I had meant to write this post months ago, when the dishes in question had been prepared for the first time, and the season for the ingredients was right. However, like I do all too often, I hadn’t taken any pictures of either dish then, despite their having come out just great (even though I say so myself), and despite their having been milestones in my kitchen-first time preparing these dishes; these authentic, Punjabi dishes which I had only had when eating out so far, from scratch!

So I went ahead and tried them out once again, even though one of the major ingredients, Sarson, was well out of season. May the Gods of Seasonal Eating bestow their forgiveness upon me.

Alright. So before I go off ranting upon that tangent, let me tackle the ‘what?’ question. Sarson, or Mustard Greens, are those cherished winter greens native to the Northern plains of India, in particular to the state of Punjab. Come Spring, the state is blessed with the magic of blooming mustard fields, great spreads of yellow as far as the eye can see. It’s not too difficult to envisage the the local Kudis, their Dupattas held aloft, gamboling through mustard fields-although I may be letting Bollywood run away with my imagination there.

Anyhow, rural Punjab relishes the abundant supply of these greens in winter, and brings out the coal/wood burning portable stoves from storage and simmers the greens over a low heat in order to rekindle childhood memories. This dish, called Sarson ka Saag, is actually the unabridged name of the type of green it utilizes. Like several other Indian languages, Punjabi too, uses the term Saag as a metonymy; referring to greens in general. And since Sarson seems to be the most common (this is pure assumption on my part), when they say Saag, they refer to Sarson, unless otherwise specified. Palak-Saag being Spinach greens, and so on.

I am tempted to pipe up and correct anyone here claiming to be familiar with Punjabi cuisine because they are great fans of Saag Paneer, which is, according to authentic Punjabi sources, not only a misnomer (the right term being Palak Paneer, as Saag Paneer would refer to Mustard Greens w/ Paneer), but nonexistent altogether in traditional Punjabi cuisine.

The Sarson variety of greens, while filled to the brim with necessary antioxidants, is also terribly bitter and can’t be tolerated on its own. Thus, other greens, like spinach, radish greens, or even turnips are added to scale down its pungent bitterness. The greens are are chopped finely, their thick stems included, and boiled until tender; after which they are mashed to a puree, and thickened with some Makki ki Atta-corn flour (not corn starch). They are then allowed to simmer a bit longer, until thick and creamy, before being seasoned with a ‘masala tadka’ that includes tomatoes, onions, garlic, ginger and green chilies sauteed in ghee.

Piping hot, they conjure images of bright winters, where the sun lights up the mustard plains and the hills sing in accompaniment.

Traditionally, Sarson ka Saag is eaten with Makki ki Roti; or rotis made of corn flour. They are light, seasonal, and comforting to the degree of joy. They could be likened, I suppose, for a sense of familiarity, to corn tortillas-which, incidentally, will make for great substitutes-but there is something more to the coarse and yet soft; flat and yet hearty makki ki rotis.

I have enjoyed several variants of corn rotis; some stuffed with Methi leaves, others with grated radish; and some others even with chilies or mint. I doubt whether any of that is the absolute authentic one; but what does it matter as long as it does the job?!

And last but not least, a couple of points to bear in mind while making these rotis:

-The dough is extremely soft, so it breaks apart quite easily. The best way to handle it (next to being as dexterous as those gifted Punjabi cooks), I found, was to layer every roti over a plastic sheet to press it into shape, and then peel them off the sheet and onto the pan.

Of course, that also means terribly rustic little buggers with frayed edges, but then, rustic never went out of style, did it? (Yes, yes, I am aware that that is simply rationalization for my incapability in turning out perfect circles; but so what?)

( I threw in about a cupful of grated radishes this time ’round; which explains the occasional streak of pink.)

-A dollop of ghee over the piping hot rotis just before serving makes them even more appealing.

So here’s my try at these flavors of Punjab. I sure hope they kindle for you, memories of the rush of winter; of that special magical beauty unique to rural India; and of the joys of simple home cooked foods; as they did for me.