I yield to temptation yet again this honey-mellow winter morning.
Of cooking with oranges.
Plump luscious oranges, as fresh as they can be, sinfully sweet with just a hint of tart.
And a perfume that’s sublime to speak the least.
So here’s another quintessential Bengali classic. Kheer Komola. Milk languorously stewed over a fatigued fire for hours. A generous throw of orange segments and a kiss of orange juice. A patient wait for the milk to soak up all that blessed fragrance from the citrus.
Ridiculously simple. Yet divine.