At its heart, a chorchori or charchari is a medley of vegetables central to Bengali cuisine. This dish artfully combines a selection of vegetables in a wok or pan, enhanced by a simple tempering, resulting in a flavorful, minimal-water one-pot creation. It’s a testament to resourceful cooking, perfectly suited for utilizing small portions of various vegetables, a practice often referred to as “fridge-cleaning” in modern kitchens.
In my fifteen years of culinary exploration, there was a time when I enjoyed the convenience of having a cook at home. After relocating to Bangalore and initially living with my sister, I later sought independence closer to my workplace. This led me to share an apartment with three other women in Whitefield, a suburb then burgeoning with IT companies. While I was always happy to cook for everyone, my housemates felt it was too much for me alone. We decided to hire a cook, and I gladly took on the role of planning meals and managing groceries.
J, our cook, was a sturdy woman, always wearing traditional shakha-pola bangles, a bindi, and often a paan in her mouth, her face perpetually lit with a smile. She addressed me as didi, elder sister, a term of respect in Bengali culture, even though she was older. I reciprocated, calling her didi as well. Despite my requests, she insisted on using didi, for her it was a term of respect she wouldn’t forgo.
Didi J became my kitchen confidante during my time in Bangalore. Full of stories and adept at preparing a wide array of dishes, her conversation was as varied as her cooking. Despite facing hardships of migrating from Bangladesh, family difficulties, financial constraints, a husband with alcohol issues, and leaving her daughter in the village for a safer upbringing, Didi J had an incredible ability to bring joy with her stories and her food.
Although Bengali, her culinary repertoire spanned Indian cuisine. Idlis, parathas, dhokla – she mastered them all. I savored her Bengali specialties like murgirir laal jhol (Bengali chicken curry), kochu bata (mashed taro), mochar ghonto (banana flower curry), and shorshe ilish (hilsa in mustard sauce). Yet, it was her chorchoris or charcharis that I loved most.
Chorchori boasts many variations, differing in tempering and flexible vegetable combinations. The name of the chorchori usually reflects the vegetables used or the specific tempering style.
The Art of Vegetable Selection
Vegetable choice in chorchori is remarkably versatile. Unbound by strict recipes, its distinctive taste arises from the skillful chopping of vegetables, thoughtful pairing, and layering with minimal spices, all brought together with a generous drizzle of mustard oil. Uniformity in chopping is key to ensure even cooking. Vegetables that require longer cooking times are added first to the kadhai (wok), followed by quicker-cooking ones.
Traditional chorchori often features pumpkin slices, eggplant chunks, leafy greens, and root vegetables like drumsticks and taro. Other popular choices include ridge gourd, pointed gourd, hyacinth beans, and potatoes. Even bitter gourds, sweet potatoes, carrots, and cauliflower (including stems and leaves) find their place in this adaptable dish.
While primarily vegetarian, some chorchori variations include fish. Small fish varieties like chanda, tengra, morola, bele, kochki, or even shrimps harmonize beautifully with vegetables in a chorchori.
Tempering: The Flavor Foundation
Didi J prepared chorchori in numerous ways. Sometimes, she used paanch phoron (a five-spice blend) along with dried red chilies and bay leaves for tempering. Another favorite was a simple tempering of nigella seeds, enhanced with crushed ginger and green chili – a personal favorite of mine. Occasionally, she opted for just asafoetida (hing) tempering, a subtle version with a gentle kick from green chilies. Plain mustard seeds were another tempering choice, sometimes accompanied by mustard paste (shorshe bata) and bori (dried lentil dumplings). Mustard oil is indispensable, lending a distinctive Bengali flavor, while the vegetable cuts define the texture.
This vegetable cooking style shares similarities with the Odia chadchadi, though Odia versions often include garlic in the tempering, which isn’t always the case in chorchori.
Chorchori embodies the dual nature of Bengali culinary fashion – moving between opulence and resourcefulness. To truly appreciate this, we need to delve into Bengal’s history.
