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A picture of delicious fish curry, prepared by me when I went home over the weekend. Photo by Priyonti Roy (1st Nov 2025)
Macher Jhol
Macher Jhol
by Priyonti Roy
My mom always says, “Mache Bhate Bangali.” This simply means a Bengali’s identity is fish (mach) and rice (bhat). I probably heard that phrase every day growing up, thinking it’s something the elders say to force us to eat fish. I was not amused. My seven-year-old self could not see how a fish dish could define someone’s entire identity, much less that of a nation.
My mom took her sweet time. She removed the bones of the fish with her careful hands, mixed the meat and gravy with rice before hand-feeding me the first bite. Within three seconds, I felt a sharp sting of bone, stuck on my throat–choking. The next day, lacking trust in my mother, I tried eating on my own, still choking. That would change as I grew up.
The disgusting aroma of fish engulfs the room when my father buys live fish from the market early in the morning most weekends. My mom would use every part of fish to create different dishes. Bengalis literally mastered the skill of eating fish, head to tail, before the ‘Michelin Stars’ glorified such sustainability (Sen).
The turmeric and salt is rubbed against the pieces of fish, then laid on the pan of hot oil. The sound of crackles and it always snaps like tiny fireworks. The fragrance of onions caramelized in the same pan, as the crushed garlic, ginger and tomatoes melts together blending together into rich velvety gravy. Next comes the coconut milk poured in. When the curry simmers, cumin, turmeric, and chili powder hits the pan. I would wake up to the rich aromatic curry, as my mom transforms the smelly fish to something I can’t imagine to be alive without. The remaining skin of the fish was deep fried–the crisp–seasoned with salt. She would use the head and the tail of the fish to cook Mori Ghonto, a dish prepared with lentils.
During the cooking process, when fish was simmering over the stove. Photo by Priyonti Roy (1st Nov 2025)
Selfie with the dish, fish curry, prepared by me. Photo by Priyonti Roy (1st Nov 2025)
Bengalis do not waste fish because fish isn’t just food- it translates for survival and history- as researchers Mohammed, Haque, and Nahiduzzaman mentioned in their article “Impact Evaluation of Hilsa Fishery Restoration in Bangladesh: Money Well Spent?” The national fish of Bangladesh, Hilsa, had economic and ecological grip over the country. The article revealed that Hilsa fishery single handedly supports “2.5 million people” annually, and “around half a million people directly depend on fishery, most of whom are poor,” but also holds significance “socially, culturally and religiously” (Mohammed et al.). Fish became essential for survival. Hilsa are as important to preserve culture as they are about ecology (Mohammed et al.). And protecting the Hilsa means preserving the Bengali’s heartbeats. Mach is also a metaphor for the Bengali’s life experience–for the poor, by eating it head to tail; for the rich, by savoring it bone by bone.
The more I drifted away from my family, the more I craved macher jhol–the Bengali fish curry–containing a spoonful of religious, traditional, cultural and regional spices. Under my mom’s household: you are a good child if you finish your plate of rice and fish; bonus points if you can remove the bones on your own. There is no such day as macher jhol day, because that is basically everyday.
My mom told me, in our religion, when a child turns seven months, we celebrate by inviting people, where the baby has their first bite of solid food. It is called annaprashan, and my first bite was mach with bhat. The culinary tradition of making macher jhol blends perfectly together with affection. Food historian Chitrita Banerji defines this sentiment and sensation with purity in her essay “A Bengali Bounty.” She said “In Bengali mythology—and in my mother’s kitchen—fish has always been a delicious symbol of prosperity, fertility, and pleasure” (Banerji).
I thought moving away from family is gaining the freedom of choice in food. But how can I gain independence from my own identity? My small part of the day is a part of a much bigger cultural ethic. The love for the recipe of Macher Jhol was passed from generation to generation. When my mom now says Mache Bhate Banagli, all I hear is the screams of my identity. It is not just a cliche, it's carrying my roots in a small bowl of rice (Bhat) and fish curry (Macher Jhol).
Works Cited
Mohammed Eyasmin Yasmin, A. B. M. Mahfuzul Haque, and Md. Nahiduzzam. “Impact Evaluation of Hilsa Fishery Restoration in Bangladesh: Money Well Spent?” Frontiers in Marine Science, vol. 11, 2025, https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2024.1437783 Accessed 07 Nov. 2025.
Banerji, Chitrita. “A Bengali Bounty.” Salon, 3 July 2007, https://www.salon.com/2007/07/03/eating_india/ Accessed 7 Nov. 2025.
Sen, Rajyasree. “How Bengal Perfected the Art of Eating Fish, Head to Tail: Before Michelin-Starred Chefs Made It Trendy, Bengal Was Already Cooking with Every Part of the Fish.” The Indian Express, New Delhi, 30 May 2025, https://indianexpress.com/article/lifestyle/food-wine/how-bengal-perfected-the-art-of-eating-fish-head-to-tail-maacher-matha-10033955/ Accessed 7 Nov. 2025.
Roy, Priyonti. Photo of Fish Curry. 1st Nov 2025. Author’s personal collection.
Roy, Priyonti. Photo of Fish Curry simmering over the stove. 1st Nov 2025. Author’s personal collection.
Roy, Priyonti. Photo of Priyonti Roy holding Fish Curry. 1st Nov 2025. Author’s personal collection.
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