Asan Tole, KathmanduA grandmother's recipe, carried acrossYour table, tonight
Our take on the Himalayan momo.
MOMOYA began as one woman's Saturday ritual in a Kathmandu courtyard — a wooden board, a bowl of spiced filling and a family folding until the steamers ran out.
We kept the ritual and changed the room. Dough rolled thin every afternoon, fillings ground by hand, tomato-sesame achar charred over open flame. Nothing frozen, nothing rushed. Ya means house — this is ours, and the door is open.