Pride, Place and Pitha

For Bangladeshis the world over, the rice-based dishes called pitha offer a tangible and tactile connection to their culinary heritage.

TEXT & PHOTOGRAPHY Dina Begum

The gastronomic map of Bangladesh is laden with

many delights. However, few are more treasured than the rice-based sweets and savouries collectively called pitha. A practice that spans hundreds of years, pitha is made with unique regional inflections across Bangladesh. While it is impossible to put a number to the varieties of pitha, my guess is that it could stretch into the hundreds. They range from crêpes and fried and steamed cakes, to steamed dumplings and milk-based puddings.

Woven into the social fabric of Bangladeshi culture, pitha-making facilitates a way for generations to interact, socialise and honour time. The tradition justifies the popular Bengali adage, “baro mashe tero parbon” (or 13 festivals in 12 months), which not only describes the food culture of Bangladesh but also the place of food in social interactions and celebrations.

The best known varieties of pitha are patishapta pitha (sweet, stuffed crêpes), puli pitha (crescent-shaped pastries with a sweet filling), chitoi pitha (savoury rice crumpets), bhapa pitha (steamed coconut and jaggery cakes) and handesh or teler pitha (fried cakes made of molasses and rice flour). From staples on the everyday meal table to snacks to socialise with; and from foods that are shared during times of grief to elaborate delicacies proudly presented during wedding festivities, pithas play many roles in Bangladeshi society. As testament to their importance throughout life, in places such as Sylhet, there is a tradition of distributing chaler ruti pitha or flatbreads made of rice, along with a coconut and banana halwa called Allah rohom shinni, to mark death anniversaries and request blessings both in times of grief and good fortune.

Pitha making is a culinary tradition rooted in rural Bangladesh. It holds a special place in people’s lives and livelihoods. Bangladesh is an agrarian country with rice at the heart of its production. The consumption of pitha organically derives from this.

Nabanna, which is drawn from the Bangla words naba (or new) and anna (grain or food), is the winter rice harvest, which takes place in late autumn. It heralds a season of festivals, fairs and general pitha mania. The season typically begins in late autumn, lasts throughout the winter months and then gently segues into Boishakh or the Bangladeshi summer in April.

While the core ingredient for pitha is rice, wheat flour, semolina, lentils and potatoes are also included in doughs and batters. Coconut is used widely in sweet pithas, and date molasses is the sweetener of choice. Savoury pithas include noonta (salty) or jhal (hot) versions, where chillies and other spices are used along with vegetables in the dough or batter.

While Nabanna provided the perfect pretext to prepare pitha, the cold winters—especially in the pre-refrigeration era—offered an ideal solution for preserving rice-based dishes. In the winter, the usual rice-focused meals eaten two to three times a day are replaced by pitha such as flatbreads and dumplings. Stored properly, certain pitha can keep for up to a week and are a great example of slow food, made as a community using local produce. Some pitha are enjoyed in different ways over a period of time. For instance, choi pitha, also known as mera pitha, are small steamed dumplings made with toasted ground rice. Smooth on the outside and grainy inside, choi pitha makes for a delicious snack when dipped into ghee or gur (date molasses). In the days after they are made, they are often reheated on a griddle with a little char, and eaten for lunch accompanied by a meat stew. When sliced and fried with turmeric, onions and chillies, choi pitha transforms into a hearty breakfast.

Roger Gwynn, a writer and teacher who volunteered and travelled extensively around the country pre- and postindependence in 1971, recalls seeing pitha being made both in homes and by the roadside.

“It always fascinated me to see endless variations. Different areas had different traditions of pitha making,” he said.

He went on to describe a particular variety that he enjoyed eating. “The most decorative ones I saw were ‘phul pitha’ from Dhaka district. [Fine] flower designs like filigree work were cut into the pastry, which was then deep fried and sprinkled with sugar.”

With the onset of winter, the demand for pitha makes it a viable income stream for the poor. It is a common sight to see people stop on their way to or after work to indulge in a piping hot pitha. By the side of the roads, you will see makeshift stalls fashioned out of vegetable carts, tea tables and steel drums. Popular options include steamed or pan-cooked varieties such as chitoi pitha, served with accompaniments such as bhortas made of vegetables, chillies or spicy dried fish. Or jhal pitha, savoury fried cakes made with an egg-based batter. The more intricate varieties are usually reserved for the home kitchen.

Making pitha is often a communal event. Growing up, my cousins and I used to help my mother and aunt ahead of special occasions. We would form an assembly line over tea, snacks and chat. While someone made the dough or batter, someone else prepared the filling, and others took turns to cook the pitha or to place them on trays for the next stage. In this way, pitha became the fulcrum of social interactions and community building.

