Our Ukrainian friend had a knack for cooking, and would surprise us now and then with something interestingly delicious. The most memorable dish she cooked, comprised roasted green and red bell peppers stuffed with chicken and seasonings. Savouring the intricate flavours entangled underneath the glazed layers of pepper (or Capsicum, as we call them in India), I was reminded of a personal favourite from home. Consisting of gorgeously fried Pawtols (they are apparently called "pointed gourd" in English, but the name lacks the charm and sweetness that one associates with this vegetable) stuffed with cooked fish and spices, Pawtol-er Dolma is a mouth-wateringly popular speciality from the Indian state of West Bengal. The commonality wasn't particularly unusual, I thought. After all, filling the hollow inside of a vegetable with food and cooking it seemed like a simple and generic idea which might originate in many cultures independently. I told my friend of my reminiscence, and how I was pleasantly surprised to notice the similarity between a delicacy from Bengal and the dish she had prepared.
"Do you call it Dolma?" she asked.
If the prevalence of green gourd-like vegetables filled with delicious stuffing in both Bengal and Eastern Europe had surprised me mildly, I was quite startled to know that they had the same name as well. What I had always considered a very ethnic, very local item turned out to be ubiquitous across Eurasia in its many forms: from the Balkans and Russia, through Turkey and Iran, to all the way to Central Asia and Mongolia. The word, wiki says, is of Turkish origin, and it means "(something) stuffed".
Two years after this enlightenment, as I finally take out my own version of stuffed peppers with potato, chicken and onions from the oven, and as I happily relish the creations with a mild sense of accomplishment, I cannot help reflect on the amazing journey made by this remarkable dish, and its evolution, through hundreds of years, across thousands of miles and perhaps a million kitchens.
