Crisp Thekua Recipe: Traditional Bihar Sweet With a Modern Twist (From Someone Who Grew Up Eating It)#

So, um, I didn’t realise Thekua was having its moment on the internet until late 2025. Suddenly it’s on Instagram Reels, on those aesthetic copper thaalis on TikTok, and even some fancy-pants dessert bar in Mumbai was serving “Thekua Crumble Parfait” last winter. And I was just sitting there like… guys, this is literally the snack my bua stuffed in old biscuit tins for train journeys.

If you’re new to it: Thekua is this deep–fried, crisp cookie-ish sweet from Bihar and Jharkhand. Traditionally made for Chhath Puja, but honestly in my house it’s made for everything from long road trips to exam days to random rainy afternoons when my mom is in a mood. It’s sweet, it’s crunchy, it keeps for days, and you don’t need an oven, which is why half my college friends literally survived on it in hostels.

My First Real Thekua Memory (A Very Car-Sick Story)#

I still remember the first time I noticed Thekua, not just ate it. We were driving from Patna to Gaya for a cousin’s wedding. Me and him (my brother) were squeezed in the back seat, half dying of motion sickness, and my mom pulled out this steel dabba that smelled like heaven and ghee. I was maybe 9, sulking because we’d left home at 5 am and I’d missed my cartoon time.

She handed me one Thekua. It was still slightly warm. I took a bite and I swear the car disappeared for a second. Crunchy edges, slightly soft in the center, the smell of ghee and cardamom, a hint of fennel that I pretended I didn’t like because I thought saunf was “uncool”. There were raisins randomly poking out from the dough and they’d caramelized at the edges.

That’s the thing I love about proper, old-school Thekua. It’s not perfect. They’re never all the same size, some are darker, some have tiny cracks, some have extra bits of jaggery that got stuck. It tastes like people made it with hands, not a machine.

Why Thekua Suddenly Got Trendy (And I’m Low-key Happy About It)#

Around 2024–2026, Indian regional sweets just blew up online. Blame it on people getting bored of the same old cupcakes and macarons or the whole #NostalgiaBakes trend. But suddenly I started seeing:

  • Thekua jars on gourmet websites with names like “Artisan Mithila Cookies” priced at, like, 450 rupees for 6 pieces (I almost fell off my chair).
  • Pop-ups in Delhi and Bangalore doing Chhath-themed menus – with Thekua served warm with rabri espuma on top, you know, that fancy foam trend that’s still going around in 2026 tasting menus.
  • Reels of food creators baking “air-fryer Thekua” and “oatmeal Thekua” for people counting macros.

Even in Patna, this new cafe that opened near Boring Road last year – I think it’s called Mitti & Brew? – started doing a Thekua Affogato during the winter: one crisp Thekua, vanilla bean ice cream, and a shot of hot espresso poured on top. I was skeptical as hell, but I tried it and… ya, okay, it slapped. The bitterness of the coffee with that fennel-jaggery thing going on? Unreal.

Point is, Thekua is now officially cool. And I’m honestly kinda emotional about that.

Traditional Thekua 101 (The Basics Before We Get Fancy)#

If you’ve never made Thekua before, don’t worry, it’s honestly easier than it looks. You basically need four things: flour, fat, sweetener, and aromatics. In the old-school version, that’s usually:

  • Atta (whole wheat flour) – some families mix a bit of maida, some don’t.
  • Ghee – because if you try to do this with refined oil only, it just doesn’t taste the same, I’m sorry.
  • Jaggery (gud) – dissolved in water, sometimes with a bit of sugar if your gud isn’t very sweet.
  • Cardamom, saunf (fennel), and sometimes grated coconut or desiccated coconut.

The dough is tight, almost like mathri dough. You shape it by hand or with those traditional wooden moulds with flowers and leaf patterns. Then you deep fry it on medium heat until it’s golden and crisp and the house smells, honestly, like a warm hug.

My Modern Twist: Crisp Thekua That’s Still Properly Bihari#

So, obviously I’m not gonna mess too much with something that’s literally prasad in our culture. But at the same time, I like playing with my food. Over the last 2–3 years I’ve been quietly experimenting, taking random notes on my phone like “try brown butter in Thekua???” and “orange zest?? maybe??”.

