Amidst the vibrant chaos of Bengal, where the constant hum of traffic mingles with the soulful notes of Rabindra Sangeet drifting from an old radio, there exists a snack that transcends mere sustenance. Jhalmuri isn’t just food—it’s a living testament to Bengal’s spirit, a rhythmic echo of its streets, and a beloved tradition passed down through generations. With every bite, it carries a story of spice, nostalgia, and a deep, unspoken connection to the heart of the culture.
In its simplicity, Jhalmuri evokes a flood of memories, stirring the senses with each handful. It’s more than just a snack—it is a symphony of sweet, tangy, and spicy notes, with the bold kick of raw mustard oil that lingers long after the first bite. Jhalmuri isn’t just a street food; it’s a profound emotion, a cherished tradition, and, for many, a portal back to the carefree days of childhood, wrapped in the warmth of familiar flavors.
In the winding lanes of Kolkata, where colonial buildings stand as silent witnesses to time, and on every bustling railway platform, a familiar sound fills the air—the rhythmic rattle of a steel canister, the satisfying crunch of fresh vegetables mingling with puffed rice, and the intoxicating scent of mustard oil that awakens the senses. This is Jhalmuri—a humble yet fiery street snack, bursting with tang and spice, which carries within it the heartbeat and emotions of millions, woven into each bite.
For many, it’s simply a snack. But for Bengalis, it’s something far more profound. It’s nostalgia wrapped in a humble cone of newspaper called thonga Jhalmuri, a daily ritual, a source of comfort, a craving that never fades, and a bond that ties them to their roots. And now, this beloved treat is crossing borders, capturing hearts around the globe, one bold, spicy scoop at a time.
Jhalmuri is a beloved street food from the heart of West Bengal, India. It’s the perfect snack—light, wholesome, and effortlessly quick to prepare, yet packed with a symphony of flavors—spicy, tangy, crispy, crunchy, and full of life. To a Bengali, Jhalmuri is just as iconic as Bhel Puri is to a Mumbaikar. However, the essence is the same: it’s the unique seasonings and bold spices that give Jhalmuri its unmistakable character. It offers more than just an explosion of flavor and holds a story within every crunchy and moreish bite.
THE JHALMURI SPECTACLE AND THE RAILWAY HAWKERS
Jhalmuri’s fame stretches far beyond the streets of Kolkata or even India—it’s a global sensation. To truly understand its international charm, one cannot overlook the story of Angus Denoon. Yes, Jhalmuri went global! Denoon has taken this humble street snack to corners of the world you’d never imagine, sharing its fiery flavor and emotional pull.
Picture a bustling railway platform in Bengal, where the jhalmuri vendor stands as an iconic figure. His cart, a large drum of muri (puffed rice), hangs from his neck, surrounded by vibrant containers of spices and condiments—each one waiting to be unleashed in a burst of color and flavor. The lids are tied with strings, and each time he opens one, it releases a satisfying sound that draws curious eyes.
What makes the railway jhalmuri stand out isn’t just the food—it’s the show. Amid a crowded train compartment, the vendor dances through his craft, adding ingredients with a flourish, then pouring mustard oil from above like a true artist. The clinking of the spices and the rhythmic mix of ingredients create a symphony of sounds, making each moment more exciting than the last. The grand finale is the serving, often with a generous slice of coconut added as the perfect garnish, like a final brushstroke on a masterpiece.
But the jhalmuri at the railway station is more than just food; it’s a celebration of Bengali culture. It’s not just a snack; it’s a source of livelihood, a performance, a tradition passed through generations. The entire process, from preparation to serving, invites you to experience the soul of Bengal in its most valid form.
“In Bengal, food is rarely just sustenance—it is poetry, emotion, and legacy. And Jhalmuri fits perfectly into this cultural fabric”
A SYMPHONY OF FLAVORS: SWEET, TANGY, SPICY, AND THAT MUSTARD ZING
From Kolkata to Cooch Behar, from railway platforms to pandal-lined streets during Durga Puja, the sound of the Jhalmuri vendor shaking his metal canister and the aroma of freshly chopped coriander mixed with mustard oil is an inseparable part of Bengal’s identity. As this humble concoction travels across oceans and borders, it is steadily winning hearts and taste buds worldwide.
It’s hard to define the exact appeal of Jhalmuri because it is an experience as much as a snack. It starts with muri or puffed rice—light as air yet strong enough to carry flavor. Add a handful of finely chopped onions, tomatoes, and green chilies, toss in some boiled potatoes, a dash of lemon juice, roasted peanuts, sprinkles of bhujia (fried lentil crisps), a secret masala mix, and—above all—a generous drizzle of kaacha shorsher tel, or raw mustard oil.
