That’s sort of how Peanut Ladoo feels to me—imperfect, comforting, a little chaotic, and somehow still absolutely right. You know those foods that don’t try too hard? They’re just… there for you. Like that friend who shows up with snacks and doesn’t ask questions. Peanut ladoo is that friend.
I’m sitting in my Queens apartment as I write this, radiator clanking like it’s mad at me, peanut shells in a bowl because I still buy raw peanuts like I’m going to roast them every time (I usually do, okay).
And yes, I know—Indian sweets get a reputation for being fussy. Syrups, timings, temperatures, aunties judging you silently from across generations. But peanut ladoo? Nah. This one’s chill. Rustic. Forgiving. Kinda messy. My kind of sweet.
Why Peanut Ladoo Feels Like Home (Even If You Grew Up Far Away)
I didn’t grow up in Queens. I grew up with power cuts, steel plates, and the sound of peanuts crackling in a pan while someone yelled, “Don’t burn them!” from another room. Peanut ladoo was never fancy. It wasn’t wrapped in gold foil or served on special occasions only. It showed up randomly.
Sometimes after school or when money was tight.
Sometimes when someone just felt like making something sweet but not too sweet.
The First Time I Tried Making Peanut Ladoo Alone (Spoiler: I Panicked)
So picture this: early pandemic days. Queens was weirdly quiet. Like… unsettling quiet. I decided I’d make peanut ladoo because why not spiral and snack?
I roasted the peanuts too long. Burnt a batch. Smoked out my tiny kitchen. Opened all the windows like that would help. Then I under-roasted the next batch. Then I forgot to let them cool before grinding. Peanut butter happened. Not ideal.
At one point I literally said out loud, “You seriously thought that would work?”
To myself.
No one answered.
But somehow—somehow—it still worked out. The ladoos were ugly. Misshapen. One looked like a rock. Another cracked down the middle like it was emotionally overwhelmed.
They tasted amazing.
That’s peanut ladoo for you. Hard to mess up completely. Very forgiving. Like it wants you to succeed.
What Even Is Peanut Ladoo? (No Textbook Stuff, Promise)
Okay, quick breakdown, human-style.
Peanut ladoo is basically:
- Roasted peanuts
- Jaggery (or sugar, if that’s your thing)
- A little cardamom
- A lot of muscle power (rolling those suckers is no joke)
That’s it. No baking. No fancy equipment. Just heat, grinding, mixing, and rolling while questioning your life choices.
Some people add ghee or Some swear by palm jaggery. Others use whatever’s in the pantry. I’ve seen coconut sneak in. Sesame sometimes shows up like an uninvited guest.
And honestly? It’s all fine.
The Queens Angle (Because Yes, This Matters)
Here’s the wild part. I live in Queens, NYC. Which means within a ten-minute walk I can buy:
- Thai basil
- Ethiopian injera
- Colombian empanadas
- And raw peanuts that remind me of home
I’ve made peanut ladoo for friends here who’d never had Indian sweets before. One friend took a bite and said, “Wait… why is this not candy but also totally candy?”
Exactly.
Another asked if it was “healthy.” I said, “Emotionally? Yes. Physically? Let’s not overthink it.”
Food like this travels. It adapts. It survives new kitchens, new climates, new lives. That’s kind of beautiful, right?
How I Actually Make Peanut Ladoo (With Mistakes Included)
Ingredients (Very Chill Measurements)
- 2 cups raw peanuts
- 1 cup grated jaggery (adjust based on your sweet tooth / mood)
- ½ tsp cardamom powder
- Optional: 1–2 tbsp ghee (for richness and forgiveness)
My Real-Life Process
- Roast peanuts on medium heat. Stir. Forget to stir. Panic. Stir again.
- Let them cool. Actually let them cool. Trust me.
- Rub off the skins like you’re exfoliating tiny vegetables.
- Grind peanuts—not into butter, not into dust. Somewhere in between. You’ll know. Or you won’t. It’ll still work.
- Melt jaggery gently. Add a splash of water if it’s being stubborn.
- Mix peanuts + jaggery + cardamom. Burn your finger. Shake your hand aggressively.
- Roll into ladoos while warm. If it crumbles, add ghee. If it’s too sticky, wait a minute and complain about humidity.
Done.
Why Peanut Ladoo Beats Store-Bought Sweets (Fight Me)
Hot take:
Store-bought sweets are often too sweet.
Also:
- No preservatives
- No weird aftertaste
- No shiny plastic box judging you from the counter
And when you make it yourself? Even badly? It tastes better. Science probably backs this up. Or nostalgia does. Same thing.
Random Peanut Ladoo Thoughts I Didn’t Know Where Else to Put
- Peanut ladoo with chai = elite combo
- It freezes surprisingly well
- It’s an underrated gym snack (don’t quote me)
- It makes a great “I forgot your birthday” gift if wrapped nicely
- One ladoo is never enough, who are we kidding
Outbound Links I Genuinely Like
- A beautifully personal food blog that gets the why of cooking: David Lebovitz’s blog
- For nostalgia overload: Old Doordarshan clips on YouTube (don’t say I didn’t warn you)
Final Thoughts (But Not a Formal Conclusion Because Ew)
Peanut ladoo isn’t trying to impress anyone.
It doesn’t care about plating and doesn’t need validation.
It just shows up. Warm. Nutty. Slightly crumbly. Exactly when you need it.
And honestly? In a city like New York, in a kitchen this small, in a life that moves too fast—food like this slows things down. Just enough.
Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s one ladoo left on the plate and I’m pretending it’s not calling my name.
