By no accounting this far south, can I claim any authority at all to say anything about a dish that originated in Bihar-Jharkhand-Eastern Uttar Pradesh. Not even the authenticity of using a chulha to prepare Chhena Poda Pitha in place of more convenient and common-these-days home ovens; litti chokha is a street food already only ever made on outdoor stoves and giant tavas, though perhaps less and less on bare lit cow dung fuel cakes which I didn’t have to use that day. Nor any real stake in the big debate over the signature Rajasthani Dal-Baati-Churma vs. Litti Chokha, both full-meal platters centered on beloved baked balls which bear exactly the sort of passing resemblance to get them confused and to get their respective fans into massive rows over which is what, from where, and the more special.

Being at some remove, however, is a good thing. Regional pride is wonderful and necessary but finding commonalities of expression across regionalisms is perhaps as wonderful, and maybe more necessary (for example, as with Chunchi Patra Pithas and Pootharekalu)–an exhortation to leave that safe corner and that “we do it this way” gastronomy (from the Greek: gastro+nomos, or culinary norms), and widen into parts unknown. Beneath the hazaar clichés about how “food connects us all” is the greater truth that it differentiates us even more, and if we want the former ideal to override the latter reality–well then, we’ve to reach out and create a new sort of commensality.

Litti Chokha is a path out to that end.

Littis are little ways to learn a few things about how Bihari love and identity can be concentrated in these little sattu-stuffed mustard-oil scented cow-dung-fire-baked smokey ghee-dipped “breads.” Their roots are old, some say going back to the famed Magadha empire; some say they were served with shorbas or soups at Mughal tables, or that they were popular as a survival food for soldiers and sepoys because these dry baked littis preserve well and are good “pocket food.” Their modern popularization owes in no small measure to the movements of Bihari migrant workers, who carried their fare with them–part of my own introduction to the dish via an obscure hawker in Mumbai–though Shrin Mehrotra makes the point that just how popular litti chokha became depended on the political and social culture of the city that received it. Mumbai, even for its large Bihari population had a prohibitive Shiv Sena culture; places like Bangalore were more liberal.

Then? Char an eggplant (or potato, or tomato), spice it with onion-chilli, give it the zing of lime juice and the pep of mustard oil, and there’s a chokha and a cheap, filling, nutritious meal on the go. What could be more ingenious? Trail mix and energy bars, step aside; litti trails for me instead.

There is, of course, a fine line between adopting and appropriating different cuisines. So it behooves each of us to learn, empathize, identify, extend outwards and find not just the “lost foods” but the lost parts of ourselves in all these different parts of India. I take litti chokha as a plea for a greater, more meaningful cross-regionalism.

For the record, the Rajasthani Dal-Baati-Churma is really no compare. Not better, not worse; just not comparable except in very superficial ways. Although baatis can, I suppose, be stuffed, they’re often not; they’re literally baked whole wheat balls. Churma is a kind of sweet nutty spiced crumble that adds texture and sweetness to an otherwise savory meal. Littis are, by contrast, always stuffed, usually with a sattu mixture (roasted black chana flour and spices), and served with a smoky roasted chokha. Leave aside the liberal use of ghee in serving littis and baatis, or the fact that little chokha and dal baati churma make complete meals unto themselves; leave aside the ease of baking little balls over, say, rolling parathas by the dozen so that these are both legendarily a soldier’s best pocket food–there is not much else in common. Litti chokha has also a more rustic, rural class history and retains this feel even on haute platters, in contrast to dal bati churma’s decidedly more elite (royal, military) origins and festive appearances.

What’s sattu exactly?

There are two major varieties of Indian chickpeas or chana (from the Sanskrit chanaka, चणक) or kadalai: desi and kabuli.

Desi chickpeas are smaller, yellower and with a thicker, darker seed coat than their kabuli counterparts.
Kabuli chickpeas are larger, white-to-cream-colored, and with a lighter, thinner seed coat than their desi counterparts.

Desi chana is what concerns us here and it can be used in several ways.

