A Parsi Improvement On British Teatime

And a dispatch from NYC

I went to New York last week. I had two memorable meals: an outrageous steak dinner (my bestie doesn’t fuck around when it comes to eating) at Gage & Tollner in Downtown Brooklyn, and the best slice of the trip, by very, very far, at Dado’s Pizza in Harlem. Oh, and also a fun dinner of cocktails and various dips at Miss Ada in Fort Greene. That’s my new favorite neighborhood, too. -Katherine

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A Parsi Improvement On British Teatime

By Anaita Vazifdar-Davar

As a child, my cheeks were rotund not merely due to baby fat but also thanks to a bhakra or two almost always lodged in their recesses, at the ready for when hunger struck and I couldn’t access a new packet of the delicious treats. “Eat in moderation” has never been a phrase that’s meant much to me. 

I was introduced early to this sweet, doughy teatime snack, and, still unable to tell time, assumed anytime was teatime. These always-handmade Parsi treats were bought regularly by my paternal grandfather, who couldn’t go anywhere without coming home laden with purchases. Once Grandpa found I liked bhakras, he would bring back heaps of these delectable dough balls and I would pounce on them as soon as he entered our apartment.

I’m a Parsi Zoroastrian (worshipper of the prophet Zoroaster, also known as Zarathustra). In the last century, the Parsi elite in India sought to adopt the cultural traditions of the British rulers, imitating their mores and fashions. Teatime was one such, but crustless sandwiches were replaced by this more robust, flavorful accompaniment. The bhakra can also be dipped in hot tea, rendering it both sweet and soggy.

What makes a good bhakra? The vital ingredient (to give it a light-as-air feel) is taari, fermented sap from the palm tree of the same name, grown along India’s coastline. Sticklers for tradition won’t make it without taari; others use yogurt as a substitute. You’ll also need semolina, wheat flour, sugar, cardamom, nutmeg, almonds, ghee, and frying oil. 

The bag I’m digging into as I write (purely for research purposes) is from a non-profit’s fundraiser; another packet was bought by a relative on a visit to Udvada (the most revered site for Zoroastrians); others come from an industrious home kitchen on the border of Maharashtra and Gujarat, two states in western India.

Grandpa passed away two decades ago, but he’s still with me as I eat these. We tear open the packet together; he dips one in his tea, then reaches out to offer it to me. 🫖

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