It’s wrong, I know.
I shouldn’t be so addicted to one food in particular.
I mean momos.
I’ve been a fan ever since a friend shared her homemade momos with me. She’s from Tibet, the home of the momo. And she mentioned once that that was her favourite dish.
What’s so great about that, I had asked. My friend must’ve noticed my dismissive tone, for a few days later, she came back with fresh, crunchy-on-the-outside-soft-on-the-inside momos. In three varieties: beef, chicken, and vegetable.
After that day, everywhere I went, I began to hunt for momos. We went on a trip to Sikkim, where I found steamed momos. And unlike the fried ones my friend gave me, these had patterns in them. Frail and smooth curves hemmed the dumpling, sealing it to keep the stuffing stuffed.
They looked and squished like a familiar South Indian sweet, but inside the mouth, if felt nothing like that. It was soft, springy, and doughy. Something Joey would love.
I bit into a momo, and steam smacked my lips as sautéed onions and vegetables filled into my mouth.
I was hooked.
Even after I returned, I longed to hold another momo between my fingers. Lucky for me, I live near a big university, home to plenty of north Indian students. And it was easy to find hundreds of little authentic food shops in the area. I’ve made it a mission to find the best momo shop I could find.
One shop I went to with my team had a different pattern in their momos. These flaunted a less curvy sealing, but the taste lived up to my expectation. And when I bit into one of these momos, fresh chicken and cabbage surprised me.
As for the vegetarian momos, they had a different shape altogether. These were like little fish, with a more fold-like hemming than curves; they were smaller than the non-veg ones too.
A street vendor once gave me “twisted” momos. It seemed like he had shaped the dough around a stick to form its circular shape. But the onions and vegetables were the same, and as good as ever.
After looking at so many varieties, I’m confused as to what’s the right way to shape a momo. Or if there’s even one right way to do it.
I guess the only way to find out is to eat them all. One thing I know for sure, though, is that no matter the size or the shape, nothing beats momos.
And no, that’s not addiction. Momos are too beautiful to resist. Call it appreciation, instead.
I’m sharing this post on Our Growing Edge, a blogging event that connects food bloggers and inspires us to try new things. This month’s host is Sophie from Cooking Trips. Thanks for the invite, Genie.