The Glorious Winter Breakfasts of Uttar Pradeshi Homes
When we talk of winter breakfasts in north India, we often imagine stuffed parathas and white butter, but there is much more to explore — and eat!
In Uttar Pradesh, where I grew up, a typical winter breakfast revolved around fresh local produce — and still does, to a large extent. There are green peas, abundant and sweet; carrots, large and juicy; new-potatoes, waxy and flavourful; and many, many kinds of greens that form the backbone of our leisurely, late winter breakfasts. Freshly shelled peas are turned into ghugni or chunki matar, carrots become halwas and kheer, potatoes turn into luscious tikkis, cutlets, even kachoris, and curries, and greens like bathua are added into dough to make the most delectable puris.
For many of us living in urban spaces, and dependent on packaged vegetables from supermarkets, this may be a distant memory, but most households in smaller towns still practice the ritual of shelling fresh green peas, together as a family, in the winter. The task requires little labour, but a lot of time, and is therefore usually assigned to the elderly. Sitting in the sun, the grandmothers, often grandfathers too, shell kilos of green peas every day; little children help peeling some, and stealing some, and visiting neighbours often lend a helping hand. The joy of popping a few peas in your mouth and fighting over the tender sweet ones with siblings and cousins is a feeling few things can parallel. These peas find their way into almost everything cooked in the kitchen but are relished most on their own as chunki matar.
Chunki matar, or matar ki ghugni, as it is called in some parts of Uttar Pradesh, is a winter staple across the state. In our family, which comes from the central and western belt of UP, towns like Fatehgarh, Bareilly, Kanpur, and Lucknow, chunki matar is made with a simple tadka of cumin and ginger, in as little as half a teaspoon of homemade desi ghee. In other families, especially those from eastern parts of UP, the tadka changes and often contains split green chilli and garlic in mustard oil; those who do not eat ginger and garlic, add hing and zeera (asafoetida and cumin) for fragrance and digestion. It is not just the tadka that varies from family to family, what goes into the matar and how it is eaten differs too. Some people like theirs without any additions at all, while some add potatoes, some eat it with toast while some pair it with fried chivda; in some families it is considered an evening snack and some prefer having it for breakfast. In our family version, chopped potatoes are always added into the matar. They lend a beautiful bite to the smoothness of peas; together the duo sits beautifully on a hot buttered toast. Toast however is just my favourite thing to eat the peas with, most people prefer eating their ghugni or chunki matar with alu ki tikki.
Matar ki ghugni in the making
Alu tamatar and bathue ki kachori
While they are made all year round in homes across the Ganga belt, the tikkis taste especially wonderful in winter. The secret, my mother used to tell me, are the new potatoes, or naya alu as we call them. These thin-skinned potatoes are grown across the state, and are waxy and fragrant when freshly harvested in winter. They cook quickly and mash into a a consistent creamy mix which needs nothing more than a smidgen of salt to bring out the subtle sweetness and aroma — just like the peas, half the potatoes vanish while peeling. Even today when you walk into someone’s home on a winter morning, chances are you’d be treated to a plate of alu tikki and matar.
Uttar Pradesh is a large state. In the west, it borders Haryana and Delhi, on the east it sits with Bihar and in the south, rubbing shoulders with MP. Uttarakhand meanwhile, was a part of Uttar Pradesh until about two decades ago. And so, not only do the landscape, soil, water, and weather vary from region to region, the produce, flavours, techniques and ingredients also vary. The one thing that remains constant throughout is the love UP-wallahs have for deep-fried food, which reaches its zenith in winter. For four months of winter, everything possible is fried and consumed with copious amount of green chutney or chilli pickle — both winter specials owing to fresh harvests. And so, if shallow fried tikkis and sautéed peas are loved, deep fried kachoris are relished even more.
In my mother’s ancestral hometown, Fatehgarh in western UP, where we lived for two years, we got to know these kachoris intimately. The area is known for its robust potato crop, and potatoes are used indiscriminately in every imaginable dish. In my mother’s ancestral home, which was a large old-style mansion with a large square courtyard and many, many rooms, we were always treated to hearty alu kachoris. They were always made fresh upon our arrival and were served with red chilli pickle and a thin, brothy sabzi of alu-matar-tamatar. Eaten in the British style verandah, on low wooden stools or chowki, the kachoris warmed not only our freezing fingertips, but also our little hearts.
