Festival food has contributed to my life journey – not only as a chef and food writer but also personally. By learning about flavours, methods, techniques and rituals, I’ve enhanced my knowledge and connected with all sorts of exciting people from all over the world.
Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s was so different to how things are now for my daughters. We had fewer worries: no social media pressured us to look good, and we were nowhere as materialistic as many people are now. We didn’t need to prove anything to anyone apart from our families, whose main goal was to see their children’s success.
Instead, the focus was on sharing: our playtime, food, and experiences. It wasn’t always a good thing – my brother and I used to fight like cat and dog (and still do). We would play cricket and badminton with our friends and neighbours, and we had set times to watch TV. We were the first on our street to get a television – a big black and white affair – when I was around 10 or 11, and I remember getting up early to watch the Cricket World Cup in Australia with our neighbours joining us. Kapil Dev, Ravi Shastri, Chetna Sharma and Imran Khan were the cricketers that my friends and I admired (even fancied), and we had posters of them on our walls.
As well as these day-to-day pastimes and activities, festivals were a huge part of my childhood. Like my father, most of those who lived near us had travelled to the ISSCO steel plant in Burnpur for work. It was a community that was a melting pot of different languages, foods and traditions – as well as different religions and cultures.
Celebrations – like festivals – brought families together to enjoy the food and culture of others. In a community like ours, I was lucky enough to learn how dishes are cooked differently from household to household and how these different cooking styles can completely transform a dish’s flavour.
We didn’t have much, but what we did have was love and respect between friends. We ate from shared plates without thoughts about caste or religion: life was simple.
Growing up in Burnpur, West Bengal, taught me that purely being Indian doesn’t automatically mean that I know everything there is to know about Indian food and culture. Moving to the UK – and eventually opening my restaurant – gave me a suitcase full of knowledge and the opportunity to travel to different parts of India: something which led from a career as a chef to one as a food and travel writer.
My first commissioned trip – to Ladakh – gave me the sense of being a tourist in my homeland. I was simultaneously sad and excited: while I knew very little about the country I belonged to, at the same time, learning from different states, regions and cultures changed my understanding of food. I’ve had the opportunity to share the food and the stories of the men and women I have met and to share these with a wider audience. For me, it’s an extension of a journey that began with celebrating festivals: a journey that I hope will continue in the years to come as I explore more and more of my homeland through a tourist’s eyes.
The festival we were most excited about as children was Holi: the festival of colour. This Hindu festival marks the end of winter and celebrates the arrival of spring, and it is celebrated in several different ways.
I remember sitting around our Bihari neighbour, Bhabi, with my friends while she recounted the story of Holi. She told us of the Hindu god Lord Vishnu, who killed the younger brother of demon king Hiranyakashyap. The demon king, in return, began to act like God, punishing or killing anyone who disobeyed him.
However, Hiranyakashyap’s son, Prahlad, stayed true to Vishnu. Incensed by this fact, Hiranyakashyap – with the help of his sister Holika, who had a special cloak that protected her from fire.
The plan was for Holika to hold Prahlad down over a fire to kill him. But as she used her powers for evil, her cloak flew off her and protected Prahlad, saving him and killing her instead. Vishnu subsequently defeated Hiranyakashyap, and the festival of Holi celebrates this triumph of good over evil.
In honour of this story, Hindus light a bonfire during the full moon the day before Holi. However, there is another Holi story that also contributes to the celebrations. This story tells of Krishna, whose skin had turned blue after being poisoned by the goddess Putana. Krishna loved Radha and feared his skin colour would put her off. So he mischievously smeared Radha’s face with paint. Those celebrating Holi continue to apply bright colours (abeer) to the faces of loved ones to mark the occasion.
For this reason, my dad was never a massive fan of Holi: once mixed with water, the colours sometimes wouldn’t come off for days – even an entire week, sometimes. So he told us to be sure only to play with the powder.
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I remember asking my dearest friend Neeraj if anyone ever did anything mischievous at school during Holi. He was quick to say that there was hardly ever any mention of Holi at school, but some of the more mischievous older kids had started discreetly throwing coloured powder on each other or putting it on people’s heads – it only showed up during the next day’s bath.