This oil is the soul of Jhalmuri. Its pungency is its power, its warmth is its comfort, and its aroma is an invitation. The result? A snack that is spicy, zingy, slightly sweet, tangy, and unforgivingly addictive. No two servings are exactly alike, yet they are all unmistakably Jhalmuri.
A SNACK ETCHED IN MEMORY: JHALMURI AS AN EMOTION
In Bengal, food is rarely just sustenance—it is poetry, emotion, and legacy. And Jhalmuri fits perfectly into this cultural fabric.
A Bengali schoolkid will remember the Jhalmuri wallah outside the school gate—the man with the red scarf and a steel canister, shouting “Jhalmuri! Jhalmuri!” with a call so melodic it could be a lullaby. For college students, it is the default companion during heated political debates or stolen glances between lovers on campus lawns. Office-goers lean on it as their 5 PM pick-me-up. And during Durga Puja, no pandal hopping is complete without a packet of it.
Jhalmuri isn’t just a snack. It’s the crunch of carefree childhood, the spice of youth, the warmth of home. It’s a cultural compass that points to the heart of Bengal.
A FLAVORFUL EXPLOSION: SWEET, TANGY, SPICY, AND UNAPOLOGETICALLY MUSTARDY
What makes Jhalmuri unforgettable is its remarkable ability to create an orchestra of flavors in one single bite. The primary ingredient, muri or puffed rice, is airy and neutral, a perfect canvas for the tangy lemon juice, sweet bits of chopped mango or date, spicy green chillies, crunchy peanuts, and the fragrant punch of kaacha shorsher tel (raw mustard oil).
It’s that mustard oil—fiery, aromatic, deeply Bengali—that sets Jhalmuri apart from similar snacks like Bhel Puri. While Bhel is mild and often laden with tamarind chutney and sev, Jhalmuri is raw, bold, and direct. It doesn’t whisper; it sings loudly and with gusto.
Each vendor, affectionately called “Muriwala,” has their secret masala mix—a closely guarded blend of salt, chilli powder, black salt, and sometimes a dash of aamchur. The mix is tossed with nimble fingers in a steel pot that doubles as a work of art. Watching a Muriwala prepare Jhalmuri is as much a delight as tasting it.
THE ALLURE ON EVERY STREET: BENGAL’S BEATING SNACK HEART
Walk through College Street in Kolkata, and you’ll find intellectuals munching on Jhalmuri between pages of Tagore and Marx. Head to Gariahat, and street vendors will artfully whip up a display for homemakers bargaining for sarees. On Howrah Station’s platforms, it serves as a quick sustenance for tired travelers, and in Digha’s beach lanes, it’s the perfect seaside indulgence.
Each locality in Bengal has its variation. Some prefer it drier and saltier, while others like it with a dash of tamarind, and still others insist on a boiled egg topping. In districts like Nadia and Murshidabad, you’ll find versions that include chopped coconut, while in North Bengal, mustard paste sometimes replaces oil.
There is no correct recipe—just deeply personal renditions that reflect the mood of the place and the memories of the people.
JHALMURI: AN EMOTIONAL SNACK WITH DEEP ROOTS
For most Bengalis, Jhalmuri is more than a mid-day snack; it is an emotion woven into the fabric of daily life. Its simplicity and ubiquity make it a favorite across generations. Children rush to the local vendor after school, and rupees are clutched tightly in their palms. Couples in love nibble from a single paper cone, exchanging stories as they walk beside the Hooghly. The very act of eating Jhalmuri is intimate. It is scooped out with fingers, licked off palms, savored slowly or devoured hurriedly. And in each instance, it comforts, revives, and reminds one of home.
The name itself is rooted in Bengali etymology, where “Jhal” means spicy and “Muri” means puffed rice. The name is as direct and unpretentious as the snack itself.
A COLONIAL PAST: HOW BIHAR GAVE BENGAL ITS FAVORITE SNACK
Though Jhalmuri is now synonymous with Bengal, its journey began with migration. During the British Raj, as railways, jute mills, and tea plantations expanded, waves of migrant workers from Bihar came to West Bengal. They brought with them their culinary habits, including a fondness for spiced puffed rice.
These early versions were simpler, often just marinated with salt and mustard oil. However, as they merged with Bengali tastes—rich in flavour and drama—ingredients such as chillies, onions, and potatoes were incorporated. Over time, this fusion gave birth to what we now recognize as Jhalmuri.
