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Long before the chicken tikka acquired the kind of popularity it enjoys today in far-flung places around the globe, another Indian savoury had earned, ever so discreetly, a cachet of international approval. This is the samosa.
All over the sub-continent it is a favourite snack consumed in between meals along with a cup of steaming tea. But it is the samosa's presence on the list of cherished foods well beyond the confines of South Asia that merits attention.
Let me cite a couple of examples drawn from personal experience. The Gymkhana Club in Mauritius - a fine architectural legacy of the British Raj set amidst a swanky golf course - daily attracts the well-heeled of the island nation. They come not only to play golf, or cards, or to exchange gossip, or even to linger over a tall glass of gin and tonic but to partake of the excellent snacks that are provided with the drinks. The most sought after dish is a plate of samosas.
No surprise here for close to 70 per cent of the population in Mauritius is of Indian origin. It has retained the culinary traditions of the mother country even while incorporating into them elements drawn from the cuisines of the other sections of society, notably Creole and Chinese. The 'synthesis' shows in the samosas prepared at the Gymkhana Club. They are tinier than their Indian counterparts and the stuffing is moderately spiced. Not so the dip, a fiery chutney of finely ground green chillies which an Indian from the mainland is tempted to consume in copious quantities without a thought to the consequences.
Even more scintillating are the samosas of Zanzibar, the Spice Island situated in the azure waters of the Indian Ocean off the eastern coast of Africa. Like Mauritius, this island too provided a haven to people, mostly traders, from Arabia, the Gulf, the African continent and the western coast of India. Its cuisine bears the imprint of these lands. During my visit to the island a few years ago, I got to relish three varieties of samosas (known locally as sambusas) - one with minced meat, another one with fish and the third stuffed with potatoes. The spices in all three were similar to those used in India. Yet they were markedly different in one respect. There was a greater zing to them.
The reason is not hard to guess. Zanzibar is famous for producing some of the world's finest spices including cinnamon, nutmeg, scarlet mace, black peppercorns, turmeric and ginger. Their excellence shows in all Zanzibari dishes, and especially in the chutneys that accompany the samosas. I remember two of them vividly. One with lemon and the other with tamarind. Both contained pounded dates, chilli powder and shredded ginger.
One must not conclude, however, that you find samosas only in South Asia or in countries which have a substantial population of people of South Asian origin. The Oxford Companion to Food, a treasure-trove of historical information about all matters gastronomic, mentions its popularity throughout West and Central Asia. In Arab cookery books of the 10th to the 13th centuries, the samosa is known variously as sanbusak (that is how it is still called in Egypt, Syria and Lebanon) sanbusaq or sanbusaj. Each of these words is derived from sanbosag, an early medieval form of a Persian word.
Sedentary Turkish peoples, such as the Uzbecks, like the people of Turkey, tend to bake, not fry, the samosa. The nomadic Kazakhs like them fried while in Turkmenistan they are steamed. Central Asian Iranians, such as the Tajiks, make the samosa in several shapes and sizes - round, rectangular, almond shaped and so forth. The stuffing consists of meat, diced pumpkins, chick-peas, herbs, wild greens, fried onions, mushrooms or dried onions.
In the Arab world it is made of meat and onions, nuts, raisins, almonds, sugar, dates and rose or orange blossom water. Such was its popularity here that at a banquet hosted by Caliph Mustakfi of Baghdad in the 10th century, one of the guests, Ishaq ibn Ibrahim of Mosul, recited in verse the recipe of the snack down to the last succulent detail. (Claudia Roden quotes the poem in full in her A New Book of Middle Eastern Food.)
However, the samosa most appreciated world-wide today is the Indian version. A friend on a recent visit to Houston, Texas, dropped in at an English-style pub for a pre-lunch drink. Along with his vodka and soda came a plate of samosas, fried golden brown, stuffed with spiced peas and potatoes, and served with a green chilly, mint and coriander chutney. The sight and taste of the samosas in that Yankee environment so moved my friend that it hastened his desire to return home as quickly as possible. Patriotism, fuelled by gastronomy, couldn't get better than that.