Chorchori: Reflecting Bengal’s Richness
Undivided Bengal, encompassing present-day Bangladesh and West Bengal in India, was a region of approximately 228,000 square kilometers. Known for its fertile lands, abundant rice production, and rivers teeming with diverse fish, Bengal was historically one of the wealthiest areas in the Indian subcontinent. While Bengali cuisine is often associated with fish and rice due to their regional abundance, vegetarian dishes are also a significant part of its culinary heritage.
Food historian Pritha Sen, in a Conde Nast Traveller article, notes, “Bengal was the land of greens and gourds.” The rise of the Vaishnava Bhakti movement in Bengal during the 14th-15th centuries gave vegetarian cooking new prominence, even elevating dal (lentils) as a protein source to replace meat and fish. Prior to this movement, which gained momentum with the followers of Sri Chaitanya, Hindu widows from Brahmin and Kayastha castes are believed to have pioneered many vegetarian dishes, including chorchori. Restrictive patriarchal norms prohibited them from using onion, garlic, pungent spices, meat, and fish, categorizing these as foods that could increase libido. However, Sen clarifies, “Yes, it’s true a lot of our vegetarian food was perpetuated because of widows. All families had widowed relatives living them. Therefore, vegetarian food was a constant. But the repertoire did not happen because of them. The myth that they originated from them was started for sensationalism.”
Chorchori also exemplifies easy cooking suitable for large families. Whether prepared with just vegetables or with the addition of fish, chorchori served with rice and sometimes dal forms a complete and satisfying meal.
It was also a method to conserve cooking energy. Consider bati chorchori. Raw vegetables were arranged in a bowl or bati, topped with raw mustard oil, covered, and slow-cooked in the fading embers of a wood fire – mirroring the Odia Bati Basa cooking technique. Another interpretation of bati chorchori involves initially cooking vegetables in a kadhai as usual, then removing them from heat. These vegetables are then combined with green chili, mustard and poppy seed paste, and raw mustard oil, stuffed into a bowl, and steamed for a short time.
Regardless of its origins and variations, chorchori in pre-British Bengal celebrated fresh produce, reflecting the abundance of vegetables thriving in the Ganga delta. However, the essence of chorchori transformed during the economic hardships and famines of 17th and 19th century Bengal.
Chorchori: Adapting to Bengal’s Hardships
Under British rule, the Indian subcontinent endured 200 years of exploitation, leading to economic decline and recurrent famines. Oppressive British taxation, not food scarcity, was the root cause of these famines. William Digby, a British Indian government famine inspector, detailed in his book, Prosperous British India: A Revelation from Official Records, how a famine insurance fund, funded by Indian taxes, was diverted to cover expenses for wars and railway construction, despite railways not being a famine solution.
Surgeon Major Francis Day, Inspector General of Fisheries in India, also reported that heavy taxation forced fishermen to starve rather than continue fishing, but his warnings were ignored by the profit-driven British government. While Emperor Akbar had reduced land tax to one-third, the weakening Mughal empire saw nawabs and rajas increase land tax and reintroduce discontinued taxes. The East India Company continued this trend, raising land tax to unprecedented levels and controlling trade prices.
Robert Clive of the East India Company gained Diwani rights in 1765 after the Battle of Buxar, granting them tax collection authority in Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa. Taxes tripled within five years, contributing to the Great Bengal famine of 1769-1773, which killed a third of Bengal’s population. Despite this devastation, the company continued to raise taxes.
As taxpaying ability diminished, Lord Cornwallis introduced the Zamindari System in 1793 under the Permanent Settlement Act. This created intermediaries (zamindars, mahalwars, ryotwars) who became landowners, renting land to peasants. The East India Company took 10/11 of the collected rent, leaving only 1/11 for zamindars, severely impoverishing peasants. Unlike the Mughal system, the British system made zamindars landowners and allowed land confiscation for unpaid rent. A large portion of Bengal was thus sacrificed for the benefit of British-backed zamindars.
Author and physician Manoshi Bhattacharya writes in a DailyO article:
India, which is reckoned to have accounted for a quarter of global manufacturing before the British traders arrived, was reduced to just 3% of world GDP by the dawn of the 20th century. Bengal silver funded Britain’s Industrial Revolution which began to flood the markets of India with British products.
