“The family rushed in and gathered around the dining table. Michael, as was the custom, began to slice the golden cake. The first bite transported them to a world of coconut milk, eggs, and ghee. Soon they were ready to walk for the Midnight Mass at their St. Francis of Assisi Church. Michael was part of the choir. The voices rose in unison, Michael’s with all fervor, the magic of Christmas enveloping him. ”
By Rita Chhablani
Palm trees swayed gently in the December breeze as Maria, the household help, lit the candles on the veranda. The aroma of roasting chorizo, their favorite and special pork meat sausage, and bebinca wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the scent of frangipani. It was Christmas Eve in Fontainhas. The streets were alive with Konkani carols and laughter.
Inside, Michael and his father, Joseph, were busy assembling the Nativity scene. Michael’s hands moved deftly, arranging the clay figures of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
Joseph smiled, a faraway look in his eyes.
“Happy memories?” asked Michael.
“Remembering Christmases past, when my father would regale us with tales of Portuguese explorers,” said Joseph to his son, as though he was someplace else in the past.
Yes, Christmas did that to his father, thought Michael. A knock at the door broke the spell. It was their neighbour, with a tray of freshly-baked kul-kuls.
“For the Noronhas," she said, the rotund woman’s eyes twinkling. The family loved her.
As they savoured the yummy treats, Michael’s mother, Lucia announced, “Bebinca's ready!"
The magic words! The family rushed in and gathered around the dining table. Michael, as was the custom, began to slice the golden cake. The first bite transported them to a world of coconut milk, eggs, and ghee. Soon they were ready to walk for the Midnight Mass at their St. Francis of Assisi Church. Michael was part of the choir. The voices rose in unison, Michael’s with all fervor, the magic of Christmas enveloping him. He looked around. It was a time for family, friends, and feasting.
The stars were twinkling above as the families walked back home. Their bebinca beckoned. As the night wore on, relatives and friends kept pouring in. They were a friendly neighborhood, having grown together in the antique Portuguese style homes. They sat sharing stories and laughter. The bebinca disappeared slice by slice, and the chorizo was devoured with gusto. Joseph’s cousin, Jeanne, arrived from Mumbai just then, her eyes shining with excitement. “It’s time for your magical bebinca,” she gushed, running to the table to cut herself a slice.
“Your bebinca is special. Never eaten anything like this before. I've truly missed this," she said, getting teary eyed, hugging Michael. “The carols, the food...this home, where the heart is."
The night was filled with music. It was a time for carols; their voices blending in perfect harmony. Michael’s grandfather, Avo, quite spry and agile for his age, got up and returned with the ghumat, an earthen vessel. “It is a blend of tradition, ghumat, mando that I play,” he said, as he began playing the percussion instrument. No Konkani song in their home was complete without it. Its rhythmic beat echoed through the streets till the early morning hours. Avo never got tired, thought Michael looking at his old grandfather who loved playing his ghumat for the family every Christmas after the midnight mass.
As the first light of dawn crept over the hills, everybody gathered around the Presepio.
Michael smiled, his eyes misty. “This is the true spirit of Christmas—all about love, family, and community. I love it."
“And the sweet taste of bebinca,” chorused everybody in the room.
Joseph nodded and looked around at the people he loved. Every Christmas, right from childhood, was etched in his memory.
A couple of years passed. Michael took over the responsibility from his father. He continued to perfect the recipe. The aroma of bebinca wafted from their kitchen every Christmas Eve. Friends and family continued pouring in. It had become a tradition.
Michael got married. Few years later, his children, little Leo and Maya, started helping their father with the preparations in the generational recipe. They loved assembling the Presepio.
“How deftly they do it,” admired Michael. “Look at them singing our Konkani carols, so beautifully, their voices blending with the sounds of the ghumot and mando. You and your wife have done a great job in bringing them up with their traditions.”
“Avo, it is your presence that brings in the traditions and safeguards them,” Michael said to his father,” And I mean it! It is the elders of the family who keep it intact.”
One day, a food blogger from Mumbai appeared at their door, seeking the secret to his bebinca. Michael said to the young man, “It's not just a recipe; it's a tradition, a legacy. Come in."
