From Barf to Barfi

They say cows are angels from heaven because they provide milk when alive, and hide or food when dead. But the Barfi is supremely under-rated in comparison.

You may say that one cannot compare the two, as it’s like comparing apples with oranges. But if you say that, you’re not really making sense. Comparing apples with oranges could be an appropriate idiom if we were comparing cows and buffaloes. But, when we’re comparing cows and Barfi’s, we’re just comparing cows and Barfi’s. There is no other way of saying it. I mean, if you were to really showcase your large collection of idioms with reference to this conversation about dairy, you could probably say any of the following instead:

• There’s no use crying over spilt milk. Especially if the milk accidentally spills itself in a big wok full of sugar and nuts, and cooks itself into Barfi.
• Men who kill cows for meat have no milk of human kindness in them. They should, in fact, milk them for Barfi.
• Kejriwal milked Anna Hazare’s movement to gain a huge political platform. And then became CM, when for munh-meetha-karo, he had Barfi.

Coming back to the point at hand, the Barfi also presents itself as a wonderful sweet to be eaten when alive (Here, we talk about the Barfi being alive, which is just another way of saying fresh. Y’know, how they say, “I feel so alive on taking a bath with Cinthol”. They just mean fresh. Who wouldn’t feel alive/fresh on taking a bath with a blonde girl called Cinthol?)

And when dead (dry and stale, except not the fungus infested stale), the Barfi presents itself as the best substitute there can ever be for any other parantha stuffing in the world.

While I’m a huge fan of the Kaju Katli and the Kalakand, I’ve never been too fond of the traditional Barfi. When shopping for sweets, we buy the Gulab Jamun’s, the Laddoo’s and the Dhoda’s, but never the Barfi. The Barfi lands up at our house in exchange for the aforementioned sweets that we gift to “relatives and friends” (a better term for whom would be “jerks and frenemies” because who gives Barfi’s to people they love!)

The Barfi sadd-oes in the fridge for five days, adding to our bad-assery of rule breaking behavior, because we do not consume Bengali sweets on the same day as we open them.

Just when the Barfi is ready to die of being parched due to lack of contact with human saliva, the Mother does something that she does best – makes paranthas out of it for all and sundry.

The Barfi Parantha is an invention that beats all the Red Velvets and Tiramisu’s of the world. It’s the one goddamn thing that is both the main course as well as the dessert. I have been blessed to have grown up under the mamta of a lady who does not think twice before getting her Halwai mode on and turn terrible things into crazy awesome thangbajangs!

(If the Mother is reading this, please note that this is not a blanket compliment for all other inventions in your kitchen like making Pao Bhaaji, where the Bhaaji is basically mashed Lauki, Tori and Tindey cooked in tomato sauce and Aaloo)

The Barfi Parantha goes best with Rabri or some such. The only step of caution here is to ensure that your mother doesn’t pass off whipped Malaai with sugar as Rabri. Or maybe that’s how Rabri is actually made. I don’t know. I’m also not the guy who eats Rabri with Jalebi at weddings. Who started this whole thing of having Rabri with Jalebi, in the first place!

Anyhoo, the best way to have the Barfi Parantha is to have it without any accompaniments, both in terms of side dishes or human companionship. In case you want a suggestion for a drink to go with it, try the Pepsi Milk. It’s three-quarters a glass of chilled milk with a quarter of your favorite cola drink. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s not! It’s awesome as long as you don’t check out videos of what happens when you mix milk with cola on YouTube, but gulp it down all at once instead.