In these times, chorchori shifted from a lavish vegetable dish to a symbol of resilience. Women became adept at utilizing every part of available ingredients, embracing root-to-shoot cooking. Vegetable peels, fish bones and scales, even poppy seeds from opium fields (another consequence of British policies), and mustard seed remnants from oil mills were all used to make chorchori, sustaining families on meager meals.
The Bengal famine of 1943 saw the rise of khosa chorchori (made only with vegetable peels), kaanta chorchori (using fish bones and head), and dal chorchori (with masoor dal). While today kaanta chorchori might include various vegetables, in those times it might have been just onions or potatoes with mustard.
Even after the 1947 partition and Indian independence, life remained challenging for many. Didi J, born in the late 1960s, recalled her family’s struggles and political neglect. Her widowed grandmother foraged for wild greens, while her mother cooked insufficient rice. In their dilapidated home, her mother would sit in the kitchen, mixing boiled rice with the day’s chorchori, making balls to feed Didi J and her siblings. Often, the mother and grandmother would go to sleep hungry, fanning themselves in the dim lantern light.
While making khosa or kaanta chorchori, Didi J would share in her Hindi, “Kochu ke jaise hum log Bangladesh se yahan aa gaya didi, lekin jeebon obhi bhi wohi hai. Wohi charchari aaj bhi banata didi. Kintu dusre ka badi mein nei. Aapko itna pasand, shei karon aapke badi mein banata.”….”We wriggled out of Bangladesh just as a taro root grows, but life remains the same. I still make the same chorchori, didi, but not in others’ homes. You like it so much, so I make it in your house.”
Whether using fresh vegetables or discarded parts, chorchori honors its ingredients, revealing their hidden flavors. Didi J taught me well, and I share here a simple and minimalist chorchori recipe.
Pro Tip: Mastering Chorchori
The key to a great chorchori is uniform vegetable cuts. Whether wedges, slices, or chunks, avoid fine chopping, which will result in a bharta (mash) instead of distinct vegetables.
Start cooking with the hardest vegetables, layering in order of cooking time. Toss or cover and cook each layer briefly.
Tempering variations are numerous. This recipe uses nigella seeds, mustard oil, asafoetida, and pounded ginger and green chili. A simpler version uses just nigella seeds and mustard oil.
Traditional chorchori recipes generally exclude garam masala or whole spices, though some online recipes may include them.
Recipe
<span><strong><em><span>Ingredients</span></em></strong></span>- 2 small eggplants, sliced into wedges or batons
- 2 potatoes, sliced into wedges (skin optional)
- Stalks of a cauliflower, thinly sliced
- Leaves of cauliflower, as is
- 1-2 small carrots, cut into batons
- 10-12 beans (French or broad beans), cut into slender poles
Note: Vegetable selection is flexible based on availability. - Tempering: 2 tbsp mustard oil, 1-2 dry red chilies, 1 tsp nigella seeds, a pinch of asafoetida, 1/2 inch ginger + 1 green chili (pounded) OR 2 tbsp mustard oil, 1-2 dry red chilies, 1 tsp mustard seeds or paanch phoron
- 1 tsp turmeric
- 1 tsp salt, or to taste
*Note**: Cauliflower stalk chorchori, especially East Bengali styles, often include mustard paste for flavor. This recipe omits it for simplicity, but mustard paste (1 tbsp black + 1 tbsp yellow mustard soaked and ground with green chilies and water) can be added for a richer flavor, especially with cauliflower stalks, brinjal, broad beans, and pumpkin.*
<span><strong><em><span>Method</span></em></strong></span>- Heat mustard oil in a pan or wok over medium-low. Heat till smoking, add dry red chilies, then nigella seeds and asafoetida.
- Add cauliflower stalks first (hardest veg). Sauté 3 mins, then potatoes. Stir for 3 mins. Add water splashes if sticking.
- Add carrots, sauté 2-3 mins. Mix in beans, cook 3 mins.
- Vegetables should be ~50% cooked. Add salt, turmeric, stir. Add water if needed, cover, reduce heat, cook 5 mins.
- Add eggplants, pounded ginger-chili. Stir well.
- Sauté 5 mins or until eggplants soften but hold shape. Turn off heat. Serve with rice, dal, and lime.