Thus, Jhalmuri became an edible testament to cross-cultural exchange—an immigrant dish transformed into a local icon.
THE DIVINE ORIGIN OF PUFFED RICE IN INDIAN LORE
In the heart of a tranquil Indian village, surrounded by swaying palms and the lull of cowbells, a culinary marvel was born—not in the kitchens of kings but in the open courtyards of sages and seekers. Long before puffed rice became a staple of street snacks and festival offerings, it was woven into the spiritual and cultural fabric of India through folklore, divinity, and innovation. Known across the subcontinent as “murmura,” this unassuming grain carries within its lightness a weight of history and emotion.
Legend tells of an ancient sage who roamed the forests in search of truth, renouncing all worldly pleasures along the way in his quest for enlightenment. One summer, weakened by hunger and heat, he meditated under a peepal tree, praying for guidance. The gods, moved by his devotion, offered him a sacred grain—rice—and a celestial technique. “Expose it to the sun,” they whispered, “and you shall find joy in simplicity.”
The sage, with nothing but time and faith, spread a handful of rice under the blazing sun. Day after day, the grains absorbed the monsoon’s memory and the sun’s fury, transforming slowly into light, airy pearls. What emerged was more than just food—it was sustenance without fire, abundance from the ordinary, and a metaphor for spiritual expansion. With every puffed grain, the sage felt lighter, too, his thoughts clearer. Thus, puffed rice was born as a gift from the divine, a food of enlightenment and grace. But while mythology gives it soul, history shows its structure.
In historical terms, puffed rice’s roots are just as fascinating. Historic Indian texts, such as the Mahabharata and the Charaka Samhita, mention rice as a ritual grain, often roasted or popped during religious ceremonies. Rural India has, for centuries, relied on puffed rice for its lightness, affordability, and versatility. Whether sweetened with jaggery during festivals or tossed with spices in street-side mixes like Jhalmuri and Bhel, murmura has become a canvas for flavour and storytelling.
Archaeological records suggest early forms of puffed rice were developed through sand-roasting techniques in the Indus Valley, using heated pebbles or sand to create puffed textures. This technique later evolved and spread through South and East Asia, becoming embedded in countries such as Thailand (in Khao Tan), China, and Japan (in rice crackers).
In the 20th century, this traditional Indian method inspired Western innovations. At the 1904 St. Louis World Fair, American scientist Alexander Anderson demonstrated puffed rice as “food shot from guns,” kickstarting the global breakfast cereal industry. But in India, murmura remained a symbol of simplicity, cultural continuity, and everyday comfort.
Today, puffed rice connects continents and cultures. But in every handful, you can still taste the essence of that village—sun-drenched courtyards, whispered blessings, and the magic of turning the ordinary into the divine. Because sometimes, the lightest foods carry the heaviest stories.
TRADITIONAL VARIATIONS OF PUFFED RICE ACROSS REGIONS: A GLOBAL MOSAIC OF CRUNCH AND CULTURE
In the lively streets of East Asia, puffed rice emerges not only as a snack but as a cultural phenomenon. In China, it is often sold as mixiang in bustling street markets. In Taiwan, it becomes bí-phang, while in Korea, it transforms into ppeong twigi, and in Japan, it is known as pon gashi. What binds these variants is not just their texture but the theatricality of their creation. Hawkers wield integrated pushcarts equipped with rotating pressure chambers over open flames. As pressure builds and is suddenly released, a thunderous boom echoes through the streets—an advertisement as much as a spectacle, signaling to all that the magic of puffed rice is in the making.
In China’s Zhejiang Province, puffed rice traces its heritage to the 11th century, during the Song Dynasty. As recorded by Fan Chengda, it was once integral to Spring Festival rituals, cooked in wood-fired vessels known as fǔ. Today, the tradition continues in Shanghai, where vendors still craft bào chǎo mǐ huā lou—rice puffed in oil and sugar into fragrant street treats.
In Japan, puffed rice has become an art. Known as kaminari-okoshi, or thunder cakes, this snack connects to luck and prosperity—the word okoshi also means to establish. Originating outside Sensō-ji Temple in Asakusa, Tokyo, during the Edo period, it is made by deep-frying sun-dried rice, blending it with syrup, nuts, and sesame, then pressing and cutting it into squares. Traditional okoshi boxes often feature Raijin, the thunder god. Other puffed rice forms include ninjin, named for its carrot-shaped packaging, and genmaicha, a comforting tea blending green tea and roasted puffed rice.
