Good food, for me, has always meant whatever is cooked at my nani’s house in Allahabad. What I looked forward to most during summer and winter vacations were the season-specific delicacies.
Every year, as the winter chill begins to set in, my heart starts craving the green pea curry, nimona, or, as my friends jest, “namoona”, the oddball.
Made with green peas, bari, or lentil nuggets, and potatoes, nimona is a staple in our household.
Why it qualifies as soul food has as much to do with its taste, which is extraordinary, as it does with the process of making it.
With few ingredients, the dish is a true labour of love and patience. The peas are ground and cooked slowly for almost an hour with garlic and chilli, resulting in a hearty, deeply comforting flavour. It is rich but never spicy.
The dish, earlier possible only during the winters, brings back memories of sitting in the sunlit courtyard of my nani’s house while the peas cooked slowly in the kitchen, filling the air with an aroma that has become a time capsule for my childhood.
Another key ingredient is bari – making a comeback these days with the fixation on protein – which was also made at my nani’s house. The first few batches of nimona would often be cooked with the previous year’s bari, prepared every January in a ritual believed to be a good omen.
My mother told me that in many homes, bari would not be put out to dry if there had been a death, as the process was supposed to signify a time of celebration.
The ritual of putting the bari out to dry was inseparable from the nimona-making process itself: the late-morning winter sun, the work of grinding and proportioning out ingredients with care, sunlight stinging the back and neck, and the warmth of togetherness and suspended time.
My nani would insist that the taste of nimona is enhanced many times over when made with fresh bari, though we now make do with store-bought ones.
I’ve made the dish only twice, following my nani’s recipe. It remains one of the dishes closest to my heart.
You can have it with rice or use a tawa roti to sop up the delicious goodness or, like my mother, drink it like a soup.
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