Checking out the little display of pale Indian sweets. They seem to be the same thing, just in squares or circles or with scattered pistachios.
“What kind of sweets are these?”
The young woman behind the counter looks uncertain. “They are all made of milk.”
“Okay… what’s the difference between them?”
“These ones… made of milk… these are also milk… those milk powder… and these milk. These ones are milk, but with chocolate.”
This is not helping me choose! Um, right the plain-ish ones in the middle. The basics are a good place to start.
She takes out one of the plump round discs and puts it inside a large foil bag that says ‘charcoal chicken’ on the side. The sweet is tiny inside and she awkwardly scrunches the bag around it so it forms a rough ball ten times the size of its contents.
I ask what it’s called, and she mumbles something like bedi or pedi or bedi. Never mind, the internet will know.
***
So this is peda. Thanks Wikipedia.
It fills my palm, round and firm but yielding and pliable like uncooked dough. It’s white-cream-yellow, about the size of a plum. There is a tiny scrape of crushed pistachio along one edge but it seems more like an accidental brush against a different sweet than for taste or decoration.
It smells… kind of off. Like cheese that’s been out of the fridge too long. Off-putting.
I pinch the edge and it half squishes half crumbles to give me a thumb-sized piece. There are more crumbs than I expected, like uncooked pastry treading that precarious balance between moisture and crumbs.
It crushes easily between my teeth. The texture and mouth-feel is just like a crumby fudge. Oh, of course, the cooking process and ingredients… it’s the Indian version of fudge!
But the taste is not like any fudge I’ve had before. My nose was right about the cheese smell: that’s what it tastes like too. Curds with a sprinkle of sugar. Sweet but not strongly. Kind of like a cheesecake with the wrong ratios.
Not a huge fan, but don’t judge a food by its first bite.
Contemplate my way through it for a few minutes. It’s buttery and rich. Apart from being sweeter it reminds me of Tibetan butter tea. But better, thank goodness… I do not like that tea…
My bites are becoming compulsive. I’m fascinated by the weirdness.
Plain Peda
Checking out the little display of pale Indian sweets. They seem to be the same thing, just in squares or circles or with scattered pistachios.
“What kind of sweets are these?”
The young woman behind the counter looks uncertain. “They are all made of milk.”
“Okay… what’s the difference between them?”
“These ones… made of milk… these are also milk… those milk powder… and these milk. These ones are milk, but with chocolate.”
This is not helping me choose! Um, right the plain-ish ones in the middle. The basics are a good place to start.
She takes out one of the plump round discs and puts it inside a large foil bag that says ‘charcoal chicken’ on the side. The sweet is tiny inside and she awkwardly scrunches the bag around it so it forms a rough ball ten times the size of its contents.
I ask what it’s called, and she mumbles something like bedi or pedi or bedi. Never mind, the internet will know.
***
So this is peda. Thanks Wikipedia.
It fills my palm, round and firm but yielding and pliable like uncooked dough. It’s white-cream-yellow, about the size of a plum. There is a tiny scrape of crushed pistachio along one edge but it seems more like an accidental brush against a different sweet than for taste or decoration.
It smells… kind of off. Like cheese that’s been out of the fridge too long. Off-putting.
I pinch the edge and it half squishes half crumbles to give me a thumb-sized piece. There are more crumbs than I expected, like uncooked pastry treading that precarious balance between moisture and crumbs.
It crushes easily between my teeth. The texture and mouth-feel is just like a crumby fudge. Oh, of course, the cooking process and ingredients… it’s the Indian version of fudge!
But the taste is not like any fudge I’ve had before. My nose was right about the cheese smell: that’s what it tastes like too. Curds with a sprinkle of sugar. Sweet but not strongly. Kind of like a cheesecake with the wrong ratios.
Not a huge fan, but don’t judge a food by its first bite.
Contemplate my way through it for a few minutes. It’s buttery and rich. Apart from being sweeter it reminds me of Tibetan butter tea. But better, thank goodness… I do not like that tea…
My bites are becoming compulsive. I’m fascinated by the weirdness.
All gone, along with my afternoon hunger.
Rating:
Specifics: plain peda from Curry Club, Merrylands