Cooking is a process that is evolving every day. Some new dishes are added, some old ones are forgotten and some old dishes are transformed into new ones. with changing times, our favourite dishes change, how we make our favourite dishes also change. Sometimes, no doubt these changes are required, because it is important that we acknowledge that change is the only constant. But sometimes, these changes are forces. A dish, that we have oved all our lives, might get erased completely out of our plates due to reasons beyond our control. And this is exactly what happened with paalo, a lost dessert that most new generation Bengalis do not even know about, let alone taste.
I remember being introduced to paalo pithe for the first time during pithe sankranti or makar sankranti at a para or colony friend’s house. Her very loving grandmother served this jello like, light brown coloured thing, cut into slices. Initially, I was skeptical; afterall I had all the delicious tried and tested options – from bhaapa pithe to puli pithe to patishapta, I absolutely loved everything on the plate. But the foodie in me, which surfaced fully much later in my life, made a guest appearance that evening and I went on to try this unique pithe. And needless to say, I absolutely loved it, so much so that two decades later, I would go on to write an entire article on how much I miss eating paalo. Sonali didi’s thakuma, by offering me paalo, changed how I looked at pithe sankranti then on.
Paalo pithe is set on a plate and then sliced into small pieces | Instagram - @cooking_shooking_cooking
I went back to the best chef I knew (and still know), my Dida, and asked her why she never made paalo for me. She was surprised to know that I had eaten it at someone’s place and liked it so much. In her words, paalo was something she never made willingly. She told me that she used to make paalo so as to not waste anything when things were tough for her and she had to feed everyone. Her method to make paalo was adding the leftover coconut filling of other pithas to the water in which she used to make bhapa pithe! She would just boil that starchy water, add sweet fillings, a little rice powder and jaggery. Then she would spread it on a plate after it completely thickened and had a jelly like consistency. She would cut it up like barfi and feed my mother and her other siblings, calling it the best barfi ever.
The story behind each dish is different and I believe you have the power to change it. After I told my Dida how much I loved paalo, she used to make it from scratch for me, happily and willingly. A dish that was probably associated with the harder times that she had seen in her life, was now a fun bonding connection with me. As I moved out of my hometown and can hardly be there for pithe sankranti, it is not the patishapta that I miss or the doodh-puli that I crave, it is the humble paalo pithe. My Dida has stopped making it again. Maybe one day, I will make paalo myself. Maybe one day, I will cook it when my Dida and I can sit together on pithe sankranti and enjoy it together.