In Korea, puffed rice, also known as twibap, plays both culinary and ceremonial roles. It features in yeot-gangjeong and coats crispy gangjeong desserts. In tea culture, hyeonmi-nokcha, or brown rice green tea, combines roasted puffed rice with green tea, offering a nutty and calming brew.
Taiwan’s version, pōng-bí-phang, carries nostalgia from the 1950s and ’60s. Mobile vendors roamed neighborhoods, puffing rice on the spot, their booming machines drawing children with sound and smell. In modern-day Keelung, traditional shops have reimagined puffed rice, now available in flavours such as coffee, sakura shrimp, seafood, and cranberry, beautifully packaged and cherished as wedding souvenirs.
In the Philippines, puffed rice, known as ampaw, is made from leftover rice, sun-dried, fried, and coated in a glaze of muscovado sugar, butter, and calamansi juice. Once set, it is moulded into shapes—such as blocks or spheres—offering both sweetness and crunch.
Thailand reveres krayasaat, a popped rice delicacy rooted in Buddhist Saat festivals. Roasted like popcorn and mixed with palm sugar, coconut milk, sesame, and khao mao, it’s a celebration of flavor and faith.
Among the Iban people of Malaysia, rendai—parched glutinous rice—is toasted without oil until it pops. Served during the sacred Miring ceremony, it symbolizes blessings, health, and protection.
In Terengganu, Malaysia, bepang pulut is crafted from sun-dried glutinous rice and palm sugar and given to wedding guests as a token of goodwill. Unlike standard bepang with peanuts, this version retains its rice heart.
In Nepal, puffed rice goes by the name bhuja—a beloved snack enjoyed straight or transformed into dishes. The same name often refers to the rice itself, underscoring its everyday prominence.
In India, puffed rice takes on dozens of identities—murmura, mamra, mudhi, pori, mandakki, borugulu, and many more—each tailored to the tongue of its region. From Rayalaseema’s morning uggani and bajji to Bengal’s telebhaja pairings, its presence is as familiar as it is comforting.
The traditional method of making puffed rice across India is deeply rooted in hot salt frying. Here, parboiled rice is tossed into pans of heated salt, where it bursts into airy grains within seconds. This ancient process has survived for centuries, offering speed, efficiency, and economy.
In Gujarati cuisine, it’s called mamra and appears in both savory snacks and sweetened forms like jaggery-mamra balls. In Tamil Nadu and Kerala, puffed rice, also known as pori, holds significant religious significance. During Sabarimala pilgrimages, devotees carry pori and jaggery to offer to Lord Ayyappan. Ancient Tamil texts, such as the Tiruppukal, refer to pori as a divine offering to Ganesha.
In Telangana, children enjoy puffed rice balls made with bellam pakam, a type of jaggery syrup. In Karnataka, it stars in churumuri, a vibrant mix of carrots, tomatoes, and coriander, perfect for twilight snacking.
Under India’s Make in India initiative, mudhi from Odisha was selected among 12 regional dishes to be globally promoted, honoring its cultural and culinary legacy.
In Mithila and Bengal, puffed rice is a companion to kachari, fried fish, or mutton curry, while jhalmuri and murhi-bhuja remain beloved street staples. In Madhya Pradesh, it’s called Parmal, and it’s typically eaten with sev or transformed into sweets, such as laai.
Across the border in Bangladesh, muri is the heartbeat of snacking. Jhalmuri vendors, often dressed in colorful attire and jingling anklets, still roam Old Dhaka, calling out to residents. At the same time, the same time-tested methods—sand roasting and sun drying—produce a crunchy grain used in both savoury blends and sweets, such as murir moa and jaggery-laced puffed rice balls.
Even far afield, in 1960s Czechoslovakia, the state-run firm Vitana pioneered expanded rice snacks, branded as burizony or arizonky. Their nostalgic presence continues today in towns like Pardubice and Sereď, a testament to the enduring charm of puffed rice.
From sacred temples and bustling bazaars to factory belts and street carts, puffed rice whispers the shared story of civilizations. Each version, each bite, holds history, ritual, reinvention—and the gentle reminder that even the humblest grain can connect the world through warmth, crunch, and memory.
BRITISH CHEF ANGUS DENOON BRINGS JHALMURI TO LONDON’S STREETS
For nearly a decade, British chef Angus Denoon has been introducing Londoners to the fiery delight of Jhalmuri, a snack he first encountered on the lively streets of Kolkata. His food van, Everybody Loves Jhalmuri Express, has quickly won over a diverse crowd in London, surprising Denoon with how easily the city has embraced this vibrant, spicy puffed rice.
