Weekend Argus (Saturday Edition)
Make a momo like a pro
In Kathmandu, Nepal, we learnt the art of making our own anytime food – with varying success
DIL KUMARI Maharjan looked at my misshapen dumpling and said with a deceptive smile, “You made an American momo.”
That was not a compliment. During a week in Kathmandu,
I ate momos like a Nepalese. According to proper momo etiquette, you must remove the middleman and dig right in with your hands.
The dumplings are eaten in South Asia and particularly in Nepal, which adopted the dish from Tibet. Several chain restaurants in Kathmandu, such as Everest Momo, specialise in the anytime food.
Momos appear on the menus at the five-star Hotel Yak and Yeti and at Jazz Upstairs, a live music venue. They show up in wedding buffets and friends throw momo parties.
I tasted my first steamed momo at an alleyway joint called Chinese Kitchen and Burger House and Fast Food, near Patan Durbar Square. I paid less than a buck for 10 veggie dumplings the size of pupas.
Dil and her husband, Purna, teach the art of momo-making at their Kathmandu home. The couple work with Backstreet Academy, the Nepal organisation that pairs skilled locals with visitors seeking an intimate cultural experience.
Purna, whose online bio says he wants to use his cooking skills to avert poverty and provide a good education for his son, runs two courses: Cooking Momos with Home Chefs: Nepal’s Favorite Dish and Kathmandu Fear Factor Challenge: An Inside(r) Way to Eating Buffalo. The edible anatomy lesson includes blood, testicles, brain, lungs, liver, spinal cord and eyeballs.
My friend Julie and I opted for the more benevolent momo.
The dumplings come in several varieties, such as chicken, vegetable and buffalo, the most popular filling. Our interpreter, Aarjoo, told us that momo eaters often consume about 15 pieces an outing.
The Maharjans live in an urban neighbourhood with droopy power lines, bike-riding fruit vendors and tailors who stitch the North Face logo onto outerwear. Aarjoo met us at Bajeko Sekuwa, a restaurant chain that serves momos.
We followed her through the chaotic streets to a two-storey concrete house with a vegetable garden in the front.
We climbed the stairs to our classroom. Shoes off, apron on, and don’t even touch a speck of coriander till you wash your hands.
Purna started with an overview of ingredients, which he had chopped up in advance and arrayed at our work station, a low coffee table inches from a couch. A large vessel contained carrots, soy beans, cabbage, bell peppers, spring onions and boiled potatoes. (We requested vegan momos.) The flavour line-up starred salt, masala, chilli powder, ginger and garlic paste. There was also mustard oil; whole tomatoes, coriander and parsley for the achar dipping sauce; and wheat flour for the dough.
Our first task was to mix and mash the veggies with our fingers.
While we worked, the couple told us about their lives. Purna, 38, sells incense and has been an instructor with Backstreet for six years. In 2014, he won the Backstreet Travellers’ Favourite Host award. Dil, 36, works in handicrafts. Their parents had arranged their marriage, a common practice in Nepal.
After Purna kneaded the dough, we formed small balls and flattened them into sand dollars. We rolled out the little patties, receiving real-time critiques from Purna: “Too thin.” “Too long.” We used a round cutter to create perfect circles and filled the disks with the veggie blend.
And now, the hard part.
Purna placed five dumpling shapes before us. They were so artfully crafted that each one deserved its own rotating pedestal. He demonstrated how to make the round momo, which usually contains buffalo meat; 13 pinches and twist. I lost count after seven and smooshed and contorted the dough instead.
For the fishtail-braid-style, he pinched the top and plaited till the final closure at the tip. The Chinese dumpling was easier: create a taco and fold the edges over until they kiss. There was also a momo that resembled hamantaschen (triangular pastries) and one with pleats that culminated in a mohawk. I flitted between the fishtail and round designs, with varying success.
Purna left us to make the sauce. He pulverised the skinned tomatoes, garlic, coriander, Sichuan pepper, soy bean powers, salt and a dash of chilli powder. He dropped our dumplings into the steamer, where they would cook for 10 minutes.
Purna poured us a glass of rice wine that he had fermented for a month and plated the dumplings. The American- and Nepalese-made momos sat side by side, like friends around a coffee table. “The look doesn’t matter,” he said, as we popped momos together. “They all taste the same.”