Fishing for Something Nordic

Following is Soan Papdi, a.k.a. a Recipe Designed to Catch the Heart of My New Neighbor, Jergen, Who’s Just Moved Here From Finland and Said He’d Love to Try a Regional Indian Dessert of the Sort That I Grew Up Eating.

Here’s the background: Jergen showed up last week at the otherwise-boring-the-ugly-sweater-off-me apartment complex’s holiday party. I’m glad, because he lives on the other side of the complex from me, and I’ve seen him coming and going. He’s a cloud-scrapingly tall blond glass of Alpine goat’s milk with a thick accent that makes me know I could never stay mad at him if we ended up together, because I could probably rarely be absolutely sure what he was saying.

If the tall blondness wasn’t enough, he’s a chef, and he’d brought a boatload of authentic Finnish desserts, whose names I wrote down after tasting each: Runeberg Torte, Mämmi, Korvapuusti, and Munkki (the last is basically doughnuts, but what an incredible name!).

Not being super culinarily inclined, I’d brought chocolate pudding from a mix, which I hastily shoved onto the table.

He was very flirty, and asked me a lot of questions about being a South Asian Studies student. He said he’s always wanted to travel around India, and asked me all about where I’m from. 

On a sugar high, I blabbed a bit about how I also love to bake and cook, and can make loads of fantastic Indian desserts (a drastic exaggeration). Was he trying to call my bluff when he invited himself over to my apartment tonight for a cup of tea and to try an Indian sweet? Well, what was I gonna do? I poker faced it and chirped, “Absolutely!” - so now I’m stuck.

Then I realized that there was one thing I had to make, just for my own self respect. It’s complicated as heck, but also, deliriously delicious; soan papdi (meaning “golden flakes”), a rich Indian dessert with the consistency of crispy cotton candy. Forget Edmund’s Turkish delight. (Although actually, soan papdi might’ve originated in Turkey or Iran, and has modern-day analogues in both countries.) My grandma’s soan papdi is the stuff of legend. A whiff of it would’ve opened Ali Baba’s cave without a word needing to be said. A crumb of it would’ve slayed the white witch and freed Narnia before Aslan could as much as sharpen his claws.

This recipe is the last one my grandma told me before she died. I wrote them all down, but thought there was a good chance I would never attempt this one, because just hearing about it made me prickle with anxiety. But, hey - love makes fools (and/or small-time culinary aspirants) of many.

I got over the first hurdle, which was to buy a saucepan, strainer, and all of the various ingredients - some of them at the Indian store, with the help of the nice aunties who hang around there and know everything, and also assisted by my mom on the phone.

Now in this next part, I’m going to annotate the recipe for my sister, who wants to try making it at some point.

The Recipe

Part I. The Mixture

Start with 2 tablespoons of ghee in a pan on low heat.

I made my own ghee, but I bought all of the other ingredients. Ghee is pretty easy. It’s created by heating unsalted butter until the milk solids separate, then removing the milk solids, which are slightly brown, nutty, and caramelized. It is shelf stable, lasting months in a cupboard or a year in the fridge. 

I heated organic, grass-fed butter on low heat until it melted, started to simmer, and then separated into three layers. I skimmed off the foam, which was the evaporating water. After a while, the foam turned into clear bubbles and the middle layer became see-through. I could see milk solids, the third layer, sticking to the bottom of the pot. After 25 to 30 minutes, I turned off the heat, let it cool a bit, then strained it into a glass container, opaque and pale yellow. 

As I learned in a Hindu mythology class, Prajapati, the lord of all creatures, created ghee by rubbing his hands together. Then he poured the ghee into a fire, to create all of his children, the creatures of the land, oceans, and sky. Ghee lamps are used in Hindus’ daily prayer and at important times like weddings, new houses, new babies, and other ceremonies.

Add 1/4 cup besan (gram) flour and mix, mix.

“Besan” or gram flour is made from ground dried chickpeas, also called garbanzo beans.

Add 1/2 cup maida flour and mix, mix, mix.

“Maida” is a name for finely milled white-wheat flour. To make it, one has to to separate the bran and germ from the starchy white part of the wheat grain - which is then passed through a sieve, then bleached. I bought a kind that’s bleached using natural processes rather than chemicals.

Add 1 additional teaspoon of ghee.