Denoon describes Jhalmuri with great affection, capturing its essence perfectly: “Fresh and alive, bursting with flavors, textures, and layers of sensory delight. It’s light on the stomach yet deeply satisfying, accessible to all, and a visual and aromatic treat. Each serving is crafted with care, offering a small piece of personal theatre that you eat.”
Interestingly, food writer and historian Pritha Sen traces the roots of Jhalmuri’s rise to World War II, when Kolkata, then the capital of the British Raj, became a central hub for military operations. Sen explains, “As Kolkata (then Calcutta) became pivotal during the war, there was an influx of labor from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. Recognizing the business potential, they began selling the beloved Jhalmuri to British soldiers, American GIs, and Bengali babus, turning it into the street snack we know today.”
Through Denoon’s journey and the snack’s rich historical roots, Jhalmuri has evolved from a humble Kolkata street food to an international favorite, with a story that stretches across time, culture, and continents.
THE POPULARITY BATTLE: JHALMURI VS BHEL PURI
Across India, puffed rice-based snacks exist in various forms. Maharashtra has Bhel Puri, Odisha has Mudhi Mansa, and Karnataka has Churmuri. But Jhalmuri stands out for its rawness and layered character.
Where Bhel Puri is often sweetened with tamarind sauce and garnished with sev, Jhalmuri is earthy and aggressive. Its flavors are sharper, and its preparation less forgiving. There is no hiding behind chutneys or sauces; every ingredient shines through.
This honesty of flavor, combined with emotional and cultural depth, is what gives Jhalmuri its unmatched charm.
THE GLOBAL JOURNEY OF PUFFED RICE: FROM INDIA TO THE WORLD
Puffed rice isn’t uniquely Indian. Its roots trace back thousands of years, with variations found across Asia and even the Western world.
In India, evidence of puffed rice usage can be found in ancient scriptures, such as the Mahabharata and early Ayurvedic texts. It has long been a staple for its affordability, portability, and versatility.
In East Asia, puffed rice is used in both sweet and savory dishes. In China, it is often featured in snacks during festivals. Thailand uses it in sweet snacks, such as Khao Tan. In Japan, rice crackers (senbei) usually have puffed rice bases.
In the United States, puffed rice became popularized in the early 20th century as a breakfast cereal. It was famously introduced at the 1904 St. Louis World Fair by food scientist Alexander Anderson. The cereal industry took off, and brands like Rice Krispies became household staples.
Europe followed suit, with puffed rice appearing in diet snacks and cereal bars. However, none of these versions carries the robust character or emotional storytelling of India’s street versions.
Jhalmuri, thus, remains a shining example of how puffed rice can be transformed into a cultural icon.
JHALMURI ABROAD: AN EXOTIC STAR IN FOREIGN LANDS
Today, you can find Jhalmuri beyond India’s borders—thanks in part to the diaspora and a few passionate chefs. One notable ambassador is Angus Denoon, a British street food chef who fell in love with the snack during his visit to Kolkata. He returned to London and started serving authentic Jhalmuri from a mobile cart, complete with the traditional clang of the mixing tin.
In cities like New York, Toronto, and Sydney, Indian food trucks and cafes now serve Jhalmuri. The expat Bengali community takes pride in introducing it to their local friends, and its growing popularity is a testament to the global palate’s increasing openness to strong, authentic flavors.
With food trends embracing street food and fusion, Jhalmuri is poised to be the next global sensation.
MORE THAN A SNACK: A SYMBOL OF RESILIENCE AND CULTURE
During the COVID-19 pandemic, as restaurants shuttered and food delivery surged, many local street vendors turned back to Jhalmuri. With minimal ingredients and zero cooking time, it offered a lifeline. For many daily wage earners, selling Jhalmuri meant survival.
And for consumers, it was a taste of normalcy. In a world filled with anxiety, the familiar spice mix offered comfort and a sense of grounding. Even in film and literature, Jhalmuri holds space. Bengali movies often show characters bonding over shared paper cones. In poetry, it symbolizes warmth, nostalgia, and the unpolished beauty of everyday life.
A PAPER CONE FULL OF MEMORIES
Jhalmuri is more than a culinary delight. It is the crunch of nostalgia, the punch of heritage, and the warmth of shared humanity. It thrives on the streets of Bengal, but its heart beats wherever people value flavor, memory, and connection.
From colonial crossroads to global food festivals, from childhood snacks to romantic gestures, Jhalmuri continues to evolve while staying deeply rooted. In its fiery spice and mustardy aroma lies a story that transcends borders.
So, the next time you see a paper cone of Jhalmuri, don’t just taste it. Feel it. Because within that crunch lies the soul of Bengal.
