What’s in my Dabba? with Sohini Banerjee

No Bombay kitchen is complete without its Masala Dabba, a stainless-steel box, worn and battered, passed down through the generations. Each is as unique as its owner, full of most-favoured spices and many-varied stories within. In our 'What's In My Dabba?' series, we get a glimpse into some of our friends' kitchens, as they share the judicious spicing of their favourite dishes, along with hosting rituals, tips and stories. Delight awaits.

In this instalment, we sit down with Sohini Banerjee, chef and founder of Smoke and Lime, beloved North London supper club. Here, she reflects on her mother's boundless kitchen creativity and gives best advice on layering spices for maximum delectation. Plus, a treasured recipe for mustard-warmed sea bass – everyday eating, made glorious.

➻ What’s in your Masala Dabba?

Dried red chillies, nigella seeds, cumin seeds, bay leaves and cinnamon.

➻ Which spices are you reaching for most often while cooking, and why?

Turmeric, nigella seeds and dried red chillies. Those were the only staple spices in both my grandmothers' kitchens, and to me they represent the purest expression of Bengali home cooking. Turmeric goes into almost everything, not as an afterthought but as a foundation. In the recipe I'm sharing today, it colours the oil and seasons the fish before it even hits the pan, quietly working away in the background. Nigella seeds bring that slightly bitter, faintly oniony pop that is so specific to Bengali food, and dried red chillies give a lovely smoky heat that fresh chillies simply can't replicate. Between the three of them, you already have the bones of most Bengali home cooking.

➻ What are some of your earliest memories of cooking?

My earliest memories of cooking are really memories of watching. Standing close enough to feel the heat of the pan, waiting for something to be handed to me, a spoon to stir with, a piece of something to taste. My grandmother's kitchen in Kolkata was small and full of noise, and I just wanted to be in it. Everything was done by eye, by smell, by the sound the nigella seeds made when they hit hot oil. I think that's where I learned that cooking is a sensory thing before it's a technical one. You have to be present and keep your senses open.

Back home in the northwest of the UK, my mother cooked every single day. Proper Bengali meals, despite working full time, despite being far from family, despite the fact that half of the ingredients required creative substitution. Watching her adapt, improvise and never compromise on the result taught me more about cooking than any formal training ever could.

➻ What’s on the menu for us today, and why have you chosen this dish?

I'm cooking Shorshe Sea Bass – fish in a mustard and green chilli sauce. I chose this dish because it holds everything I love about Bengali home food in one pan. It's comforting without being heavy. It's beautiful without being fussy.

In Kolkata homes, this would be made with river fish, and mustard paste ground fresh that morning. It would be eaten on an ordinary weekday because the fish was good and the mustard was ready. My mother made her version with supermarket Dijon and English mustard, and it was extraordinary. Sometimes there would be yoghurt added to the paste, and other times just water. I also remember that she sometimes added a touch of Thai shrimp paste to take the flavour to another level. That kind of resourcefulness, that ability to keep the soul of a dish intact while adapting everything around it, that's Bengali cooking to me.

➻ What are your top tips for cooking with spices?

Understand the difference between whole and powdered spices and how to best release their individual flavours. They behave completely differently and demand different things from you. Whole spices need fat and heat to open up. Powdered spices need to be treated with more care. If you use too much heat or don't layer with a paste, they can turn bitter.

I also think people underestimate the importance of sequencing – which spice goes in first and why. What you're building towards with each addition. I always saw my mother go in first with a ginger or onion paste, before adding the powdered spices. She didn't just mix everything together.

I learned this the way most Bengali cooks learn it, by osmosis, by being in the kitchen and paying attention. But I've also spent years cooking professionally, and that gave me the language to understand what I already knew instinctively.

➻ How are you welcoming guests to the table?

I want people to feel immediately at ease when they walk in, like they've arrived somewhere that was prepared specially for them but also has the ease of home. Guests take their shoes off. Music is already playing. Cooking smells waft through the air. I think arrival is everything – the first thirty seconds in a space tell you whether you are welcome or whether you are being processed, and I want every person who comes to my table to feel the former. I want guests to let their guard down and feel like they already know me.

➻ Can you tell us of a ritual that you swear by when hosting friends and family?

Lighting incense and making sure there is always plenty of rice. For me, incense is non-negotiable. It changes the energy of a space in a way I can't fully explain but absolutely believe in. And the rice is practical as much as it is cultural. In a Bengali home, rice means abundance. It is the thing that says there is enough, there is more than enough, please eat. Running out of rice is not something I am willing to risk, and putting guests into a gentle food coma is a necessity!