Making Zunka Bhakar & Other Terrifying Things

Stock Photo Courtesy Shutterstock - Pitla, Bhakri etc.

I remember I was seven when I ate my first bhakri. I was in a daycare at the time, in the home of a pious and rather friendly Maharashtrian family. They cooked a lot and there was always food. They really liked me and soon figured out that I absolutely loved Pitla and its spicier version, Zunka. They made it with bajra or jowar bhakris and somehow, weirdly, my non vegetarian palate found it exotic. So they made it at least once a week, this farmer's staple food, luscious yet earthy, simple yet complex to master.

It's how I learnt the concept of 'thaat pusun jevayche' and stuck to that principle for the remainder of my life. It roughly translates to "eat your plate clean". That's not the Bengali way. The Bengali way is spoilt, as is the Tamil way, now that I have been in that territory for a while. We leave a little something on our plates because we are spoilt, pampered and elitist communities. It indicates that we are not greedy hogs or whatever. The Maharashtrian way is true to the bones - food isn't a luxury, it is a necessity and we'd die without it, and money isn't exactly growing on trees so food must never be wasted.

Testimony to this way of life is how Maharashtrians serve - economically and in limited quantities. Go to a Maharashtrian wedding and you will see no buffet. No food is spilled. Food is made in controlled quantities. Rotis are often cut in half and when you ask for one, you are met with a polite "would you prefer a half roti?" It makes sense; why take one when you are going to eat just part of it and waste the rest? Portions are served small, in small katoris and refilled only if you ask for one. It makes perfect sense to me.

But I digress.

Zunka Bhakar. Or the simpler version, Pitla and Bhakri. I ate a rice bhakri when I was ten and my life changed. It was gorgeous. It's the most melt in your mouth, fragrant experience that will ever unfold on your tongue. Rice has that very specific smell, and I can only call it contentment. It just seems to fill you up and satiate you. It's served with a fiery and spicy side, mostly spiked with a goda masala and coconut based curry. I remember eating it with a surmai curry. My life altered that day. And I am not even kidding.

Even now, when I go to a restaurant and find tandlachi bhakri on the menu, I just go for it. I don't even bother with the rest of the menu. It could easily be my last meal.

So yesterday, for the very first time, I made my own jawarichi bhakri with pitla. I have eaten these umpteen times but never had the courage to actually make some for us. I wasn't sure the man would like it and I was convinced I would screw it up.

Turns out, it was pointlessly easy to make. It did take some time because I was also simultaneously cooking lunch. I learnt heaps. Like, rolling it is pointless, you just use the flat of your palm to flatten the dough out. That it's better to dust it lightly with rice flour while doing so, but only at the bottom. You can use some warm water while you flatten it on the top. That you have to work quickly with the dough because it dries out but having a cup of warm water can take it back to its pliable state. That 3/4 cup of besan will give you a generous portion of pitla for two people. That the mix has to cook on low flame for 5 minutes at least while covered with a lid.

But it was glorious. I bathed the bhakris in ghee because I am an evil, evil person who knows no moderation and the pitla was glorious. I did not turn it into a zunka but I did not let it be as thin as the pitla either so I do not quite know what to call it. Zunla? Pitka? Eeks.

The man loved it. I made it with organic everything so I know it was also very wholesome. And for a few minutes while we ate it, life was perfect. I was back in a home where people loved me, made me food that I admired and did not scream at me as I slowly turned into an angry teenager or an opinionated adult, did not try to pontificate to me about who I am and how I should be.

Food makes no such demands on you. Real food just wants you to cook it right and eat it right - in the company of silence and a loved one who loves you regardless of complicated blog posts that do not contain recipes of said bhakri and pitla.