of K.C.Das Private Ltd.

Despite hurdles, the K.C.Das organisation is untiring in its attempts to innovate newer, more scientific and hygienic methods of production and packaging. The production technology is entirely designed by Sarada Charan and operated in the Company’s factory under his supervision and guidance.

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Chilli Fish


US $13.00

US $13.00 US $12.00

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Chillie Paneer

Chillie Chicken


US $8..00

US $12.00


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Add to Cart