This method also facilitates the transmission of the technical finesse required to make them. When my mother, Sultana

Begum, and I last made pitha together, she recalled her experience of learning the techniques from her mother and grandmother. Her eyes misted over with emotion.

“I had such fun making pitha with everyone—the moments we spent together, socialising, laughing and chatting as we made and ate them,” she said. “I’ll always treasure those family memories. My cousins, friends and I used to have pitha-making contests to see who could make the best ones. It was a lovely way to spend time, especially in winter!”

When we prepare handesh or teler pitha at home, it is always under my mother’s watchful eye. This seemingly simple fried cake is deceptively difficult to master. Made with rice flour and molasses, which is rested for several hours, this pitha requires painstaking effort. The batter for a single pitha is carefully poured to form concave rounds, which disappear in hot oil and rise with a frill around the edges like macarons. Slightly crisp around the edges, a little chewy and steeped in the flavour of date molasses, occasionally with a whisper of spice such as fennel, handesh requires a practised hand. My mother often teaches her technique to family and friends.

“Not everyone knows how to get the batter right,” she says. “It needs to be demonstrated in person to get a feel for the consistency and you can only become better through practice. When I teach a person how to make handesh, I feel like I’m passing on something special. Now they can make these pitha for their family and friends to enjoy.”

Every year, about a week or so before Eid, our family conversations turn to pitha making. This is when classic varieties are made to perfection and new recipes are experimented with. The selection always includes nunor bora or nun gora—savoury fried pastries popular in the Sylhet region of Bangladesh.

I remember watching my mother’s hands work meticulously, kneading large bowlfuls of sturdy dough made of rice flour, occasionally stained yellow with turmeric or flecked green with coriander. The zing of ginger would hang in the air.

Just moments earlier, she would have scraped off the steaming rice dough from the pot and gathered it together on the work surface. She would then sprinkle a thin layer of rice flour, roll the dough into large rounds and cut shapes with cookie cutters. The edges would be frilled, scalloped and shaped into stars and hearts. These shapes would then be fried until crisp, emerging from the hot oil, aromatic and irresistible.

There are no shortcuts for pithas such as these, which are made in particular stages that require attention to detail and antaaz or intuition, a skill that is gradually built upon with experience. The cook needs to know when to add more flour, and how to work fast with the hot dough while keeping an eagle eye to ensure that the dough is kneaded well before it has cooled too much.

At its most basic, pitha can take the form of a simple rice flour flatbread for scooping up curries. Or rustic banana and molasses fritters, made by dropping spoonfuls of thick batter into hot oil. Savoury jhal pitha are made in a similar fashion with a rice batter, but with added spices such as turmeric, onion and ginger. Then there’s bhapa pitha, which epitomises the sweet variety of pitha. A domeshaped confection made of granules of damp ground rice, layered with shredded coconut, bhapa pitha holds a dollop of patali gur (or jaggery) in its heart.

However, no pitha is as mesmerising as a plate of intricately handcrafted nokshi pitha. The most ornate forms of nokshi pitha require years of practice to perfect and are seen as a form of edible art. Smooth pieces of cooked rice dough are hand-decorated with raised cuts using date palm thorns, although toothpicks or knives are more common nowadays.

It is said that women who make nokshi pitha imprint their thoughts and feelings into them, drawing from scenes of nature. Popular patterns include paisley shapes, betel leaves, peacocks, fish, birds and flowers such as lotuses. Many patterns incorporate folklore and spiritual motifs such as mandalas. This art form mirrors nokshi kantha, where similar patterns and motifs are embroidered onto bedding, tablecloths and clothing.

Once decorated, the pitha are fried and then dipped in sugar or date molasses syrup. A photo of my mother’s syrup-soaked nokshi pitha is pinned on my Twitter page. It has been widely shared and garners curiosity among those who see it.

Food editor and recipe developer Anikah Shaokat has grown up eating all kinds of pitha. However, she learned how to make them only after moving to New York in her late teens.

"Pitha making is an expression of love, imbued with memories of cooking them on clay wood-fired stoves in the winter with loved ones, especially grandmothers, mothers and aunts."

“Since there isn’t a lot of written and recorded literature on our Bangladeshi cooking, I mostly taught myself to make pitha from YouTube videos,” Shaokat said. “Pithas are such an intrinsic part of our culture. I think it’s one of the few elements that separates us from the larger South Asian culinary narrative. The world has a bad habit of bucketing us all under one Indo-Pak umbrella, but I think pithas are one of the few things we can distinctly claim as Bengali/Bangladeshi.”

