I still remember the bustling streets of Kolkata from my childhood. Food was a big part of the city’s emerging culture, and I always savored the flavors it offered. But true inspiration for my cooking came from my mother’s kitchen.
Firstly, it was a world of its own. Organized in harmony, everything had its proper place. The utensil stand was home to every vessel for daily use. Steel plates in the top section, bowls on the left. Spoons had small holding spaces of their own. It spoke of perfection. The yellow-colored round “masaladan” with turmeric, chili powder, and other spices spoke of fragrances and flavor. Sometimes, the tadka had all of them, translating into sneezes across the house. Several boxes of steel, plastic, and glass filled with rice, lentils, peanuts, and more spices. They haven’t changed a lot in the past 30 years.
When my mom took out that silver-coated steel cauldron, I knew what was coming. The best mutton I ever had. Even though she is a vegetarian, her hands sprinkled magic on everything, from poultry to meats and a variety of fishes. The slightly brown color of mutton still makes my mouth water. Dipped in red gravy and combined with perfectly round Roti, the traditional Indian bread, it was a dish to remember for ages.
Her vegetarian cooking was unmatched, too. Aloo paratha and the Aam chutney — the king of our house. The fluffy paratha, oozing butter, sizzling on the black frying pan. Instead of being seated at the dining table, my sister and I would stand near the stove to experience its beauty. Our fight about who would get the first one was never as soft as the paratha. Often, we would have half a piece each and wait for the next one. My mom’s cooking was my first experience of how flavors nourish lives and make people fall in love with food. It was a package of deliciousness that always stayed with me.
Alluring as my mother’s cooking was, I still craved flavors beyond dal chawal, roti sabzi, or the regular vegetarian fare — the typical Indian meal. My 10-year-old self always wanted something more — something exotic. Paneer Tikka and Chicken Masala. I wanted to witness the flavors that weren’t common in our kitchen. More than eating, I felt a call to understand how these dishes came to life. It was a drive to create something new, something other than the ordinary.
My craving for these dishes came from glossy pages of magazines that showcased recipes from around the world. TV commercials with appetizing and beautifully presented Chicken Burgers. Sometimes, it was a street side stall experimenting with regular cuisines. My senses felt the scrumptious flavors from multiple angles.
My first real encounter with lavish cooking was on Zee TV’s Khana Khazana. It was the 5-star chef Sanjeev Kapoor who brought the exotic tastes to me. Neatly placed glass bowls with ingredients in each one. Veggies like broccoli, bell peppers, baby corn, mushrooms, and whatnot. Plates of white ceramic gave a touch of luxury to the presentation. From masaledaar curries and crunchy salads to colorful desserts, he made everything come alive on a 24-inch screen.
During this time, ideas of my own kitchen, utensils, and style of cooking popped up. Recipes just flew in my mind like confidential whispers. Many came from watching cooking shows and magazine cutouts; many of them were my own concoctions.
It reminds me of an incident I recall vividly to this day. I was in 8th or 9th grade, and I invited my friends for Hakka Noodles. I had never made them before. Those were not the days of YouTube — I had to figure out the recipe myself. Sometimes, the noodles would fly out of the pan. Sauces left stains on my clothes, for which mom would talk to me later. With wide eyes and skeptical hands, they gobbled on my food. I eagerly waited for their feedback. Though they laughed and joked about it, but their eating it all up lovingly, with laughter and joy, said everything. It was an achievement for the ages.
My childhood was filled with stories like this. Watching cooking shows, I used to think to myself, “When will I get my hands on these ingredients?” I remember venturing into far-off streets of Kolkata to buy ingredients that weren’t easily accessible. Fruits, veggies, and condiments that were available in specific stores. It was a journey for ingredients and health. My focus was always on getting the best ingredients that contribute to a healthy life. Even at that time, I was conscious of nutritious food habits.
When I started On A Roll, I knew the taste would entice everyone. But deep inside, I wanted to tie it down with health. In Kolkata, the egg roll looked delicious, but the splattering oil and the spices intimidated me. When I brought it to America, I was convinced to align the taste with the needs of the body.
I paid special attention to all the ingredients. The dough was made of whole wheat. I made my own ketchup and sauces. I wanted to keep my use of preservatives as low as possible. I mostly used organic and non-GMO products. And I tied it all together with the taste. I used the healthiest oil and minimal spices to ensure my customers didn’t feel the burn.
Somewhere in my mind, health always took precedence over taste, but I was able to merge them both. I was conscious of my egg roll’s flavor. Even though the ingredients spoke of good health, I wanted to maintain the deliciousness. The essence of that street-side roll never left my mind. And I could feel its presence in my hands while cooking it in my makeshift kitchen under the tent. The egg rolls came out crispy, flavorful, and steaming hot — all with attention to good health. It was a culmination of my desire to cook and serving the best to my customers. Everything fitted in well.
As a child, I never thought I would bring egg rolls to another continent. But it ensued in ways I could never imagine. Google had a big role to play in that. More on that later.