Here’s the version I’m currently obsessed with – still deep fried, still ghee, but a bit crispier, and with tiny flavour nudges that make it feel very 2026 without turning it into some unrecognisable fusion disaster.

Ingredients (for about 18–20 medium Thekua)#

I’m not gonna pretend I measure perfectly every time, but this is my base recipe:

  • 2 cups atta (whole wheat flour)
  • ¼ cup fine semolina (sooji) – this is my crisp hack
  • 4–5 tbsp ghee, melted but not hot
  • ¾ cup grated jaggery (adjust depending on how sweet your gud is)
  • ¼ cup water (plus a bit more if needed)
  • 2–3 tbsp grated dry coconut or desiccated coconut
  • 4–5 green cardamom pods, seeds crushed
  • 1 tsp lightly crushed fennel seeds
  • A tiny pinch of salt (controversial but trust me it lifts the flavour)
  • Optional modern bits: 1 tbsp chopped nuts, a pinch of cinnamon, or orange zest
  • Oil + 1–2 tbsp ghee for frying (I do a mix – keeps flavour but doesn’t bankrupt you)

Step-by-step (Realistic, Slightly Messy Version)#

1. First, make jaggery syrup
Heat the jaggery with water in a small pan on low. Don’t boil it like crazy. Just let it melt and come together. Strain it if your jaggery has lots of stones/impurities (mine always does, for some reason). Let it cool till it’s lukewarm, not hot, or it’ll mess up the dough texture.

2. Mix the dry stuff
In a big bowl, add atta, sooji, coconut, cardamom, fennel, salt. Give it a quick mix with your hand. I always sniff the bowl at this point because I’m weird and it makes me happy.

3. Rub in the ghee
Pour in the melted ghee. Now use your fingers to rub it into the flour till it feels like slightly wet breadcrumbs. When you grab a fistful it should roughly hold shape. This step is what makes your Thekua short and crisp instead of hard like a rock.

4. Add the jaggery syrup
Slowly add the lukewarm jaggery water, a little at a time, and start bringing the dough together. You’re aiming for a stiff dough. Like, it should NOT be soft like roti atta. If it’s sticky, you added too much water, so just sprinkle more atta and pretend nothing happened. Happens to me all the time.

5. Rest the dough
Cover with a cloth and let it rest for 10–15 minutes. This is when I usually make tea or scroll through food videos and end up adding random last-minute ideas like chopped pistachio or black sesame.

6. Shape your Thekua
Pinch off small balls. You can either flatten them with your palm and use a fork to make lines – very rustic – or use those carved wooden moulds if you have them. I bought one from a tiny shop near Patna City in 2023 and it’s honestly one of my favourite kitchen things ever.

7. Fry, but don’t rush
Heat oil with 1–2 tbsp ghee in a kadhai. The oil shouldn’t be screaming hot. Medium-low is your friend. Test with a small piece of dough: it should rise up slowly with tiny bubbles, not go brown instantly. Fry 4–5 Thekua at a time. Flip occasionally till they’re deep golden, not dark brown. They’ll crisp up more as they cool.

8. Cool completely
Let them cool on a wire rack or a plate lined with tissue. Then store in an airtight container. They stay good for at least 10–12 days, probably more, but honestly they never last that long at my place.

Little Modern Twists That Actually Work (I Swear)#

2026 has been wild for Indian sweets. You’ve got cold-brew rasgulla, matcha sandesh, filter coffee rasmalai at pop-ups in Bangalore, and all these new mithai boutiques in Mumbai doing seasonal tasting boxes. So I felt a little brave to try new things with Thekua too. Some experiments were a total flop (looking at you, “matcha Thekua”), but a few I totally stand by:

  • Brown butter Thekua: Instead of regular melted ghee, cook the ghee on low till it turns nutty and slightly brown, then cool and use. The flavour is deeper, almost toffee-like.
  • Orange zest + dark jaggery: A tiny bit of orange zest in the dough + a stronger, darker jaggery gives it this warm, almost Christmas-cookie vibe without losing the Bihari soul of it.
  • Espresso dip: Yes, I shamelessly copied the affogato idea at home. I make small Thekua and dip them halfway into strong, unsweetened coffee before eating. Not for purists, but soooo good.
  • Air fryer Thekua: So, this one is everywhere right now. If you’re avoiding deep-frying, you can brush shaped Thekua with ghee and air fry at around 170–180°C till crisp and golden. They’re a bit drier and more cookie-like, but still tasty.