Chef and food writer Amirah Islam reiterates this common refrain among Bangladeshis.

“I’d say pitha making is very much a Bangali art,” Islam said. “I don’t know of any other South Asian culture that [makes pithas]. Especially in the celebratory manner that we make them. The closest thing to pitha to my knowledge are mooncakes.”

The nationwide ardour for pitha is apparent from the fact that there are pitha festivals organised across the country. Every year in January or February, the Jatiya Pitha Utsab Udjapan Parishad (Committee for National Pitha Festivals) hosts a 10 to 12-day national pitha festival called Jatiya Pitha Utsab in association with the Shilpakala Academy, the country’s preeminent cultural centre in Dhaka. Festivals such as these have grown over the years and present the opportunity to taste various pitha, including regional varieties that are difficult to access outside the home. They attract people from around the country.

I spoke to Khondoker Shah Alam, the General Secretary of Jatiya Pitha Utsab Udjapan Parishad. He shared that the first festival in 2008 was a small affair, which he organised in his coffee shop in Dhaka.

“We did this without government support and it was a great success,” said Alam. “Later, we partnered with Shilpakala Academy as they have a large open space. The Ministry of Cultural Affairs was slow to come on board but now they are enthusiastic in supporting it. They see the value of the festival as it helps to promote the culture of Bangladesh. Now, it takes place in all eight [regions] of Bangladesh. In the future, we hope to take the festival to all the districts too.”

The purpose of these festivals, according to Ferdous Akhter Lily, a coordinator of a pitha utsab in the Mohammadpur suburb in Dhaka, is to help people learn about pitha. Certain types of local rice are difficult or even impossible to find outside of Bangladesh. The Mohammadpur festival showcases 14 stalls, named after 14 of the most popular local rice varieties. At these fairs, people indulge their curiosity about new and interesting flavours and try sought-after regional specialities.

For instance, in Bikrampur, Dhaka, bibikhana is a treasured pitha. Perhaps the closest in form and flavour to a cake, this is one of my favourite types of pitha. The batter is made using eggs and fat, and then steamed or baked. Hate kata shemai pitha mimics vermicelli or shemai. Rice dough is painstakingly hand-turned into thin, squat noodles ready to be simmered in molasses and milk sauce.

Chita or sprinkled pitha is made by using the fingers to sprinkle batter on a hot pan to form lattice shapes. A particular version of this pitha from Noakhali in the Chittagong region uses coconut and molasses in the batter. Chunga pitha is an unusual pitha found in the Sylhet region, where glutinous rice known as binni chal is wrapped in banana leaves and stuffed into young bamboo sticks, before being cooked on a fire. The smoky rice can be both sweet or savoury.

The public response to pitha festivals has been overwhelming. Khondoker Shah Alam has watched the crowds grow, year upon year.

“In Dhaka, we have over 10,000 people attending daily, from all over Bangladesh,” Alam said. “People are losing touch with their food traditions, and these festivals help reintroduce people to pitha, especially those who live in cities and do not have access to them. Over 200 pitha are presented as part of Jatiya Pitha Utsab in Dhaka and families share these delicacies with the younger generations.”

Pitha festivals are also extremely popular among the Bangladeshi diaspora in the U.K., Europe and North America, recreating the atmosphere of those in Bangladesh, with music, dance and dozens of pitha stalls.

Pitha also serves as an important aspect of social, religious and cultural customs, featuring in Eid celebrations, Pujo festivals and weddings. Wedding dala selections (or platters) are incomplete without an array of the prettiest pitha. Pitha making is an expression of love, imbued with memories of cooking them on clay wood-fired stoves in the winter with loved ones, especially grandmothers, mothers and aunts. There is a strong association between pitha and the country itself, conjuring images of verdant green fields and coconut trees. Nur-E Gulshan Rahman, co-founder of Korai Kitchen, a Bangladeshi restaurant she runs with her daughter in New Jersey, echoes this sentiment.

“Eating the hot pitha was such a wonderful memory,” she said. “My mother, grandmother and the cooks would make all sorts of pitha together. Every day there would be a different variety, all winter long. Doodh pitha, patishapta pitha, bhapa pitha, thel pitha. I drew on those memories to make pitha for my own children. Because it is so timeconsuming, I think it represents an appreciation of the artistic, of things done by hand, with careful attention to detail. It’s like poetry in food.”

My mother shares a similar nostalgia about pitha made in Bangladesh, with high-quality local ingredients.

