Maybe Next Year, I’ll Make the Buns

Sometimes, all it takes is one big whiff of something cooking. One giant slap of nostalgia!

As my birthday nears, I’ve been reminiscing (again) about how integral food is to some of my core memories. Maybe it’s that foodie inheritance from my mother and grandmother, but so many of my memories are tied to a dish or a meal, almost always shared with family and friends.

Well-fed throughout my tenure at home, I only learnt how to cook while living abroad. Mostly because I wanted to eat the meals that reminded me of joy and home, and I couldn’t find them anywhere in the cities I lived in. Even when I found one or two familiar dishes, they were never made quite the way I remembered them. I’m sure it’s a feeling most people have when they move somewhere unfamiliar.

So, I taught myself how to make sambhar like my mom, dalitoy like my grandmother, scrambled eggs like my dad, dosas like my brother, and pasta like my best friend. I also take great pride in the fact that I perfected a few dishes my mother struggled with, like sabudana khichdi, and even taught her a few tips and tricks.

But some dishes always eluded me. Whether out of laziness or a desire to keep certain memories (and the grief attached to them) at bay, there were some dishes I simply never cooked in my own kitchen.

For me, one of those dishes is buns, or what most Indians would know as Mangalore Buns.

Home-made Mangalore Buns

I don’t remember the exact year Baps started making buns for my birthday breakfast, but somewhere along the way, the dish became synonymous with my birthday in our house. A delectable fried bread made with ripe bananas, wheat flour, whole-wheat flour, yoghurt, and cream, seasoned with cumin, pepper, and, of course, sugar, it made its grand entrance just once a year.

Buns also brought out my Mangalorean side in full force, much to my dad and grandmother’s delight. Because what followed a buns breakfast was shevai (Mangalorean-style rice noodles) and batata song (spicy potato curry).

After Baps passed away in 2020, my mother didn’t make buns at home again until I returned in 2023, after a five-year hiatus. During our visit to Goa that year, we tried them at different places, hoping they might evoke those deeply entrenched memories. But none of them ever tasted quite like the ones we made at home. Even then, she made them only towards the end of my trip because I asked earnestly (code for haranguing her).

Those three years (and those disappointing experiences) gave us time to come to terms with her passing. They also taught us, slowly, to wholeheartedly embrace the dishes our loved ones left behind rather than shy away from the memories they held.

Since then, buns have made their yearly appearance, and I couldn’t be happier. This year, I was even brave enough to actually read the recipe and offer suggestions.

Maybe next year, I’ll be brave enough to make them myself.

So, tell me: Have you ever had that one dish or beverage that instantly transports you to a place of comfort and simple joy?