90 FEBRUARY 2021
S A CHILD, I would boldly declare that I would not eat something
if it did not taste “like my mom’s.” I was spoiled for choice
growing up and lucky to have a mother who is ferociously tal-
ented in the kitchen. There was only one other house, besides
my own, where I would happily eat without comment: Hina
Auntie’s. It didn’t matter what she put in front of me. I would
drain bowls of steaming dal brightened with a pinch of sugar;
pillage stacks of crispy, salty Indian snacks she spent hours
frying; and try not to burn my tongue while scarfing down a
tray of piping hot enchiladas she would make to appease our
endless demands for Mexican food. It was as simple as this:
If Hina Auntie made it, I would eat it.Hina Auntie, full name Hina Mody, is my mom’s best friend. She is the
person whom I first trusted to thread my eyebrows, and her two kids feel
more like cousins than family friends. Perhaps Hina Auntie has always had
a special place in my life because she shares a first name with my mom—
and several matching outfits. The two Hinas, as I like to refer to them, are
especially adept in the kitchen when it comes to the cuisine of Gujarat, the
state in western India they both hail from.
It was at the young age of seven that Hina Auntie learned to cook. She
didn’t really have a choice: Her mother was ill, and as the eldest of three
children, she had to figure out how to feed the family. “There weren’t many
restaurants or other options at the time,” Hina Auntie tells me while sit-
ting at her dining table in suburban Michigan. “I had to cook.” She would
whip up pots of lentils, beans, vegetables, and rice before going to school
each day, picking up her skills not from a cookbook but by observation.
She turned out to be a natural and has been cooking for people ever since.
Prior to the pandemic, there was a running joke in my family in which we
referred to Hina Auntie’s house as “Motel Mody” due to the sheer number
of relatives and guests that would filter through from every corner of the
country. She has a sense of hospitality that most Michelin-starred restau-
rants spend years striving to instill in their staff. Everyone is welcome, and
everyone is treated like family. And for Hina Auntie, this means making
several cooked-from-scratch meals for a crowd. Her go-to? Chana masala,
starring tender chickpeas swimming in a tangy tomato gravy, and puffy,
fresh-from-the-fryer puri. “It’s a dish that everyone likes, especially kids,”
she tells me.
Hina Auntie uses no fancy tools or tricks when she makes her chana
masala. The magic, she claims, is in toasting whole spices like cloves and
coriander seeds and grinding them fresh. She does not worry about mise
en place, nor does she measure out ingredients with a spoon, cup, or scale.
Instead, she simply relies on her eyes and decades of experience to know
when she has added enough. Chana masala
is a dish she has made hundreds of times in
her life, she says. While the chickpeas sim-
mer, she makes quick work of the puri dough,
kneading flour, water, salt, and ajwain seeds
together in the time it would take me to collect
ingredients from the pantry.
It’s mesmerizing to watch her puri assem-
bly line: She pinches off a glob of dough; rolls
it out into a perfectly round, thin circle; and
gently slips the disk into a pan of bubbling oil.
In minutes, she has created a small mound
of golden brown, puffy puri. The last step is
to prep the garnishes for the chana masala:
She insists that it is served with raw onion, a
flourish of cilantro, and lemon or lime wedges.
Though sometimes, if she is feeling fancy, she
will fry off thin slices of potato, too.
I often feel homesickness in the form of
hunger pangs. In those moments, I crave not
only a pot of freshly made chana masala but
also the warmth of Hina Auntie’s house—the
sounds of energetic and easy conversations
from a lifetime of family friendship, watching
the teamwork as one Hina rolls the puri and
the other Hina fries them, and her gentle but
persistent demand that we all eat more, until
we cannot possibly consume another bite. But
I will always eat just one bite more, for her.The
Caregiver
A
BY KHUSHBU SHAHOPPOSITE: Mody’s Chana
Masala, or stewed,
spiced chickpeas, is
served with raw onion,
cilantro, and lime
wedges for garnish and
puffy Puri on the side
(recipes p. 100 and 101).