Paanch Phoron: Bringing Bengal’s Sorceress Spice To Life With Metaphors & Magic

“One hand, five homes. A lifetime in a fist.” - The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri 

While slicing a pumpkin, delicately setting aside the seeds for her favourite curry to be made later exclusively for herself, Ma would remark that we Bengalis were loathe to waste any part of a vegetable or fruit. This was an oft-repeated phrase coming from an otherwise verbose stable.
“Imagine the light and crispy pakoras made from the flowers of a pumpkin or drumstick?” She would ask with a giddy smile and glittering eyes, anticipating her favourite dishes steaming on the dining table.
It was years later that I realised that it were our many common and uncommon spices that allowed us this resourceful ability—the ones that might have been thrown away. By making the skin, stems or seeds of a diverse range of vegetables and fruits palatable, we were able to harness every bit of these offerings and harness them we did.
Bengal’s cuisine like its people and heritage is divided into two strands (taking Bangladesh into account) the Ghotis and the Bangals. These two roots brings together an arresting set of dishes, formed around four essential flavours of tok (sour), mishti (sweet), nonta (salty), and jhaal (chilli), which remains woefully underrepresented in India. This is thanks to the overwhelming presence of the much-loved Punjabi and well-savoured South Indian cuisines (again wrongly amalgamated given the diversity in the southern region of our nation). Yet what remains known of Bengal is always the food, a little Tagore, Bose, and of course, the politics of the Left. We’ll only expand on the first however.

Bengali cuisine is fish heavy, owing to its proximity to the Bay of Bengal and the three mighty Indian rivers of Ganga, Yamuna and Brahmaputra (though its origin lie in Tibet, it is as Indian as it is Bangladeshi or Chinese). Hence, the prevalence of river fish over ocean fish too. Yet, the cuisine is far more nuanced than generally understood and goes much beyond the clichés of fish curry and the known dessert of sandesh, pantua and rosogolla. At the same time, Bengali cuisine finds itself in the midst of a few global practices. It being served much like French food, course by course.
Given Bengal’s fertile soil, it is also gives birth to several fruits and vegetables, which Bengalis have come to relish. While non-vegetarian fare is essential to the region, these dishes form the signature rear end of the culinary fair. Vegetarian dishes like Begun Bhaaja or Paachmishali among others form the first act of the cuisine and it is here that a very special spice comes to the fore.

If ever, I, a novice cook, was asked to describe Bengali food, I would paraphrase Jhumpa Lahiri’s beautiful words.

While most spices used in Bengal matches those of the rest of India, one concoction remains her very own, giving it a trademark spark, replicated feebly by the tempering of the more commonly used spices of turmeric and chilli powders, dried whole red chillies, bay leaves and black mustard seeds. This is called the Paanch Phoron or the ‘Sorceress of all Spices.’
Paanch Phoron when translated literally means “Tempering of Five Spices”. Taking in fenugreek seeds, nigella seeds, cumin seeds, radhuni and fennel seeds, in almost equal measures, brings in a rare sense of aroma, flavour and mischief to lentils and vegetables. It is always used whole though crushed Paanch Phoron has been known to flavour eggs, fish, poultry, salads and cottage cheese well too. The spice is either roasted dry or fried in ghee (clarified butter) allowing it to bring a more wholesome presence to the dishes. Yet, to bring out its fiercer side, its most appropriate ally remains mustard oil. Bengali cuisine is founded on this dense, heavy, and fragrant golden oil and in its bosom Paanch Phoron comes alive, allowing the spices to blossom. Adding vegetables or a softened lentil to the fried spices is often the preferred way to cook the dishes.
Paanch Phoron has unique collective qualities which preserves the very individual traits of the five spices bringing forward a rare balancing act of assimilation rather than a decimating victory.

The golden Fenugreek seeds or Methi is forever given the part of the elderly statesman. He is used sparingly in the play. His overpowering self needs a prudent pinch, one which can be measured only with experience. Its status ensures that this spice is bitter when tasted alone. And so he has a pungent smell when fried. In the climax, the fenugreek however embalms the vegetables, balancing their sweetness, leaving behind a trail of his existence with a surreal nutty flavour, cleansing whatever body it inhabits.
The night like dark Nigella Seeds or Kalonji / Kalo Jeere plays the perfect foil to the quiet, often dignified fenugreek. She, his soul mate, dwells with a lighter foot, habitually the sprightly neighbour, capable of good laughter and forever the source of entertainment. And so, these nigella seeds, flirt openly with the toasty mustard oil, dancing on it when thrown into the pan. However when lightly roasted she is known for her peppery flavour. There is also a searing side to her, forever an opponent to the many maladies of the human body. So she, the fierce warrior, goes to battles against migraines, chronic colds, palpitations, and asthma.
The grey Cumin Seeds or Jeera is the beautiful daughter. This ubiquitous spice, adored throughout the Indian landscape, binds the Paanch Phoron together in a haze of smoky richness. A pinch or more of cumin seeds is valued in lentils or vegetarian dishes for it aids digestion of food. At the same time however, much like it brings the others together as women do, it also assimilates different nutrients inside the human body, becoming the beacon of health and prosperity.
Radhuni or Ajmod play the son in this colourful play, a rare pan-Indian spice which is used commonly in Bengal. It is this spice, which gives the Paanch Phoron its unique flavour, making it stand out from ones commonly seen around the country. It takes after fenugreek, and is temperamental. And so it gives the amalgamated spice a certain energy, which floods the more temperate plains of lentils and vegetables. Raduni is pungent, though soft in texture, and it contains within it strong flavour much like celery or carom seeds which is effortlessly coaxed out when fried in mustard oil. Much of Bengal sees itself within a similar circle as the oriental, and so Radhuni, so integral to Bengalis also finds usage in Thai cuisine just as it is extensively used in Myanmar for its medicinal properties.
The final flourish in the play is provided by the spring like fervour of the grand-daughter played so effectively by the green Fennel Seeds or Saunf / Mouri. Known more for the stream of spicy sweetness when consumed raw as a mouth freshner, fennel accentuates the pungency of the spices in Paanch Phoron. With its shrill voice, it accentuates the natural flavours of the vegetables, allowing them to stand up to the assault of the more powerful spices in fray, leaving behind a mint-like tenderness.

Every Bengali spice rack will give Paanch Phoron the throne. Though the Chinese Five Spices have always been better known, Bengali cuisine’s lack of presence in popular culinary culture has ensured Paanch Phoron has never attained the ranks Bengalis have long cherished. The exquisite songs these spices sing together echo within them the culinary history of Bengal. They draw lyrics from the vast farmlands of the countryside, portraying moving images of the kitchens made of clay, borrowing instances from the generational anecdotes one often hears in century-old homes nestling within cramped cities. They rattle away one’s sorrow, tattling secrets of one another, questioning age-old wisdom and seeking courage to find new uses for their antiquated weapons. These also unite the dusty roads of the rural and the concrete of the urban. In this family one finds Bengal and to Bengal and Bengalis, they remain the enchanted family of sorcerers. Creating magic in everyday culinary adventures.

Words: Sayan Das 

[On the outside, Sayan S. Das, is studying rather seriously to become the next world peace achieving Secretary General of the United Nations while writing the next great Indian novel at the University of Oxford. Inside, he is a raving Bollywood lunatic who just wants to keep dancing and acting. You need the all romantic, action hero who can sing, dance, cry and still sweep the girl off her feet, you come to the Butter Chicken lapping Bong-Punju mixed breed Sayan.]