“The rice outside of Bangladesh is not fresh, so you’ll never get the same results as you’d get when making them in the village,” she said. “I prefer to grind rice at home instead of using ready-ground rice flour and use fresh coconut instead of dessicated. I miss the fresh, hand-ground rice from our paddy fields, the coconut from our trees and the

new date molasses when it was in season. The flavour and fragrance over there is like nothing you’ve imagined!”

When I ask her what kind of pithas she loved to make in Bangladesh, she tells me about taaler pitha, made from the pulp of ripe palm fruits, which grow in abundance in Bangladesh. (Read all about tal fruit on page 38).

“You can easily make 15 to 20 types of pitha from the pulplike juice of tal,” she said. “It’s a good natural sweetener and different [in flavour] from date molasses.” In my own experience, the best pithas can indeed be found in rural areas, particularly where rice is grown. Families who own or work in paddy fields have ready access to fresh rice, which translates to pitha made the traditional way.

However, industralisation has changed the processes— and sometimes, even the ingredients—involved in making pitha. With a decrease in the availability of skilled tappers, who often move to the cities to pursue other occupations, the traditional methods of tapping date tree sap for molasses are in danger of being forgotten. There’s also

a greater risk of products being adulterated in the wider market, with sugar being mixed with date molasses, and pesticides found in rice.

Among Bangladeshis, pitha is so beloved that it has been proposed for inclusion on the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity (ICH) list, which honours “a practice, representation, expression, knowledge, or skill considered by UNESCO to be part of a place’s cultural heritage.”

Dr. Dilruba Sharmin from Dhaka University says that to safeguard this know-how, pitha festivals such as Nabanna Utsab, and intricate varieties of pitha such as nokshi pitha and jamai pitha must be protected. While the large regional and national pitha festivals promote and celebrate the art of pitha, Dr. Sharmin suggests creating specialised departments at educational and cultural institutions, with support from UNESCO and other experts. In her opinion, this would also improve Bangladesh’s tourism industry and contribute to its development.

Bangladeshi families have traditionally been multigenerational and extended families often lived together. This family structure has changed in recent years with the rise of nuclear families and people choosing to live alone for work and educational opportunities. As a result, pitha are being made at home and by hand less frequently, because they can be time-consuming. Many simply do not know or have the opportunity to learn to make them, as this is an intergenerational skill passed down through oral instruction or observation.

In recent years, the demand from busy Bangladeshis in Bangladesh and from the Bangladeshi diaspora has contributed to a rise in pre-prepared, frozen pitha popping up in grocery stores. Compared to a decade or so ago, where I would spot two or three varieties of frozen pitha, I now see over a dozen types, made by different manufacturers, available in London. On the other hand, homemade pitha microbusinesses run by Bangladeshi women are reclaiming this important part of their heritage. Handmade pitha can now be ordered online or via social media.

In Bangladesh, this is a burgeoning business, with pitha companies and food delivery services delivering pitha for special events or personal consumption.

“There is a pitha revival going on and people are enjoying pitha even in fast food places now,” Alam said, with pride in his voice. “Pitha are present everywhere, even at ministerial events and high society weddings. And we are working with pitha makers so that they can export unprocessed pithas with a one to two-month shelf life. This is not to promote business—I am not a businessman, I am a cultural activist. This is so others can enjoy and appreciate one of our traditions.”

Despite some accommodations made to suit modern convenience, people are keen to preserve what they see as part of their cultural identity. As Rahman says: “Pitha making requires collaboration, an attention to detail, and patience, and I think these are important skills to pass down.”

While it is not always practical to spend hours making pitha on a regular basis, I believe this tradition can be incorporated into holiday traditions and weekends as an enjoyable and leisurely project. Just as we bring out cookie cutters for Christmas and gather for family feasts, learning and practising pitha making in a communal setting could be a way to nurture skills and foster memories.

Like everyone I have spoken with for this piece, the knowledge of pitha making reinforces my Bangladeshi identity. It offers an avenue to introduce others to my food heritage and celebrate it. It honours my bond with both my grandmothers who have passed, yet continue to live on in my memories as I think of making and eating pitha with them, while listening to stories of courageous queens, tigers and magicians. Each variety of pitha I now make holds a special memory, linked to a particular person or moment in my life. For me, this tactile quality of preserving my childhood memories strengthens my cultural connections.

As my mother makes pitha with my niece, I ask her how it feels to be able to pass down her skills and she beams.

“I take great pride in having taught my children to make pitha and my first grandchild is now getting involved, which is a proud moment for me as I can leave a legacy behind for them to share,” she says. “Hopefully the coming generations will stop pitha from disappearing. I’m looking forward to teaching my granddaughter more as she grows older. It’s a great expression of love and I hope this love spreads to more people who can learn and enjoy pitha.”