Gargi’s Cafe Kasauli

As we approached Aama’s house, tendrils of smoke rose like a welcoming embrace from the chimney, whispering of the warmth and comfort that awaited us within.

The old kitchen, where Aama presided with grace and wisdom, was a testament to the village’s rich heritage. Wooden floors, worn smooth by the passage of time, creaked gently beneath my feet, while stone walls and a roof of slate stones stood steadfast, sheltering us from the biting cold outside.

Aama, Gargi’s grandmother, sat regally by the fire, her deft hands expertly stuffing the Siddu with a sumptuous medley of walnuts, apricot kernels, and poppy seeds.

Aama glanced up at me, her eyes twinkling like stars in the night sky, as she extended a bronze plate towards me. Nestled in its center was a steaming Siddu, glistening with generous dollops of ghee, its aroma promising a gastronomic delight.

I took my first bite, my senses enveloped in a symphony of flavors. The dough was soft and fluffy, a cloud that cradled the exquisite filling within, which burst forth with an unparalleled richness of taste.

The delightful taste of Aama’s Siddu, coupled with the warmth of the village’s customs, etched a memory in my heart—one that would linger long after the last remnants of ghee had melted away.