Jalebi
Warm, fresh off the stove, crunchy, crispy and full of sweet, sugary syrup — what’s not to like about Jalebi, the ultimate Indian comfort food? A unique street food that is, and can be, had as an evening snack, for early morning breakfast, or as a dessert after any meal of the day. A sweet that can be found in the poorest sections of Indian society and the most affluent ones, equally alike. It is probably one Indian food that every Indian would instantly recognize, regardless if they are from the North, South, East or West of India. Outside of Gulab Jamun, Jalebi has probably the most name & face recognition of the millions of types of sweets in India.
A quick search on Google threw me a surprise. It turns out that our very own crispy, hot and sweet Jalebi is actually not an Indian recipe but we have made it our own. Originally, it is a version of sweet dish Zolabiya or Zalabiya from Iran! Zalabiya is a festive dessert in Iran, enjoyed by everyone during the iftar parties of Ramzaan. Jalebi was apparently introduced to the Indian subcontinent by our not-so-friendly Persian Turkic invaders. Regardless, this piece of history does not take away anything from my love for Jalebi. I am sure the same holds true for most, if not all Indians.
Say the word Jalebi and it is guaranteed to evoke one or many fond memories for 100s of millions of Indians. For me, it conjures recollections from my childhood in Faridabad, a small non-descript town in the state of Haryana, about 16 kms from New Delhi, the capital of India. Life was easy growing up in Faridabad in the 1980s and 90s. There were no cellphones, computers or video games. With the school less than 5 mins lazy walk away, I didn’t have the need to own or ride a bicycle, leave alone a motorcycle or a car; we actually didn’t even have a family car because there never was any need. Shopping adventures were non-existent prior to the economic liberalization of 1991 in India. It would take another decade for Faridabad to catch up, by which time I was out of Faridabad, to college. With a grand total of 2 TV channels that I had no interest in watching, entertainment comprised precisely 3 things: (1) Playing cricket, (2) Reading comics, and (3) Street food with friends.
On the food front, unlike the more exotic New Delhi food scene next doors, the epicurean choices were limited to a few Mughlai restaurants and plenty of street food vendors. Samosa, chat, pani-puri, boiled-anda, tandoori chicken and chole-bhature ruled the roost on the savory side. Outside of a few Bengali Sweet Bhandars and a couple “fancy” bakeries serving cakes & pastries, Jalebi was it, on the warm and fresh sweet front. It was almost always around 5pm on Sunday evenings, especially in the winters, that I’d get Jalebi cravings. I had to indulge. It would be a “take-out” order (no, there was no concept of food delivery back then) if there was a ‘unit test’ or ‘exam’ the next day, or a casual stroll with friends to the Jalebi stall otherwise. Rs. 10 worth of Jalebi would satiate my cravings while Rs. 25 would buy a feast for our entire family of four!
What was always an evening snack for me underwent a remarkable transformation and became an early morning breakfast at REC Trichy, my college. Regional Engineering Colleges (REC) were an awesome concept envisaged by the Indian Government in the late 1950s — there were 17 of them in the nation, including mine located in Trichy in the southern state of Tamil Nadu. The concept was awesome in that each REC would have at least 50% of its students drawn from all the other (25 in 1994, now 29) states of India. So, I grew up in the northern state of Haryana and went to college in the southern state of Tamil Nadu, which is like going from the North Pole to the South Pole with regards the culture, language, social ethos and food. None of the street food I was so fond of back in Faridabad was available in Trichy. With little money and long distances — our college campus was 18kms away from the nearest urban setting — street food cravings had given way to lack-of-interest-in-eating.
That all changed when one fine day, a fellow student, originally from Rajasthan (a state in western India), declared that he’d hit the jackpot and discovered the secret lair of a Jalebi maker who makes fresh Jalebis between 5am–6am every Sunday morning. To boot, the hideout was only 5 kms from our college campus and there was a public bus that connected our campus with that place that early in the morning. The fellow had done his research. “Jalebis at 5am, are you out of your mind?,” was my first response. “Of course, Jalebi is a breakfast food, and tastes best with a hot glass of milk in the morning,” pat came the response from my friend along with his clique of Rajasthani friends. “For the love of Jalebi!” cried my heart. I shall have it, with milk or otherwise. Waking up at 4:30am, no problem. And Boy! Was it worth all the effort!!
Fast forward 5 years: I had been in the US, attending graduate school in Pittsburgh for the past 4 years. I had found Jalebi at the local Indian grocery stores — stale and 1–2 days old, always. Buy some, put in fridge, microwave a small piece and eat, was the modus operandi. Quite disgusting, really. If I weren’t a true Jalebi aficionado, I wouldn’t have ventured this rather unpalatable experience. In any case, I got married in 2003. Not taking away all the awesomeness Priyanka has brought into my life, a tiny yet wondrous perk is that her folks are from Allahabad, renowned for Jalebi, among many other things. I swear, that was never a criteria for my marrying her, but I ain’t complaining about this small perk that came with it.
Jalebi in Allahabad is once again a morning comfort food. People prefer eating it with hot rabri (condensed milk) or dahi (yogurt), a combination I have grown fond of, lately. There’s something to be said about mixing hot & cold. Hot Gulab Jamun with cold ice cream. Hot chocolate lava cake with cold vanilla ice cream. Hot Jalebi with cold dahi! I make sure I indulge in this culinary nirvana every time I am in Allahabad.
Priyanka, knowing my love for Jalebi and aware of my distaste for the store-bought version, took the audacious goal of making it at home last week. I was duly hired as her sous chef. It really is a 2 person job — one to make & deep-fry the spirals and another to take them out of the hot sugar syrup at precisely the correct time. Leave them in the syrup longer than required and the Jalebi will lose its crunchiness and become soggy. Our Jalebi came out PEFRECT! Priyanka added yet another feather in her being-an-awesome-wife cap.
I am over-the-moon, excited, thrilled and so very happy, all at the same time, knowing that we can now make my favorite Jalebi, just the way I like it, anytime. Next on the deck — Samosa!
