Nepal, a country most famous for the winding red brick alleyways and shrines of Kathmandu, the breathtaking vistas and treks of the Himalayas, the stupas and prayer flags of Tibetan Buddhism that so permeate through the country, Lumbini, the birthplace of the historical Buddha, and its incredibly rare one horned rhino that lives only in the lowlands of the country.
One thing Nepal is not famous for, however, is its food. Sandwiched in between two super giants of cuisine, India and China, Nepalese food gets lost amongst the masalas and the chow meins that so saturate the food market. Indeed, Nepal, being historically a trading country between the Mongolian’s coming down from the Himalayas and Indians coming north to trade, is one of the most equally split countries in the world regarding diversity and culture. Hinduism and Buddhism exist in harmony in the streets of Kathmandu and Pokhara and the temples and shrines of both beautiful and colourful religions are peppered throughout the country. Nepal’s cuisine undoubtedly echoes this cultural diversity, with Chinese and Indian food being sold across the country. However, there are two dishes that Nepal does better than anywhere else in the world, the quintessential food of Nepal and its national dish, the delicious dal bhat, and the mouthwatering momo. Although these dishes may have their origins in the Tibetan culture of the Himalayas (momos), or their roots in Indian thali sets (dal bhat), Nepal has taken them and made them its own. Combining the herbs and spices of the rich and fiery cuisine of India with the hearty and warming mountainous meals of the Himalayas, these three dishes exemplify the beauty and exciting results of cultural fusion and how this influences cuisine.
“In the Himalayas the common phrase is often heard ‘dal bhat power, twenty-four hour’”
Having spent a month and a half living in Nepal this last Summer, I’ve had more dal bhats than I can possibly count, its always on every menu, and often the only thing, particularly when out of the cities. They are one of the more curious dishes I have eaten in my life, predominantly because every component of the meal is delivered separately on the large metal plates they are served on. They generally consist of a mound of rice, positioned in the middle of the plate and sometimes with a thin popadom on top, then always diced potato and a green vegetable (often green beans) stewed in a yellow, garam masala esc sauce, a pile of stir fried, curried spinach, known as saag, then, the dal. A lentil broth served in a small chalice type bowl on the plate consisting of lentils, chickpeas, and beans, with countless herbs and spices entwined within; a warm, liquid consistency with the lentils and chickpeas sunk to the bottom, dal soup is one of the most warming and filling soups, arguably, in the world. They are always a different colour and cooked for hours in a huge wok over an open flame with every care taken to assure that each spice, each flavour, each bean or lentil combine perfectly to create such a hearty fuel. In the Himalayas the common phrase is often heard ‘dal bhat power, twenty-four hour’, or it is plastered over novelty t-shirts in the towns of the foothills. This phrase could not surmise the feeling of a warm bowl of dal any better. After one or two bowls of this bolstering broth you’re so full on its richness and so energised by the homely hearth that it sets to smouldering in your stomach you feel as though you can carry on forever, boosted by the warmth gently radiating from within you.
The final components of a dal bhat vary from place to place, however, there is often a chilli sauce doled out in small portions to add a biting kick to the dish, or a raw chilli if you are brave enough, but this cold and refreshing type of spice adds exponentially to the warm stew, almost acting as a palette cleanser than finishes off the mouthful with a clean, cold, heat. Finally, there are the deeply pickled vegetables, personally, I am not a vinegar fan and so the powerful sour and malt flavours of these veggies were not my favourite aspect of the meal, especially as they are meant to be eaten last and would leave your mouth with the tang of vinegar, however I do understand that to the pickle people of this world, they would be absolute heaven. Overall though, the dal bhat is a fascinating combination of flavours, every component is cooked separately to bring a different taste to the metal dish, and they can be eaten separately with the rice in the middle, or combined together to create an amalgamation of sensations that can only be described as curious, as one feels the flavours are so rich and strong individually that they shouldn’t work together, but utterly, utterly, delightful and the perfect, homely, warming meal for a cold Himalayan day of trekking.
Now onto the momo, the dumpling jewels of Nepali cuisine. Momos are spicy, and delicious! As I have learnt every momo is different in each place, every momo sauce too, for each are a personal, family recipe. So, spicy and delicious are the only two words that can truly describe every momo. They are steamed (or fried) soft sided dumplings, handmade, so all different shapes and sizes, and filled with blended vegetables or meat that bring an explosion of heat and the most delicate, yet powerful flavours of the large array of herbs and spices used. Much like a takeaway coffee cup they retain heat like a piece of coal and so your first momo of the meal is bound to leave your mouth burning and you panting like a dog in desperate effort to cool it down when it is already in your mouth. Each momo sauce that coats the plate is tailored perfectly to compliment the momo it accompanies; if the momo is very spicy the sauce is less so and acts as a coolant, and vice versa. Either way they always leave your mouth full of flavour and tingling and sizzling in the most delightful way. A plate of momos is a perfectly filling snack and feels like a true luxury in the smoky eating rooms of Kathmandu as they set you sweating and red in the face, every – single – time.
