Cheemi Anda – Egg & Peas Masala

My grandma’s Egg & Peas Masala is so good it’s almost impudent. I mean, who would imagine that fried eggs and peas could work so well together as a main dish? I turn to this ingenious — and incredibly quick — recipe handed down from my nani, my maternal grandmother, when I’m hungry and want something filling that’s not meat, chicken or even fish. 

A wonderful friend, who’s been hugely supportive of my attempts at cooking (it’s a work in progress folks!) felt the same way recently. Laury Silvers is an accomplished author currently working on her much anticipated third novel — you can read all about her amazing work here — and, like me, she wants her time in the kitchen to be creative but not overwhelming. Her partner, she said, really wanted a change. Would I, could I, suggest alternatives? A main dish that was not beef, lamb, goat, chicken or fish, and relatively simple to make. 

And I thought of my nani’s Egg & Peas Masala or, as it is known in my family, Cheemi Anda. I credit “my family” because Dhaka folk don’t let grammar get in the way of a good expression; Urdu purists who would say Anday, plural for egg, should go ahead and cringe. Cheemi, incidentally, is the Bangla word for peas, while in Urdu and Hindi the word for peas is — I’m not making this up — Mutter. That’s right. So what did one pea say to another in Karachi? Stop muttering! LOL. 

But to get back to the dish. Eggs, fried gently, turned over, fried some more, with slightly crunchy sides and a firm yellow centre, are transformed into a meaty, substantive protein. Their flavour comes from resting on a delicious, rich-in-protein food, a bed of tender, but not mushy, masala-embraced peas, all wrapped in a relaxed gravy. I say “relaxed” because the tone and flavour of the sauce that envelops this dish is gentle. Cheemi Anda is rich in flavours, but it’s not spicy hot. 

That said, this dish was not made all year round, though. When I was growing up, it was called a “winter” saalan or curry, sheeth-er-tarkari, because it was only when the monsoons ended, the soil dried a little and the air turned cool in Bangladesh, that fresh green peas could be grown locally. But these were not any old peas. They had to be young, small and sweet — much like the French “petits pois,” or “little peas,” that were apparently so much the rage in 17th century France that the king, Louis XIV, and men and women of the royal court consumed them raw and in abundance, never mind the impact on everyone’s digestion.

I was reading up a little on the subject of peas, and guess what, the French, (but of course) claim they were the first to discover how to grow “little peas;”  but the Italians are credited with growing the “piselli novelli,” or “new peas” as the first of their kind; and the British, for their part, stand firm on their claim that sweet tasting peas first emerged in the 18th century in a village in the south of England. Oh these Europeans. 

Way across the world, in my nani’s kitchen in old Dhaka, come winter, it was time to cook this special dish: fresh green peas in their pod sat in bowls in the kitchen, glistening and ready to be shelled (which was easy peasy) and then, wait for this, they were all individually skinned. Yes, a pea is covered by a translucent skin that we don’t normally notice, especially if it’s a small, new pea. Several cook’s mates, usually young girls, undertook a task that was a tad easier than pulling teeth: First, they blanched the peas in boiling hot water, next, they “shocked” them in colder water (ice wasn’t abundant in those days), and then, with a knife, they slid over each individual pea, pushing or peeling off its paper-thin skin without mutilating its occupants: a pair of fresh split peas, rounded on one side and flat on the other. Just a pair. 

If you’re feeling anxious, please relax. You’re not going to be standing over a bowl, skinning peas till your hair turns white. (Though some people will do it!) I’ve got an alternative, adapted to contemporary circumstances: dried green split peas, soaked overnight. They aren’t as bright as fresh split peas in terms of colour, but they work surprisingly well in taste and texture in a saalan or curry.

One of the most attractive features of Egg & Peas Masala is that it’s also healthy. Peas are low in fat and high in protein, and they are a good source of Vitamin C as well. Not to mention, other vitamins and minerals, as well as fibre. Yes, they do have carbs, but a little less than a cup of cooked peas will give you 100 calories and more protein than a single egg or a tablespoon of peanut butter. And eggs, well, I remember a time when eggs were regarded as bad for you because they were high in cholesterol but then we learned that the cholesterol in eggs didn’t necessarily increase cholesterol levels in our blood. So go eggs! Or should I say, that was an eggcellent way to be egged on. I should stop with the puns and get to the recipe, right. 

Likely Questions:

1. Do I need perfectly round fried eggs? No. An even, roundish shape will be fine. Sometimes, I’ve fried one that looks like the Caspian Sea; the main thing is how you fry them.
2. How should the eggs be fried? Fry eggs over easy hard: flipped over, with a firm yolk. Do not skimp on the oil and fry on low heat, don’t break the yolk. Trust me. You don’t want them to crumble. 
3. What happens if I forget to soak split green peas overnight? All is not lost. See below. 
4. What kind of dried split peas should I use? You need dried green split peas; there are yellow split peas as well — you don’t need these. 
5. How much water should I add to soak the peas? About 2 inches deep above the peas as they will expand when you soak them.

Photo Credit

All Photos unless otherwise noted by: Almas Zakiuddin SOME RIGHTS RESERVED