Ishee'z Kitchen

Buff Laal Maas, buffalo-meat version of the traditional Rajasthani Laal Maa.

Whaaahhh! This dish suddenly makes so much sense once you eat it. Rich and heavy from the buffalo meat, but surprisingly gentle on the masala. In Rajasthan’s heat, you really wouldn’t want food that’s aggressively spiced all the time. The flavor comes from the meat and the chilies rather than a barrage of spices.

This Sunday wala Tuesday, we had it with a light atta paratha and some lahsun ka achar, an absolutely perfect combination. The achar brought the sharpness, the paratha kept things simple, and the Laal Maas did all the talking.

This has officially become my go-to dessert.
I’ll never be too lazy to make this cheesecake.
Big thanks to for the recipe.

My Sunday-on-a-Tuesday felt extra special today

Kurilo (Asparagus) has long been valued in the Himalayas as a natural galactagogue (milk boosting) traditionally fed to cows to help boost lactation and improve the quality of milk. Its roots have always held an important place in dairy farming across the region. But lately, thanks to food shows and the internet spotlight, Kurilo has started gaining popularity in the hills, and now you’ll often spot it being sold in the local haat bazaars of Kalimpong.

I kept things simple for my Sunday wala Tuesday meal. It was Ishee’z Kitchen Bacon wrapped fresh Kurilo . The smokiness from the bacon elevated the Kurilo flavour to another level. We devoured the whole thing within seconds 😅

Mango ginger, ginger, and turmeric may share the same earthy shape, but each brings its own flavour and purpose. Mango ginger is actually closer to turmeric than ginger, prized for its unmistakable aroma of raw green mango.

Often mistaken for ginger, mango ginger grows wild alongside turmeric, not cultivated, but emerging on its own, almost like a quiet companion in the field. Though frequently treated as a nuisance in the hills and discarded due to low demand, this aromatic rhizome is deeply valued in traditional Indian kitchens and medicine for its raw green-mango aroma, especially in pickles and chutneys.

For me, silam (perilla seed) carries the quiet weight of memory, of my muma (grandmother) and long winter vacations spent in the sun. I can still see muma showing me how to pour a little into my palm, use my index finger to gather the seeds, and tip them straight into my mouth. That’s the only way I remember eating it. Not as a chutney, not mixed into anything, just silam, eaten slowly while sitting in the sun, as if it were meant only for winter afternoons.

It was much later, watching how Koreans used the leaves or seeing silam turned into chutney in other homes, that I began to explore those versions. I learned new ways to eat it, new contexts for it. But my favourite has never changed. It will always be the way my muma taught me, crunchy, nutty, and quietly, deeply delicious.

The dried eel that was brought from Nagaland looked unassuming, carrying the scent of hills and smoke. The moment it hit the pan…wowowowowow. A bold, razor-sharp flavour burst out, unmistakably fishy, deeply savoury, and completely unforgettable. It earned its place instantly on our Nagaland shopping list.

And it reminded us of something important: Nagaland is far more than smoked pork and axone. There are a thousand ingredients still waiting…hidden to be tasted, understood, and cooked with respect.

And then there’s the awkward question: how do I make salt?
Everything else on the plate is grown or made from scratch.

After exactly a year, I’m no longer sleep deprived while baking sourdough and I’m actually enjoying it. It almost feels like a game now, leveling up with each bake.

Have you ever tried sourdough bread?