I had the great fortune of growing up near the cultural epicenter of Chattogram, Bangladesh in an area called DC Hill. It’s lush with greenery and is bordered by the flower district, a Buddhist monastery, a handful of Hindu temples, and numerous mosques—a truly secular locale where the city’s Bengali New Year festivities, or Noboborsho, are held each year. April 14th marks the first day of the Bengali calendar, or Pohela Boishakh. It begins with mangal shobhajatra, a parade of vivid red and white sharis and punjabis. Giant masks of Bengali mythical creatures float above the procession. Songs by Rabindranath Tagore fill the air alongside the scent of bhortas (mustard oil-laden mashes) and various pithas (rice flour-based cakes and dumplings).
It’s been over a decade since my last Noboborsho back home, the memories of which are now immortalized on my palate: The subtly acrid taste of panta bhat (fermented rice), which frankly, no kid really liked; the way our tongues learned to detect the needle-like pin bones of deep-fried hilsa fish from an early age; and the unceasing flow of food out of the kitchen, breakfast segueing into lunch and lunch turning into dinner. Once I moved to the States, I had to find a way to celebrate the Bengali New Year without these built-in festivities and surrounded by new people.
During my years living in Chicago and Los Angeles, Noboborsho celebrations were nominal and quiet, with some white rice, a few bhortas, and dal (lentil soup) that my partner and I would eat in front of the television. Moving to New York City in 2021 was like a homecoming: I was reunited with many childhood friends and had access to a robust Bengali community again. And with Jackson Heights and its many Bangladeshi grocery stores just a train ride away, I no longer had to yearn for my mother’s pantry.
This year’s fête—my biggest one yet—was delightfully crammed into my Williamsburg apartment, with a spread so ample that there’s no question I’m turning into my mother. The guest list represented the full spectrum of our diaspora: some were raised in Bangladeshi American households while others hailed from my hometown of Chattogram—a food writer pal, Mehr Singh, who grew up in New Delhi and observed Vaisakhi, the Punjabi New Year, at this time of year; and a former coworker, Urmila Ramakrishnan, who grew up in the U.S. blending Bengali and Tamilian traditions—all donning their best, most exuberant South Asian ’fits with a certain vivacity that mimicked the spirit of bygone Noboborsho celebrations. Among us were also a few friends of the culture, like my friend Tyler and my husband Charlie, whose taste buds are well-trained to take the heat of Bengali cooking.
At its core, a Noboborsho feast is the truest form of Bengali home cooking. Rice is always the star, so of course my table had three different kinds: panta bhat that was fermented overnight and drizzled with mustard oil, a pot of golden-hued khichuri, and plain white rice. The menu also featured stewed chicken and potatoes, warm with cumin, coriander, and tons of garlic and ginger—a dish I’m willing to bet is on any Bengali’s comfort list. But maybe not on that list is stir-fried bitter melon and potatoes. Just as the stewed chicken elicited squeals of joy from guests, the sight of those distinctive green craggly bits prompted displeased groans. “I’m having flashbacks of being force-fed bitter melon as a child,” my friend Farooque, a music producer, joked. I promised the crowd that the potatoes temper the bitterness, hoping to turn skeptics into believers.
I’m fairly certain my Chittagonian card would’ve been revoked if I skipped the kala bhuna, a beef dish hailing from my hometown that’s slow-cooked with freshly ground spices until dark and tattered. As is required by our very strict, very real ordinance of Bengaliness, seafood is essential for a New Year’s feast. There’s even an old adage, mache bhate Bangali, that means “fish and rice make a Bengali.”
While hilsa, our national fish and the emblem of our ethnic identity, is most common for Noboborsho back home, it can be hard to find on this side of the world. Not to mention, it’s a menacing creature that requires shrewd eyes and a crafty tongue to dodge its copious hair-thin pinbones. So I opted for another, less perilous classic: paturi. Traditionally, paturi calls for wrapping pretty much any lean fish in banana leaves, then steaming it. My version, however, is swathed in an edible alternative—collard greens—and pan-fried. The filling features diced shrimp marinated with mustard oil, black and brown mustard seeds, ginger, garlic, onion, green chiles, and tons of cilantro.
Alongside the main dishes, small bowls of flavorful bhortas are scattered across the table. These mashes generally follow a simple blueprint: A star ingredient is blended with hot green chiles, sliced onions, cilantro, and tons of mustard oil. The three bhortas on my table included one with boiled eggs, one with roasted tomatillos, and one with charred scallions. My favorite element on the table is a riff on a family heirloom strawberry rhubarb achar recipe; it’s a springtime take on the tangy-sweet condiment my grandmother used to make with young green mangoes.
At any Bengali meal, one thing is eternally nonnegotiable: Eating with your hand—your right hand to be exact (for reasons unfitting for a food publication). For those unfamiliar, the first instinct is to rely solely on the four long fingers to do the scooping. But as I often remind my non-Bengali friends, use your god-given primate privileges—the opposable thumb—to deliver that perfect bite into your mouth.
Once the plates were cleared and everyone’s hands were clean, I brought out the mishti doi (jaggery-infused yogurt) for a sweet finish. Admittedly, it’s one of those things not many Bengalis like to make at home—one, because it’s truly a labor of love, and two, because there are ample legacy yogurt makers across the region who have it down to a science, most notably in the Northern Bangladesh city of Bogura. I took a mental picture of the moment—us eating yogurt right out the pot as Bengali folk music poured through the air—cementing the memory of my first big Bengali New Year bash with my chosen family.
Recipes
Murgir Jhol (Bengali Chicken Stew)
Collard Shrimp Paturi
Strawberry Rhubarb Achar
Bitter Melon and Potato Stir-Fry
Mishti Doi (Bengali Sweet Yogurt)
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