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Enchor Chingri Malaikari |
I don't know who planted the trees or who take care of them, for I never did see anyone take care of them regularly. Once in a while my grandmother would get hold of some poor guy walking the lane on a solitary afternoon in search of odd jobs and then she would entice him with prospect of food and easy money. That is how she got all her weeding done and kept the garden neat. But I never did see anyone spraying fungicide or pouring insecticide or do anything thing fancy in there. Most of the trees in that garden were old and big anyways and knew how to take care of themselves.
In that garden there was this Ka(n)thal gaach -- a jackfruit tree, where jackfruits grew in abundance hanging around the tree like koala babies. Since no one at our home was fond of ripe jackfruit smell, the jackfruits were plucked when they were green and young and called "Enchor" in Bengali. "Enchore paaka" was also a term often used when any adolescent tried to act smart-alecy. Given that it was actually a much adored vegetable, it was hard to figure out, that the term was not actually a compliment!
As a result of all this abundance of enchor, green jackfruit curry or enchor er dalna was quite a common dish at our home. Though honestly cutting green jackfruit, with all its thorns and spikes and sticky glue, was no mean feat and it would be an elaborate affair compassing couple of hours. As is the rule, I was not much fond of "enchor er dalna" as a child. The adults loved it. They called it "gaachh pantha", the vegetarian meat. Much later would I know that it tasted a lot like pulled pork. But at that point I didn't appreciate the soft fibrous texture of green jackfruit in a curry. My mother sometimes made koftas with the green jackfruit, like meatballs, the jackfruit boiled and mashed with potatoes and spices and then fashioned into spherical balls which were deep fried. They were soft and delicious, more after soaking in the spicy gravy. Now those I absolutely adored.