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“Suddenly momos were dropping out of the tandoor, I was among the first ones to take a bite of it…”

The Dumpling Spice Route

By Payel Majumdar

Disclaimer: All facts quoted here take delightful residence in the author’s roaring imagination. Any resemblance to a character, person, animal, djinn or event of history is an unfortunate coincidence or serendipity, depending upon the weather on said day of article consumption by blessed reader.

Far, far away in the time-space continuum, a silent storm was brewing in China. (When is it not, if you go by what the American polity suspects.) Centuries before Indian cuisine became synonymous with curry in the West, the humble dumpling had changed hands – born as the Chinese Baozi,  stealthily it reinvented itself with the speed of a geometric progression into everything from Armenian Manti, Nepalese Momo and the Japanese Gyoza. The Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon will sadly remain the only veiled articulation of the remarkable story of China’s crafty cultural imperialism over the wide-wide world: much ahead of any Big Boy Burgers, the four letter word and Christopher Nolan movies. (They used Inception before Inception, *****.) While the actual movie talks about a vague lost magical sword, the real story goes that the fight was not for a sword, but the original dumpling recipe (as illustrated in a historical recreation right here.)

But let’s come back to the dumpling which, very much like Kafka’s Samsa, metamorphosized a hundred times over the next few centuries. In the hands of Turkish merchants, it changed colours (and chutneys), who carried it to the West of the Orient, while the Mongols took it back with them to celebrate Mongolian New Years. (Things haven’t changed much since then, we hear.) Meanwhile the Kazaks were dropping them in their gravies like nobody’s business, and the Slavaks were not shy of a bite of it or two in the biting cold winds of Asia Minor. The dumpling was piping hot news, changing avatars faster than a Birkin bag in South East Asian flea markets. The Brits had meanwhile sneaked some dumplings into cold stone houses and warmed ‘em some beef stew (to be read in Ygritte’s voice from Game of Thrones).

The dumpling had entered India as momos from Nepal through multiple routes; the high ranges of the Himalayas could little but subdue the momos’ powerful fragrance. The curious cats that we Indians are, (the key is to never be afraid of copying-shopying madam), momos further changed hands when they came in contact with the Punjabi tadka, once Dilli wasn’t very far, and up and behold! Tandoori momos were born, in a tiny shop in the campus in front of the very eyes of hungry college kids. The dilli tourist who would trek up to Dharamsala and Mc Leodganj regularly for a taste of that winsome dumpling had an avatar to swear by now.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes, it all happened so fast,” a witness from the historic day of December 3, 1982 told us. “It was very chilly, and hunger had clouded our senses, when suddenly momos were dropping out of the tandoor, I was among the first ones to take a bite of it…”

“That is the only thing I missed when I moved to New York” one patriotic foodie told us, overwhelmed. “I mean, what is with the soy dipped dim-sum things they keep serving as an excuse for it?”

The momo has become a symbol of food found in the North East (while this is not very close to the truth, however, to cater to the demanding tourists, a few stalls serving momos have opened up since).* Hill stations all over the country were the next to succumb, since the erstwhile tourist harbouring romanticized (if misplaced) ideas of hill stations could not take the disappointment of not having momos whether they travelled to the Kumaon ranges or the Sahyadris.

One can only guess whether the modak had the momo as its fiery grandparent, or if that was all aamchi ingenuity. But this self-sustaining super food (don’t let the gluten nazis tell you otherwise, pretty) made it’s inroads into India thick and fast from the Chinese breakfast in Kolkata’s China Town, the lanes of Delhi and slowly into the collective conscious of the Indian psyche. Momos are here to stay, and thank god for that.

And to go all Master-Cheffy on momos, here are some variations to the beloved dumpling we would like to get our hands on:

1. To honour the Greek god for writers of satire, (who was called MOMOS incidentally) we think a Mediterranean reinvention is in order. Some quail filled dumplings in an ouzo spiked broth, whaddya reckon?
2. A bangers and mash filling, in leek-potato soup, served with some chilli relish for that dreary afternoon?
3. Lemon soup, with chicken dumplings, for when our soul needs some warming.
4. Ooh ooh, fruit filled fried momos with Mexican mole (chilli chocolate) sauce.
5. A Tom-Yum broth twist to crab stuffed momos.

-Long Pause of drool-y wonder-

*Coming back to a serious note, Tibetans are great lovers of the half moon shaped momo, and Tibetan settlers in India have popularised it in various establishments throughout the country. 

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