Passport & Plate - Kosha Mangsho
India | Friday, March 14, 2014 | 6 photos
Ingredients
THE RECIPE - KOSHA MANGSHO
The dish is from the Bengal region of India and is a Sunday staple. In the Bengali language, Kosha, quite literally means to singe or to tan. But in the context of this dish, the term describes the deep brown caramelized colour that the ingredients take on by the time the dish is ready. Mangsho means red meat, which in India typically takes the form of goat or what we refer to as 'mutton'. Thus the magic of this dish lies in the meat and spice paste coming together to form a lovely caramelly, spicy, meaty curry.
Ingredients
For the Mutton
- 1 kg of goat meat, preferably taken from the neck, shoulder and front leg, on the bone, cut into 1½ inch cubes (them bones add a double whammy of meaty flavours and all the kids at the table can fight for the marrow bones, like me and my sister still do).
- ½ cup mustard oil (vegetable oil will also do)
- 1 tbsp of ghee or clarified butter
- 4 cloves
- 4 green cardamom pods
- 2 inch long cinnamon sticks
- 2 dry bay leaves
- 400 g red onions blended into a paste
- 2 heaped tsp ginger paste
- 2 heaped tsp garlic paste
- 200 g Indian Dahi or Yoghurt
- 1 heaped tsp red chilli powder
- 3 heaped tsp coriander powder
- 1 & 1/2 heaped tsp turmeric powder
- salt to taste
- sliced raw onions, green chillies and lime to garnish
For the Loochis
- 2 cups flour
- 1 tsp ghee
- pinch of salt
- warm water to bind the dough
How to prepare this recipeMethod
A Smokin' Hot Start
Start by taking a deep heavy bottomed pot (like a Dutch oven) or a pressure cooker. In it heat the mustard oil till it begins to smoke. Add the ghee and whole spices. Let the them infuse for a few seconds in the oil. Now add the onion, garlic and ginger paste carefully, as the hot oil will sputter.
Let the Kosha Begin
Now, start stirring. It’s this method of stirring and constantly scraping off the lovely brown bits that we call ‘to Kosha something’ in Bengali. The spice paste should take on a deep brown colour. This could take anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes.
Time to Spice Things Up
Once the paste is golden brown, add the yoghurt and powdered spices. Give it a good stir and continue cooking it till all the water from the yoghurt has evaporated. This is also a good time to season with salt.
The Kosha Just Won’t Relent
Now, add the meat and repeat the entire Kosha process all over again. This way all the spices coat the meat evenly and the Maillard Reaction takes over.
While the Dish Simmers, so Will Everyone’s Appetite
Kosha the meat for about 15 minutes, add 3 cups of water and give it a good stir. (In a pressure cooker add only a cup and a half). Now put on the lid and let it simmer on a gentle heat for a couple of hours, occasionally stirring. As for pressure cookers, shut it tight on a high flame and let it whistle. Immediately after the whistle turn the heat down and take it off after 15 minutes. The dish should have a thick gravy with a BBQ sauce-like consistency and the meat will fall right of the bone. That’s golden!
Loochi Time
Add ghee and salt to the flour and mix it through. Keep adding a little water at a time and knead the flour into a tight dough. Cover and let it rest for 30 minutes. Divide the dough into equal lemon sized balls. Heat oil for deep frying and roll out loochis (like tortillas) one at a time and deep fry till they puff up into spheres.
The story behind this recipeManni’s Mangsho
The day my parents proclaimed I was tall enough to look over the stove and cook, my Manni went out and bought me a pan. The first thing I made on it was a macaroni tossed in tomato sauce that I'd had at an Italian restaurant (then rare in India). The fresh basil, hit of extra virgin olive oil and the perfect bite of the pasta remained etched in my memory. It went on to become a dish I would make for Manni when the folks were out for dinner.
My Manni had an enormous repertoire, but her top dish was Kosha Mangsho (goat slow cooked in caramelized onions and spices). I always demanded she make it for us when we were over at her place in Kolkata. It started by us going to the bazaar, piled onto a rickshaw that dodged its way through the traffic. It was during these trips that I got to know the fresh produce of Indian markets. But what caught my attention were the meat shops. How the squatting butchers would joint and debone entire carcasses of goats, all with the help of a sharp knife placed between their big toe and second toe. Manni would buy the shoulder joint as it had the perfect blend of tender meat, fat and bone to flavour the curry.
Once the meat was bought, we’d go back home, where quantities of onion, garlic and ginger was ground on a mortar and pestle - and then the braising of the meat with this paste, and more spices, would begin. The smells would drive me crazy as I waited until I could begin feasting. Not a word would be uttered while we ate. Occasionally you’d hear someone sucking on a marrow bone. We felt so blessed by the Food Gods, that we just sat back and appreciated those moments of divine culinary intervention.
There finally came a time when Manni was bed-ridden, and I realised I had to master her recipes, as I’d always crave her cooking. I first tried my hand with Kosha Mangsho. I nervously sat with her as she ate dinner that night. All she said was, “Your mother never got this right, but thank god someone in the family did!”
