"Make It Your Own": The Self-Belief Simmering in Noorjahan Bose’s Shemai Recipe

A Recipe of Choices

The origins of shemai trace to Bengal’s nawabs, or provincial governors, in the 16th to 18th century, but Bose’s version presents itself as a manifesto of adaptability. I toast the vermicelli. Can I swap in low-fat milk? Cardamom or cinnamon? Pistachios or almonds? All are fine, she says.

The flexibility unsettles me. In Pakistan and India, where the dessert seviyan, meaning “vermicelli” in Urdu, is served milky, its respective variants, qawami seviyan or meethi seviyan, or “sweet vermicelli,” is made dry. Meanwhile in Afghanistan, sheer khurma, Persian for “milk date,” dazzles with dates and nuts. How could something so cherished—a Mughal-era delicacy, an Eid-morning tradition with variations across South Asia—have no fixed formula?

“Make it your own,” Bose assures me. “If you want it very sweet, add some sugar, and if you prefer cinnamon to cardamom, go ahead and throw a cinnamon stick into the milk. The main thing is to make it what you want it to be.”

Making the Dessert

Step One: Prep

I begin by crushing the 200 grams of shemai noodles inside their plastic bag, pressing down until the brittle strands fracture into rough 1-inch pieces—just as Bose recommends—to avoid messy chopping.

Step Two: Toasting

The irregular fragments spill into my largest pan (she prefers a steel pot; I don’t own a suitable one). At medium heat, the noodles refuse to color, and my stirring grows anxious until I recall Bose’s pragmatism. After I increase the heat, the noodles begin to turn from yellow to a rich caramel color in less than a minute.

Step Three: Flavor

I pour in the 2 liters of cold milk—whole milk would make it creamier, but I choose low fat for lightness. The liquid erupts in furious bubbles as it hits the scorching pan.

Once the boiling subsides, I stir in a cup of sugar and spoonful of cardamom pods. Bose recommends using as much or as little cardamom as you like, noting that cinnamon also works. I nearly add both but hesitate, sticking to tradition this time.   

Five minutes of simmering leaves the vermicelli tender but still firm—how I prefer it.

Step Four: Finishing Touches

I fold in a 1/3 cup of golden raisins (though regular would do) and a handful of pistachios I’ve chopped roughly. Remembering Bose’s caution that one is certain to mistake a green cardamom pod for a green nut, I fish out the spent spice before ladling some shemai into a bowl.

Against convention, I skip the fridge and eat it warm, garnished with extra nuts. The first bite is exactly what Bose promised: exactly right for me. After all, I’ve made it my own.