A Coastal Indian Feast in New England
Photos by Michael Piazza / Styled by Catrine Kelty
Growing up in my Indian American household, Sundays became synonymous with seafood. Every week, I woke to the familiar scent of aromatic ginger, sweet coconut and hot frying oil. My mother started cooking early in the morning, and at lunchtime we sat down to dig into our coastal Indian feast. The standard fare included crispy marinated fried fish, tomato and coconut fish curry, griddled chapatis and white rice. Some Sundays, I peered at the table and spotted a large pot of steaming hot shrimp curry alongside the other dishes. And once, when my grandmother visited a few years back, she taught us to cook crab in a fragrant sauce of toasted coconut and spices.
Both my parents grew up near the western coast of Maharashtra, where most of my extended family resides today. When my mother was a toddler, a fisherwoman stopped by her doorstep several times a week to offer a selection from that morning’s catch. Our ancestors lived and breathed seafood, preparing it in unique and resourceful ways. They simmered seafood in spicy curries (called kalvan in Marathi) and steamed fish in banana leaves. Dried fish and shrimp were commonly preserved through sun-drying, salting or pickling for consumption during the rainy season.
Traditionally, Maharashtrian seafood dishes revolve around a few key elements. First, sourcing high-quality seafood is critical. Locals venture to nearby seafood markets to pick up their favorite varieties, such as mackerel and pomfret. Garlic and ginger build an aromatic flavor base in most Indian dishes, and seafood is no exception. Spices provide heat, warmth and earthiness; here, chili powder, turmeric and garam masala are essential, but the exact blend varies from household to household. My family’s unique spice blend, for example, includes ground fennel, which adds a subtle anise flavor to our fish curries. Acid, in the form of tamarind, kokum or lime juice, balances out the richness of a curry. Tamarind is a fruit with a tart, sticky brown pulp. Kokum, indigenous to the Western Ghats in India, comes from the dried rind of a fruit in the mangosteen family. Finally, many seafood dishes incorporate freshly grated coconut or coconut milk. The majority of these ingredients grow locally in Maharashtra and thrive in its humid, tropical climate.
Each time I travel to India with my family, I eagerly await my grandmothers’ cooking. On my father’s side, my grandmother makes the crispiest fried fish, perfectly seasoned, a seemingly impossible feat considering her decades-long vegetarianism. My mother’s mother receives the highest praise for her kolambi bhaat, a spicy rice dish made with shrimp and coconut.
When my parents immigrated to the United States, they brought their family recipes with them. They settled in Massachusetts, where incredibly fresh seafood is ubiquitous on the coast, as it is in Maharashtra. After arriving, my parents were keen to continue practicing their food customs and traditions. Although they were immersed in a new culture, Indian cooking remained essential to their happiness and, in some ways, their livelihood. But, there was one problem: Tropical climates produce a distinct set of fruits, vegetables and marine life, and it was much too cold here to grow, say, coconut or tamarind. So, my family followed the footsteps of other immigrants before them and adapted.
Each weekly stop at the grocery store came with an additional trip to the local Indian market (typically Indo-American Convenience Store or Shiva’s Super Bazaar in Acton), offering a wide array of imported spices, produce, grains and snacks. My mother sourced what she could from these shops and improvised the rest. For instance, some carried frozen pomfret, which is not native to New England. But the quality was no match for the fresh seafood here. So instead, my father brought home local cod or haddock each weekend. And while most seafood curries back in India depended on a heavy base of fresh coconut, dried coconut was more accessible and had a longer shelf-life. My mother evolved the recipe a step further when she started replacing some of the coconut liquid with puréed tomatoes for a healthier version.
As a first-generation child, I was more apprehensive about preserving Indian culture than my parents were. I refused to eat my mother’s dal far too many times, pleading instead for macaroni and cheese or pasta with tomato sauce. And yet, I never once complained about eating seafood on Sundays. The fried fish reminded me of fish sticks—quintessential, kid-friendly American food—and fried clams in Cape Cod. I would often dip the crispy fish in ketchup or chili sauce, a memory I later realized was evidence of my own assimilation.
Years later, our Sunday feast evokes a different set of memories for me. As I sit at my kitchen table bathing my rice in curry and scooping each morsel with my hands, I look back fondly on my trips to India. I think of my family sitting around the living room with my grandmothers, aunts, uncles and cousins, exchanging stories and enjoying a meal together.
The following recipes represent my ideal seafood feast. Spiced ginger-garlic paste is the base for many seafood dishes, especially my mother’s crispy marinated fried fish and her tomato-coconut fish curry. My two contributions to the meal are a chili-lime buttered corn and crab with chili-garlic vinegar. To me, these dishes perfectly marry Indian flavors with New England ingredients, a symbol of our assimilation from one coast to another.
This story appeared in the Fall 2021 issue.