Making alu kachori needs a high level of skill. Made of soft, almost runny dough, stuffed with boiled, mashed, mildly seasoned potato, and rolled into large-ish discs, they need a delicate, expert hand — too much pressure makes the potato burst out, too little leaves the stuffing unevenly distributed; they have to be perfectly golden, not overdone; they have to cook uniformly and not tear or soak in too much oil. I remember watching my mother’s cousin with fascination as she sat on the floor rolling out kachori after kachori. She then fried them in a dark iron karahi, in copious amount of ghee. The result was a glorious kachori, crisp outside and soft inside. While the elders savoured it with sabzi, I preferred mine with the masala of freshly made red chilli pickle.
Alu kachoris are labor and skill-intensive and generally heavier to digest, which is why the more popular version of the kachori in most homes across the state is bathue ki kachori, also called puri in some places. Google describes bathua as a plant that is used widely in north India but is considered a weed in most other parts of the country — perhaps this explains why there is no English name for it. While in Delhi and Punjab, I have seen the saag being cooked and eaten as a sabzi, and in UP, bathua is added to puris and parathas or mixed in curd to make a strong, flavourful raita with a tempering of cumin and red chilli.
Traditionally the saag is cleaned, washed, boiled, given a tadka of garlic and dried whole red chilli (or cumin and red chilli, in some cases) and stir fried until it becomes dry enough to be stuffed inside kachoris. Like many other traditional practices, this style of cooking is dying slowly because it needs time and patience that even small towns are running out of now. Most people today, including me, make bathue ki kachori by kneading the saag with the dough. The saag is cooked and tempered in the same manner but is either blended in a mixer before adding to the flour, or mashed by hand and mixed in the dough. Many old schoolers (especially men who never had to make them!) lament the dying of old stuffed kachoris, but most people, (especially women who cook them everyday) prefer the newer versions which not only entails less labour, but also balances the strong flavour of the saag when mixed in flour — stuff it too much and you can taste nothing but bathua, not even the tangy alu tamatar that it is eaten with.
Alu-tamatar is ubiquitous in Uttar Pradesh. It is eaten for breakfast lunch and dinner, with roti, paratha, puri, pulav, plain rice, bread, and even dalmoth. The star here is the seasonal desi tomato. Small, round and tart, the seasonal tomatoes give the curry its unique flavour. Made with just 3-4 ingredients — peas, boiled new potatoes, tomatoes and basic seasoning — alu tamatar takes barely minutes to cook. Together with bathue ki kachori, it is one of the most flavourful breakfasts combinations you will ever have — just like alu kachori and red chilli pickle or chunki matar and alu ki tikki.
If you want to try making some of UP’s special breakfasts this winter, chunki matar is the simplest and quickest recipe to make. It can be paired with simple buttered toast, mixed in fried chivda, or eaten the classical way with piping hot alu-tikkis. Do give it a try!
Alu tikkis being made
Alu tikki and chunki matar
Recipe: Chunki Matar or Matar ki Ghugni
Ingredients
2 cups shelled fresh peas
1 small potato chopped
1 teaspoon ghee
1 green chilli sliced or chopped
1/4 teaspoon cumin seeds
1/4 inch piece of ginger chopped
Salt to taste
Method
In a small cooker add the ghee and let it heat.
Add cumin seeds and let them splutter.
Next, add green chilli and ginger and sauté for 30 seconds. When slightly charred, add peas and potatoes, stir again for about 30 seconds.
Add salt, sprinkle a few drops of water and close the lid.
Turn the flame off after one whistle or 3 mins. Let the pressure release before opening the cooker. Serve hot.
Note: You can also cook this in a frying pan or a karahi, covered, for about 8-10 minutes, or until the peas cook.
Anubhuti Krishna is a writer and editor based in New Delhi. Passionate about travelling and eating, she finds ways to combine the two. Her work has been featured in major dailies and monthlies. She hopes someday it will find home in a book. You can follow her work here.
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