You might think that this mixture already has enough ghee in it (2 tablespoons!). But you would be wrong, because (ask anyone) this last little teaspoon is everything, and must not be omitted, come hell or high Milky Ocean (gratuitous Hindu humor). While mixing, sing a song of your own composition about the greatness of ghee.

Fry on low heat for 8 minutes.

Add 1 teaspoon of elaichi (cardamom) powder.

The cardamom should be dry-roasted before it is ground. I once again left this to the suppliers of my local mostly-organic grocery store.

Run the mixture through a fine strainer, and set aside.

Part II. The Taffy

In a saucepan on low heat, stir together 1 cup sugar, 1/4 cup water, and a few drops of lemon juice.

This part must not be rushed, and must be attended with care and frequent stirring for 20 to 25 minutes. 

When it’s brown and bubbly, test it by pouring a tiny bit into clear, cool water. If it forms a sort of taffy-like candy, you’re good.

When it’s ready, cool it down to room temperature, then pour it onto a nonstick surface, like (in my case) the huge orange silicone board that Santa (a.k.a. my dad) gave me one Christmas, which we celebrate in a non-denominational, good-consumer-and-supporter-of-the-economy way. Our Santa really favors cooking gadgets. Over the years, I’ve gotten a cherry-pitter, an apple-corer, a lemon zester, a melon baller, a citrus press, a Japanese bamboo banana hanger, an avocado slicer, a strawberry slicer…you get the drift. Our Santa also favors gifting kitchen towels and socks.

So now the syrup is taffy, and it’s in a pool stretched out before you on your nonstick surface. From this point on, it’s all about elbow ghee, baby!

Seriously. Manhandle that taffy like crazy. Give your hands a workout. Stretch and pinch it, flip it, flop it, floop it. After it’s been worked over like one of Rocky’s punching bags, form that poor thing into a long, thin strand, then make that strand into a ring (a little larger than a dinner plate) on the nonstick surface.

Part III. The Marriage & Wedded Bliss of Mixture + Taffy

Put the mixture into a milk jug or creamer, and sprinkle a part of it over the ring of taffy. Then work it in. Pull it, prod it, punch it, show it a good time, then make it wish it had never been born.

Once it’s fully saturated, form your mixture-taffy into a ring again, and again, sprinkle the powdery mixture over the ring, and work it in again.

As you knead and pull and drag it around, you’ll see it’s turning into the consistency of angel hair or capellini. When your arms are screaming at you to stop, ignore them - but you can smile then, because you’ll know you’re getting warmer. Keep at it until all of the powder and taffy are fully as one.

Then mold it into individual desserts. Take small, square containers and sprinkle roasted, chopped pistachios and almonds into the bottom. On top of this, cram in the dough, upend it, and it will be molded into a square with a pretty garnish on top. Then bite into a golden, rich, and flaky paradise.

***

Jergen texted to ask if it was okay to come over, and then I realized too late that the only tea I had in the house was chamomile. But I said, sure, come over. I boiled water for chamomile, and hoped it would go well with the dessert, though knowing it would pair better with chai.

Then Jergen showed up with an immense thermos full of steaming hot chai of the sort that my family members make! But it was also a bit different. He said it had cardamom, ginger, star anise, and cloves - plus nutmeg and fennel, which gave it a distinct flavor that I loved.

Laughing, I said, “How’d you guess that I didn’t make tea?”

He laughed, too. “I figured you might have your hands full making dessert?” He looked around for it.

I said, “Good guess!” Then, from my tiny kitchen, I produced a series of small, square soan papdis.

As we both bit into one, I saw his expression change from curiously expectant to transcendent. As waves of flavor simultaneously washed over my tongue, I felt that I had achieved my grandma's level of greatness - or as close as I could ever get to it.

About an hour and several soan papdis later, he said, “I think I’m in love!"

"I know!" I said, “Isn't it yummy? I’ll give you the recipe!”

He said, “Oh, the dessert is amazing! But that’s not what I meant...” He gave me a meaningful look.

I giggled.

After that, since it was our first date and I'm (mostly) a good girl, I let him kiss me once, then shooed him out.

But we have more dates coming up, so this is the beginning of what in Finnish (he taught me) would be called a “kaunis ystävyys” (you got it in one: beautiful friendship).

***