Hull the raw chana and split, and you have chana dal, kadalai paruppu [Tami], senaga pappu [Telugu] or bengal gram dal [used here to make Lord Krishna’s khichdi]
Grind the same hulled, raw, desi chana and that’s besan.
Soak whole (skin-on) desi chana in hot water and with salt, dry and roast it with the aid of sand in a mannner akin to making murmura or puffed rice, until the skin splits but the chana stays whole and that’s uppu kadalai [usually produced commercially and eaten on its own as a snack in Tamil Nadu].
Follow the same roasting process as above but wait until the chana pops and splits, then remove the skin, and that’s pottu kadalai [Tamil] or pappulu [Telugu], often used as an ingredient in chutneys or added to snacks and mixtures [pictured above].
Powder the roasted, whole desi chana and that is sattu–or, more specifically, chane ka sattu.

That specification about chane ka sattu matters because “sattu” as such can also refer to a mixed flour made from roasting and grinding any combination of several grains and pulses, including desi chana, jau (barley), bajra (pearl millet), maybe chivda (flaked rice), maybe also nuts like almonds or other. Formulae vary by region and preference. That becomes satua (in Uttar Pradesh) or chatua (in Odisha) or even what Tamilians call “sattu maavu” or protein-fibre-and nutrient-rich “strength-giving” flour (though it is more likely to use ragi than chana), mixed and cooked with milk and sweetened to taste.

These cross-regional consonances should not, however, obscure the fact that sattu has far greater significance in the eastern regions of the Indo-Gangetic plain, where it marks regional, rural and class identity, as also the start of the summer in mid-April with Satuaan or Mesh Sankranti, marked with a sattu-centric meal [Yanashree 2021]. The term “sattu” is said to originate with earlier treatments of barley to make saktu: writes Colleen Taylor Sen of Vedic Indian diets, “Ripened barley seeds were parched in fire and eaten with soma juice, fried in ghee, or ground into a gruel mixed with yoghurt, ghee, soma, water or milk. Barley seeds were also pulverized into a powder called saktu, the forerunner of sattu or chhattu, a dish still widely eaten by poor people in eastern India” (2015: 42, sic). Hence perhaps also the use of “sattu” to describe flour mixtures as well as specific flours that have become central to Bihari and eastern UP ways of eating, such as chane ka sattu. Hence also really the association of cheap, widely available sattu with nourishment for the impoverished in many parts of Bihar, or as rustic food for farm labor really in many ways not unlike the energy-giving body-cooling ragi koozh in the south.

Note that besan (made from raw desi chana) will need cooking before it’s ready for consumption. Sattu, by contrast, whether chane ka sattu or the “health drink” mix is already roasted and therefore needs no cooking at all. Chane ka sattu can be used to make littis, sattu parathas, cooling sattu sharbats sweetened with jaggery for the hottest summer months, and even a stand-alone sattu chokha. That last can be pretty much the same filling as goes into littis with chopped onions added or it can be made with the oils of a mango achaar, which give it distinctive flavors of both region and household.

At any rate, it goes without saying that besan cannot be used in place of sattu. Grind your own sattu from uppu kadalai if you must, but don’t use besan in its place. It’s just not the same thing.

Sources

Mehrotra, Shirin. 2020. “The Story of Sattu and How the So-called Peasant Foods Become Mainstreamed.” Whetstone Magazine, November 25.
Sen, Colleen Taylor. 2015. Feasts and Fasts: A History of Food in India. London: Reaktion Books Ltd.
Yashnashree. 2021. “Sattu and the Bihari Identity.” Goya Journal, November 21.

Litti Chokha

Sattu-and-spice-stuffed whole wheat balls, litti chokha is a rustic delight from Bihar and Eastern UP. It’s become popular of late thanks to the Bihari migrant workers who have carried the dish with them to other states, and it’s entered restaurant and other menus. But there’s really nothing like making these at home, on a wood-fired stove if you have one or even with cow dung cakes.

