Me Talk Sweet Today

Some people eat to live and some live to eat. We Punjabi folks have often been relegated to the latter, and for a good reason. Every city in Punjab has its claim to a niche product in category of snacks and sweets. Hoshiarpur has its Samose wala, Phagwara has its Gajrele wala, and Jalandhar has its Cheese-Chili wala. If gluttony is a sin then try committing the sin ( and ask immediately for forgiveness) in holy city of Amritsar, whose claim to fame in edible category is for certain perishable goods….and they perish very fast, when my brother is in town. Some of these Vendors are a hole in the wall places and some a little bigger but almost none elaborate. No wonder that one invariably needs a local connoisseur to guide you to such places.

Every product is designed to hit very specific nodes on your taste buds with precision of a laser guided missile. And I should know, for I come from a family where at least four generations have been known to pride themselves on their fondness and prolific consumption of snacks and sweets, especially the latter. My grandmother, may god rest her soul, once requested my father that even though she intends to depart this world abruptly, but in case God wills to keep her on this earth in an unconscious state for some time then make sure not to hold back the sweets from her diet. And my father like a duty bound son, promised solemnly that if situation ever calls for it, he will puree her favorite sweets and add them directly to the I-V line. And why not? Before we decided to suspend his driving privileges on grounds of public safety, my father used to ride his scooter over an hour to an obscure place to get ਬੇਸੱਣ (Besan). Our tastes in Besan have differed but he claims that this particular one brought him many kilos of joy.

My brother and I happen to be chips off the old block. The thing is woven into our DNA, which incidentally also explains the double Helix structure around our waists. Scientific principle is much clearly illustrated by my brother though. We have been known to skip the service at the Temple to explore and pay obeisance to these chapels of gastronomic nirvana. And this December, I was told of ਬਿਰਜੂ ਬਰਫੀਵਾਲਾ (Birju Burfi-wala) in town of ਗੌਰਾਇਆ (Goraya).

Ladies and Gentlemen, there is Burfi and then there is Burfi of Birju Burfi-wala. Birju apparently started making Burfi in 1952, so he had a good half a century to perfect the recipe and perfection in simplistic form is what he has done. In this modern era of flashy commercialization, where vendors treat Burfi as nothing but another sugar delivery device, trying to fool our overloaded senses with an odor of cardamom, a silver foil and unscrupulous use of milk powder, this Burfi is in a class of its own for simplicity and taste. Milk thickened over slow heat to the right point, and just the right amount of sugar. A good Burfi is not to be chewed. Just take a bite and keep it there to let the outer layers melt and fill the nooks and crannies of your palate, before letting the inner ਖੋਆ (Khoa) crumble with a minor implosion.

Today I am having the last piece from the box of Burfi, which I brought back. To the multitude of reasons to visit India, I have just added another few sweet Kilos more.