My Boss, ChatGPT, and a Pabda Curry:

A small lesson in cooking, mentorship, and mustard fish

Anyone who has tasted pabda sorisher jhol knows its magic—the delicate fish, the sharp bite of mustard, and the unmistakable aroma of mustard oil that announces lunch long before the plate arrives.

Life-long Training

My former boss is now 81. I worked under him decades ago, but he believes I still need training. As soon as our occasional telecon reveals critical gaps in my knowledge and skill, he readily becomes the Tutor, Mentor, and Wise Counsellor. Now that both of us are superannuated, we exchange notes mostly about cooking—his passion and my hobby.

Boss was a forced bachelor in Indore, since his wife—a senior civil servant—was then posted in Delhi.

He would often fume, “My cook is hopeless. He has the amazing gift of ruining even the best of ingredients, and the copious quantities of oil he uses make me suspect that he may have been given supari to hasten my end. A senior officer with zero tolerance for corruption has many enemies, you know!

“So, I’ve demoted him to kitchen-help—to chop vegetables and clean up after my cooking. Now I cook all my meals. You won’t believe how quickly I can rustle up a meal. There is no magic, just organisation and streamlined process.

“Cooking is no mean job. It’s a science—to supply nutrition with taste.”

Whenever he bought chicken, he got separate cuts for curry and starters, and back home made neat little packets to be stored in the deep freezer.

“I know for sure how many curries my stock would make. Now that you’re here for afternoon tea on a Sunday, my cook will take out two packets of marinated chicken, deep-fry them in oil, and serve in a jiffy steaming starters with chilli sauce. He’d be clueless without intensive training!”

His cooking lessons have stayed with me. They resurfaced recently when I tried my hand at pabda sorisher jhol.

Pabda Sorisher Jhol

Pabda is a delicate freshwater catfish much loved in eastern India. Bengalis prize it for its soft flesh and almost boneless texture, while Odias enjoy it in lighter mustard gravies. Like the more famous hilsa, pabda demands respect in the kitchen—overcook it and the fish disintegrates; cook it right and it becomes poetry on a plate.

I have made pabda curry thrice, the first time only a few months ago. Each time I followed a YouTube video (in Bengali!). The maiden attempt was a hit, the second less so, and the third a complete flop. Why didn’t I get better with experience? Because I had followed significantly different recipes.

Recently, I had a chat with my former boss.

Me: We still remember your delicious pabda sorisher jhol. May I request your recipe, please?

Boss: Very simple.

The way I prefer it is to use 50:50 yellow mustard and black mustard seeds.

Grind it with some water, green chillies and a little salt to make a thick paste, but not too thick.

I prefer not to fry the fish, as cooking it directly in the gravy gives it a better taste.

Coat the dressed fish with a little haldi and salt and a few drops of mustard oil.

Heat mustard oil and add half a teaspoon of kalaunji (nigella seeds). About four seconds after adding the kalaunji, add the mustard paste. Cook the paste for a few seconds and add water to make the gravy the way you prefer it—a little thick, not watery.

As soon as the gravy starts to boil add the fish and cook over a low flame for five to six minutes. Add salt and whole green chillies to taste. Just before switching off the flame add one or two teaspoons of raw mustard oil.

Serve with hot rice.

If you like you may add the green chillies and salt while making the mustard paste.

Me: That’s indeed simple. Thanks. I’ll follow your recipe henceforth. I guess ilish or even rohu can be cooked the same way.

Boss: Yes, you can use the same method for ilish and tangra, but for rohu fry the fish after coating it with salt and haldi as it takes longer to cook.

An easy way to avoid frying the mustard sauce (which is tricky—a little excess heat makes it bitter) is to marinate the fish in the sauce plus some mustard oil for about twenty minutes and microwave it for four to five minutes. A little longer for rohu.

I forgot to mention that adding some grated coconut while making the mustard paste enhances the taste considerably.

Me: Thanks. I note that you don’t use posta (poppy seeds), jeera (cumin seed), or ginger.

Boss: Jeera and ginger—no; posta sometimes. It reduces the sharpness of the mustard. Some people don’t like it very sharp (jhanjh).

Thanks, Boss, for your affection and undiminished zeal to make me a better chef—and a better person.

Listening to him explain the recipe step by step, I was reminded that good cooking, like good administration, depends on discipline, patience, and attention to detail. Some habits never leave a good teacher.

Out of curiosity, I asked ChatGPT for the recipe. Here is what the AI chef suggested.

Pabda Sorisher Jhol (Mustard Pabda Curry)

A classic Bengali preparation where the delicate pabda fish is cooked in a tangy mustard gravy.

Zoological name: Ompok pabda
Family: Siluridae (Asian sheatfishes)

Ingredients

500 g pabda fish (cleaned)
2 tbsp mustard paste (yellow/black mustard soaked and ground)
2 green chillies (slit)
½ tsp turmeric powder
½ tsp red chilli powder (optional)
3–4 tbsp mustard oil
Salt to taste
½ tsp nigella seeds (kalonji/kalo jeere)
1 cup warm water

Preparation

1. Marinate fish: Rub the fish lightly with salt and turmeric; rest 10 minutes.

2. Light fry: Heat mustard oil until smoking lightly. Fry the fish very gently for about 30–40 seconds per side. Remove carefully (pabda is fragile).

3. Temper: In the same oil add nigella seeds and slit green chillies.

4. Add mustard paste: Mix mustard paste with a little water and turmeric; add to pan. Cook briefly (do not overcook mustard or it turns bitter).

5. Make gravy: Add warm water and salt; bring to a simmer.

6. Cook fish: Slide in the fish pieces and simmer 4–5 minutes.

7. Finish: Drizzle a few drops of raw mustard oil and serve hot.

Best served with steamed rice.

MasterChef!?

The AI chef sounded confident and methodical. Yet I could almost hear my Boss clearing his throat and saying, “All very well—but taste matters more than algorithms!”

So, who’s the real MasterChef—my Boss or ChatGPT?

You’re free to decide if you relish fish and enjoy cooking. If you’re a Bengali or an Odia, that would be an additional qualification.

***

Link for my previous blog on a Nobel laureate who is also a passionate chef: http://www.pkdash.in/2025/05/letter-to-nobel-laureate.html

***

Prasanna Dash