My Grandmother's Hearty Chicken Stew

November is tiptoeing in. The evenings have begun to carry that faint, smoky chill that smells of burnt leaves and faraway woodfires. The laundry takes longer to dry. A stray cat has started following me around every time I step into the yard. Looks like she’s figured out where the warmest corners of the house are.

They say this winter is going to be colder than usual. People are already getting dreamy-eyed about it. “Oh, I love winters,” they say, and I can’t help but think what they actually love is warmth—the feeling of snuggling under a heavy blanket, hands curled around a steaming cup of tea, warm socks on tiled floors, afternoon naps taken on cots in the sun. No one really likes the cold; we like feeling warm in it. 

Warmth, in my grandmother's home, always looked like a big pot of wholesome chicken stew bubbling away on the stove. The whole house would fill up with that peppery aroma and pent-up anticipation.

This wasn’t the dainty kind of stew you find in glossy magazines, served in fragile white bowls with parsley arranged like it’s sitting for a portrait. No, my grandmother’s stew was rustic and forgiving, best suited for children with perpetually runny noses. It was made in an old pressure cooker that had seen better decades, stirred with a wooden spoon whose handle had darkened from years of being held by love-worn hands.

Ingredients:

• About half a kilo of chicken, preferably with bones (because flavour doesn’t live in the boneless)
• 1 medium onion (pyaaz)
• 2 carrots (gajar)
• 1 potato (aloo)
• 3-4 scallions (hara pyaaz)
• 4-5 french beans 
• 3-4 baby corn
• Handful of green peas (matar)
• 8-10 garlic cloves (lehsun)
• 1 inch ginger (adrak)
• 1 stick of cinnamon (dalchini)
• 1 bay leaf (tejpatta)
• 3 green cardamom (chhoti elaichi)
• 4-5 cloves (long)
• 1 tsp whole black peppercorns (sabut kalimirch)
• ½ tsp brown sugar (chini)
• 
  1-2 tsp cooking oil (tel)
• Salt to taste (namak)

For Garnish:

• 1 tbsp butter (makkhan)
• Black pepper powder (kalimirch)
• Scallion greens 

Instructions:

1. Begin by chopping the French beans, potatoes, and baby corn into honest, bite-sized pieces — nothing too delicate, just enough to fit comfortably on a spoon.
   
   
2. Finely chop the onions and garlic. Slice the ginger lengthwise into thin, 2 mm strips, enough to announce itself in the stew but not take over.
   
   
3. Slit the scallions lengthwise and set aside the greens for garnish.
   
   
4. Heat oil in a pressure cooker. Once warm, add the whole spices and the whites of the scallions.
   
   
5. Let them sizzle and char ever so slightly. Then, lower the flame, add the chopped onions, and sauté until they turn soft and translucent.
   
   
6. Stir in the chopped vegetables, sprinkle some salt, and let them mingle in the pot for a couple of minutes.
   
   
   
7. Add the chicken and sear until it loses its pink hesitance and takes on a confident whitish hue. Add a little more salt at this point. 
   
   
8. Toss in the peas and give everything a good mix.
   
   
9. Pour in enough water to let everything swim comfortably, not drown. Add the brown sugar and give it one last stir.
   
   
10. Cover the cooker and let it whistle thrice on a low flame.
    
    
11. Once the pressure settles, open the lid carefully, and take in that glorious aroma. Ladle the stew generously into bowls and finish with a pat of butter, a sprinkle of black pepper, and scallion greens.
    
    
    
    
    
12. Serve hot, preferably with toast or with the kind of bread that’s slightly burnt at the edges.

Suggestions:

• If you don’t have baby corn, swap it for sweet corn. To be honest, my grandmother used neither, but both corn and scallions are my small, modern tribute to her old recipe. Mushrooms also fit right in if you like a more earthy depth. 
  
  
• You can grate the ginger instead of slicing it. I personally prefer those thin strips floating in the broth.
  
  
• Coriander works beautifully too. Use the leaves for garnish, or toss in a spoon of coriander paste (or even the cleaned roots) while cooking for a richer, umami flavour.
  
  
  
• If you like your stew on the thicker, creamier side, add a cornflour slurry near the end, or stir in some cream or coconut milk. Personally, I just mash the potatoes slightly before serving — it thickens the stew without stealing its rustic soul.
  
  
• You can even skip the oil altogether by cooking the vegetables after the chicken and letting them stew in the chicken’s own fat.
  
  
• And whatever you do, do not skip the cinnamon stick or the brown sugar. They play a huge role in bringing out the rest of the flavours.

Finally you have it: a stew that can make even the gloomiest winter day forgive itself.

When I make it now, I can almost hear my grandmother from the kitchen doorway, saying, “Add a little more pepper; you’ll thank me when the cold hits your bones.” And she was right. Every time I sit with a bowl of that stew, I feel less like someone trying to escape the cold and more like someone who’s made peace with it.