A SNACK TO Remember

SINGARA IS TO BENGALIS WHAT KACHORI IS TO MARWARIS. ANJANA BASU GOES IN SEARCH OF THE PERFECT, PIPING HOT ONE IN THE BYLANES OF HER PARA.

- ANJANA BASU

There’s a nip in the air—it’s not yet cool enough to send the brown moths fluttering indoors but enough to stir an emptiness in the pit of the stomach as the shadows lengthen and lunch seems to have been a long time ago. If you happen to be in the right place, a delicate aroma tickles your nostrils—an aroma which says ‘frying’. Not just frying, but singaras frying.

Afternoon is frying time all over Kolkata if you can catch it right. Karhais (deep cooking pots) start heating up after the afternoon nap and wicker baskets heaped with singaras appear on the right-hand counter of most mishtir dokans (sweet shops). The problem is timing it right. I followed my nose for a while and it led me to a hole-in-the-wall shop off Mahanirban Road (near Hindustan Park). These have a reputation in their neighborhoods and I was hungry enough to try this one. It looked dark and as empty as the wicker basket on the counter. A head suddenly popped up and at my request for singara said, “Sorry didi, you’ll have to wait. We’re frying a fresh batch.” My watch said it was almost 6—how many singaras had they gone through and when had they started frying? This shop, Sri Hari Mishtanna Bhandar, wasn’t even a well-known one.

Singaras come in many variations. There are the non-Bengali ones, samosas as they are called, which most people sniff at