We started defiantly playing Holi, ignoring the wishes of our parents. My brother and I used to make elaborate plans to ensure that we coloured others before they coloured us. We put the coloured powder in a bucket, mixed it with water then filled our pichkaris (water guns) before attacking.
Once we’d played, our clothes were drenched and both clothing and skin were a rainbow of different colours. Our mum would always tell us off when we came home as the colours wouldn’t come off quickly – and with my sensitive skin reacting to specific colours I was always sore for a while, but it was worth it.
I remember one incident where I’d argued with Neeraj, and we weren’t speaking – to this date, neither of us remembers why. Finally, our mutual friend Malkiet got caught in the middle, and I dragged him to Neeraj’s house to play Holi, which reunited us.
After our GCSEs, we all took different paths: that was our last Holi together. However, the three of us – and our friend Reshmi – have made a pact that we will, one day, go back to where we grew up and play Holi one more time.
Holi was about far more than throwing colours. People would come together for dancing, fun, food – and even now, certain dishes transport me back to those fun, colour-filled times.
The pastries known as gujiya resemble Cornish pasties filled with khoya (sweet dairy curd), dried fruits or coconut before they are deep-fried. Jalebi – crispy, deep-fried swirls of batter coated in a spiced sugary syrup, were another popular Holi choice. We also enjoyed dishes like rasmalai (a sweet dumpling filled with creamed rice, pistachio and saffron) and barfi: a fudge-like sweet made with condensed milk and created in a wide variety of flavours.
It’s not just the food that’s important, but the drinks, too. Thandai is a popular northern Indian drink made with milk, saffron, sugar, almonds and a blend of spices garnished with nuts. During Holi, some will even add bhang (cannabis) to their thandai to mark the occasion.
Our neighbour Bhabi used to make malpua every Holi. We always demolished these sweet pancakes, soft on the inside and crispy on the outside and smothered with sugar syrup, giving us the energy we needed for the festivities.
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Meanwhile, my friend’s mum specialised in gujiyas: I have fond memories of sharing these with my friends. It is the combination of the pastry and the filling that makes this such a special dish. The filling is sweet and beautifully textured, packed with coconut, pistachios, sugar and a combination of spices. She would make the filling and pastry separately before assembling them into crescent shapes, sealing them, and deep-frying in plenty of ghee or oil. Find my recipe for them below, and make them yourself this Holi (Wednesday 8 March 2023).
Coconut Gujiya recipe
Makes 15
Ingredients
For the dough
- 200g plain flour
- 3 tsp ghee (can substitute with vegetable or sunflower oil)
- 100ml water, at room temperature
For the filling
- 150g fresh coconut, grated
- Seeds from 8 green cardamom pods, crushed
- 2 tsp fennel seeds, crushed
- 100g caster sugar
- 3 tsp ghee, plus extra for frying
- 20g pistachios, finely chopped, plus extra for serving
- 15g raisins
- 2 tsp white poppy seeds
Method
First, make the dough. Sift the flour into a large mixing bowl, then add the ghee and combine.
Slowly add the water – remembering that different quality flours require different amounts of water – and knead until it all comes together into a flexible dough. Cover the bowl with a clean tea towel and rest at room temperature for half an hour.
Meanwhile, make the filling. Combine the grated coconut, sugar, crushed cardamom and fennel seeds, chopped pistachios, raisins and poppy seeds in a bowl, mixing well to combine.
Heat the 3 tsp of ghee in a frying pan, add the mixed filling ingredients and cook over medium heat for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and leave to cool before you assemble.
Divide your rested dough into 15 equally-sized balls. Dust a clean work surface with flour and roll one ball out into a 9-10cm diameter thin circle. Place a heaped teaspoon of the filling in the centre of the circle, then pinch the dough around the filling using your thumb and forefinger to ensure it doesn’t escape. Repeat until all of them are made.
Half-fill a heavy-based, deep pan with ghee and heat to 175-180 degrees centigrade. Once hot, drop your gujiyas in batches and fry for 3-4 minutes until crispy and golden brown. Remove with a slotted spoon and transfer to a plate lined with kitchen paper to drain the excess ghee. Repeat until all your gujiyas are cooked, then sprinkle with the remaining pistachios to serve. Store in an airtight container – they will keep in the fridge for up to a week.
Chef Romy Gill MBE is a British/Indian chef, food/travel writer and broadcaster based in the south-west of England.