Print Recipe Pin Recipe

Ingredients

For the littis

2 cups wholewheat flour
2 tablespoons ghee plus more to brush the baking littis
Sufficient water to make a dough

For the litti stuffing

1 ½ cups sattu flour; do not substitute with besan
1 teaspoon red chilli powder
1 teaspoon cumin, roasted and crushed to a powder
1 tablespoon powdered jaggery
½ teaspoon minced ginger
½ teaspoon minced garlic
2 tablespoons chopped coriander
3-4 tablespoons mustard oil
1 tablespoon oil and masala from a mango pickle (optional)
Juice of 1 large lime
Salt, to taste

For the eggplant chokha

2 large eggplants
1 red bell pepper
2 ripe tomatoes
1 red onion, diced
2 green chillies, minced
3-4 garlic cloves, minced
½ teaspoon roasted and crushed cumin or jeera
3-4 tablespoons of mustard oil
Lime juice, to taste
Salt, to taste

Instructions

Prepare the dough

Place the whole wheat flour in a large mixing bowl and make a hole in the center. Add the ghee and mix in quickly with your fingers until well and fully incorporated.
Now add room-temperature water slowly and mix again with your fingers to make what is essentially a chapati dough—it should be yielding, but not overly soft or wet.
Knead this well for a few minutes and set aside, covered with a plate or tea cloth.

Prepare the littis

In a separate mixing bowl, add all the ingredients for the litti filling and mix well. Check for taste—it should be piquant and pungent with a touch of sweetness.
Adjust any of the ingredient quantities to suit your tastes.
The lime juice and mustard oil should be sufficient to bring the mixture together, but if they’re not, either add more mustard oil or sprinkle just barely enough water to pull the mass together. It needs to be “hydrated” enough to hold little balls of filling together.
Divide the litti filling into lime-sized balls. Set aside on a plate.
Now separate the dough into the same number of fillings that you have. Roll between your palms into dough balls and set aside, covered, while you roll and stuff the dough.
Prepare a rolling surface by sprinkling it with a little flour. Roll each dough ball into a round a bit larger than a jam jar bottle cap.
Place a litti filling in the middle, fold the dough over it, into a draw-string pouch like shape, and pinch off the excess dough at the top—set that aside for some other use.
Roll the covered litti well to seal and smoothen its surface, and set it aside, too, covered with a moist tea towel to keep it from drying out.
Repeat this process with all the other doughballs and litti fillings.
Now pre-heat an oven to 325F/160F and place a tray in the center.
Assemble all the littis in a baking tray and brush them liberally with ghee. Bake for about 20-25 minutes or until browning. Pause mid-way to turn the littis over so they brown somewhat evenly on all sides.
You may, if you wish, also take the littis out of the oven early and finish the cooking on a stovetop tava where you have finer control of cooking and browning, though you may need the help of a bit more brushed-on ghee.
Baking the littis on an outdoor chulha is of course the option that produces the most flavorful results, but it will take patience and much care, so plan for it if you wish.

Make the chokha

While the littis are baking, start roasting the eggplants, tomatoes and peppers, if using. The fastest way to do this is directly on a flame. Simply lay the eggplants on the burners or on top of chapati grills and turn them periodically until they are soft to the touch.
Do the same with the red bell pepper. You can use the tomatoes raw or roast them on the flame, too (it helps to skewer them first, to aid in turning them).
Allow the flame-charred vegetables to cool, and then remove the skins. Scoop the eggplant flesh into a large bowl, roughly chop the tomatoes and the pepper and add to the same bowl.
If you don’t have a gas burner, then simply cut the eggplants, peppers and tomatoes (if you are not using those fresh) in half and grease them lightly. Place them, cut sides down, on a baking tray and directly underneath the broiler at the top rack of your oven. Broil at 350F/180C until they are well-charred. Remove, cover with a tea towel and allow to cool before removing the skins of the tomatoes and pepper, and scooping out the eggplant flesh.
Add all other remaining chokha ingredients to the bowl and use a fork to mash and mix.
Adjust salt, lime, and chilli to taste.
Note that the same recipe can be used to make chokhas with potato (cook or roast the potatoes first and char them lightly), green bell peppers, and even squashes, though that is not traditional.

To serve

Serve hot littis with enough ghee to dip and the eggplant-pepper chokha on the side.