All over the sub-continent it is a favourite snack consumed in between meals along with a cup of steaming tea. But it is the samosa's presence on the list of cherished foods well beyond the confines of South Asia that merits attention.
Let me cite a couple of examples drawn from personal experience. The Gymkhana Club in Mauritius - a fine architectural legacy of the British Raj set amidst a swanky golf course - daily attracts the well-heeled of the island nation. They come not only to play golf, or cards, or to exchange gossip, or even to linger over a tall glass of gin and tonic but to partake of the excellent snacks that are provided with the drinks. The most sought after dish is a plate of samosas.
No surprise here for close to 70 per cent of the population in Mauritius is of Indian origin. It has retained the culinary traditions of the mother country even while incorporating into them elements drawn from the cuisines of the other sections of society, notably Creole and Chinese. The 'synthesis' shows in the samosas prepared at the Gymkhana Club. They are tinier than their Indian counterparts and the stuffing is moderately spiced. Not so the dip, a fiery chutney of finely ground green chillies which an Indian from the mainland is tempted to consume in copious quantities without a thought to the consequences.
Even more scintillating are the samosas of Zanzibar, the Spice Island situated in the azure waters of the Indian Ocean off the eastern coast of Africa. Like Mauritius, this island too provided a haven to people, mostly traders, from Arabia, the Gulf, the African continent and the western coast of India. Its cuisine bears the imprint of these lands. During my visit to the island a few years ago, I got to relish three varieties of samosas (known locally as sambusas) - one with minced meat, another one with fish and the third stuffed with potatoes. The spices in all three were similar to those used in India. Yet they were markedly different in one respect. There was a greater zing to them.
The reason is not hard to guess. Zanzibar is famous for producing some of the world's finest spices including cinnamon, nutmeg, scarlet mace, black peppercorns, turmeric and ginger. Their excellence shows in all Zanzibari dishes, and especially in the chutneys that accompany the samosas. I remember two of them vividly. One with lemon and the other with tamarind. Both contained pounded dates, chilli powder and shredded ginger.
One must not conclude, however, that you find samosas only in South Asia or in countries which have a substantial population of people of South Asian origin. The Oxford Companion to Food, a treasure-trove of historical information about all matters gastronomic, mentions its popularity throughout West and Central Asia. In Arab cookery books of the 10th to the 13th centuries, the samosa is known variously as sanbusak (that is how it is still called in Egypt, Syria and Lebanon) sanbusaq or sanbusaj. Each of these words is derived from sanbosag, an early medieval form of a Persian word.
Sedentary Turkish peoples, such as the Uzbecks, like the people of Turkey, tend to bake, not fry, the samosa. The nomadic Kazakhs like them fried while in Turkmenistan they are steamed. Central Asian Iranians, such as the Tajiks, make the samosa in several shapes and sizes - round, rectangular, almond shaped and so forth. The stuffing consists of meat, diced pumpkins, chick-peas, herbs, wild greens, fried onions, mushrooms or dried onions.
In the Arab world it is made of meat and onions, nuts, raisins, almonds, sugar, dates and rose or orange blossom water. Such was its popularity here that at a banquet hosted by Caliph Mustakfi of Baghdad in the 10th century, one of the guests, Ishaq ibn Ibrahim of Mosul, recited in verse the recipe of the snack down to the last succulent detail. (Claudia Roden quotes the poem in full in her A New Book of Middle Eastern Food.)
However, the samosa most appreciated world-wide today is the Indian version. A friend on a recent visit to Houston, Texas, dropped in at an English-style pub for a pre-lunch drink. Along with his vodka and soda came a plate of samosas, fried golden brown, stuffed with spiced peas and potatoes, and served with a green chilly, mint and coriander chutney. The sight and taste of the samosas in that Yankee environment so moved my friend that it hastened his desire to return home as quickly as possible. Patriotism, fuelled by gastronomy, couldn't get better than that.
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