He offered the guest his famous cashew feni along with some snacks. “This is the Goan samosa with its filling of spiced mince and this here is the prawn risole. Once you try it you will not stop eating it. And before you leave I will pack our sweet melt in the mouth patoli for your journey back to Mumbai.” For a long time, they sat chatting and Michael shared the story behind his family's bebinca.
“I am overwhelmed by your hospitality,” the food blogger gushed. He left soon after happily with a packet of goodies. The article he wrote went viral. People from all over India flocked to Fontainhas to taste Michael’s bebinca. The family's small bakery became a sensation. Soon, Michael’s bebinca was hailed as the best in Goa.
There had been a slight drizzle that morning. There was yet another knock on their door. A young woman stood at their doorstep. “I am Sofia, Tiago’s niece, the renowned pastry chef from Portugal.”
She had a strange spark in her eyes. Michael at once knew she was there for the bebinca recipe. The young woman’s presence created a stir in the family. Some old aunts resented her intrusion into their space. “But she is Tiago’s niece. He is a renowned pastry chef and my distant cousin,” explained Avo to his old cousins and sisters.
“Renowned, yes,” said his sister, nodding her head.
“And we, Goans are known for our hospitality,” explained Michael.
He had hit the nail on the head. Michael was a smart man.
Sofia proposed a collaboration. She wanted to modernize the bebinca recipe. “But I promise I will keep its essence. Try me.”
Michael resisted.
Sofia did not give up. Her persistent passion gradually won him over.
That day a fusion of the bebinca was born. It was a blend of traditional flavors with modern twists.
The result?
A sensation!
The bakery's popularity soared.
With this dawned a realization on Michael that Sofia was not only here to stay but she was the unexpected heir to the bebinca legacy and the tradition.
The new bebinca became a hit. The bakery's popularity soared. Michael made a bold decision to open a new branch in Mumbai. Sofia took charge, with Leo and Maya, now grown, helping with the marketing and management. As they prepared for the grand opening in Mumbai, a bombshell exploded in their home. Thrown by Avo, Michael’s grandfather, Avo, of all people. “I have kept something hidden from you, my children,” he said to his family as they sat in stunned silence.
“Secret?” asked the astonished Michael.
“It is regarding the original bebinca recipe that has been passed down through generations,” said Avo.
“What?” Sofia and Michael almost chocked.
“It is time for me to tell you, my heirs, the secret ingredient,” Avo added rather mysteriously.
“Avo, now you are telling us?” said Michael to his grandfather, displaying his angry feelings.
“Be quiet and listen carefully,” said Avo to his grandson. “It is very important. Add a dash of our precious feni, our local liquor,” he confessed with a twinkle in his eyes.
Sofia's eyes widened. She was smart. The old man was speaking the truth. “This indeed is the missing piece,” she said to Michael. “Let us get into action. Now is not the time to get emotional.”
Michael looked at her. “You are right, Sofia.” He said to her.
“Thank you, Avo,” he shouted to his grandfather, as both rushed out of the door.
The feni was incorporated into the recipe. The Mumbai branch's bebinca became a sensation. Michael and his family were overjoyed. They decided to host a bebinca festival in Goa. The Festival attracted crowds of foodies from all over India. Sofia's fusion bebinca, with that touch of feni, stole the show and people’s hearts. As they celebrated their success, Michael realized the true magic of bebinca. It brought people together. He looked at Sofia, Leo, and Maya, knowing the legacy was in good hands.
Rita Chhablani, a well- known author has four books to her credit, The Joys of Yoga, Despite Odds...Tales of Choices, Cross Connection, a suspense thriller and her recently published one, Love is all Around. She has written lead articles for the Indian Express, been a columnist on yoga for the Sakal in Pune and while in the US, she contributed to international newspapers like The Chicago Tribune. Having worked for UNICEF, she champions the cause of education and volunteered in three schools for the less privileged. Sakal Times, Pune termed her as ‘Writer for a Cause.’
Banner image by Jana, downloaded from Unsplash.com