The thing is, people are paying attention to regional sweets in a big way now. I saw a 2025 food trend report talking about how Indian home bakers are moving from “global baking” to “local nostalgia desserts”. Like, gulab jamun cheesecake had its time, now it’s about making proper gulab jamun, but with maybe better ingredients. Same with Thekua. Don’t be afraid to tweak a bit, but also don’t turn it into something your dadi wouldn’t recognise.

How I Serve Thekua Now (Beyond Just Snack Tins)#

Traditionally, we’d just eat Thekua with chai or as prasad, no drama. But somewhere between 2024 and now, my friends started hosting these “small plates” get-togethers instead of big dinners. Everyone brings one dish that looks kinda fancy but isn’t too complicated. So I started playing with how I serve Thekua, not just how I make it.

Some things I’ve tried recently:

  • Thekua + Masala Chai Board: I arrange small Thekua, some spicy chana, roasted makhana, and jaggery pieces on a wooden board with a big kettle of adrak elaichi chai. Feels like a desi version of those overloaded cheese boards Instagram loves.
  • Thekua Crumble on Yogurt: Crush a Thekua on top of thick dahi or Greek yogurt, add fruit on top (mango or banana), and drizzle honey. Kinda like a desi granola parfait.
  • Mini Thekua Sandwiches: This is unhinged but my nephew loves it. Two very small Thekua with a thin layer of Nutella or peanut butter in between. It’s sweet on sweet, but kids don’t care.

I also brought a big dabba of Thekua to a friend’s rooftop Chhath gathering in 2025 in Delhi, where everyone had shown up with store-bought sweets from these new-age brands. And you know what went first? The slightly broken, real, home-fried Thekua. I’m not even bragging (okay I am a little), but people kept asking for the recipe, and one girl literally said, “This tastes like my nani’s house in Muzaffarpur.” That’s the best compliment I’ve had about anything I cooked.

Common Thekua Mistakes (I’ve Made Almost All Of Them)#

If your first batch doesn’t come out right, please don’t panic. My early attempts could have been used as self-defense weapons, they were that hard. Here’s what I learned the, um, slightly painful way:

  • Dough too soft = oily and flat Thekua. The dough should be stiff. If you can roll it into a ball easily and it doesn’t slump, you’re good.
  • Oil too hot = dark outside, raw inside. Keep the flame medium-low. Be patient. This is not French fries.
  • Not enough ghee in the dough = tough result. Don’t make it diet food at the dough stage. You can eat just one less later but let that one be worth it.
  • Skipping the salt: I know some families never add salt. Mine didn’t either. But after I started baking a lot during lockdown, I realised a tiny pinch makes the sweet and spice pop more. Just don’t overdo it.

Also, don’t expect every single Thekua to look identical. That’s not the point. Some will have tiny cracks, some will puff a bit more. It’s fine. We’re not running a factory.

Where Thekua Is Showing Up In 2026 (Restaurants & Pop-ups)#

If you’re more of a “let me taste it before I cook it” person, honestly same. And it’s actually getting easier to find Thekua outside Bihar now, especially with all the interest in regional sweets in the last two years.

In Delhi, some of the newer mithai boutiques that opened around 2024–2025 – the ones doing small-batch, seasonal boxes – started adding “Bihar-style Thekua” around Chhath. A lot of them also offer baked or air-fried versions on pre-order because, apparently, everyone is still obsessed with “healthy-ish” dessert in 2026.

Bangalore surprised me. During a work trip early last year, there was this regional food pop-up in Indiranagar where one stall did Thekua with a side of nolen gur caramel. It sounded bizarre, but it worked in a very chaotic good way. If 2020–2026 has taught us anything about food, it’s that people love cross-regional, cross-texture experiments as long as the base is made with respect.

And like I mentioned, in Patna and Ranchi, more cafes are proudly putting dishes like litti chokha sliders, Thekua tiramisu, and makhana brittle on their menus now. This would have been unimaginable ten years ago when all everyone wanted was pizza and cold coffee. I kinda love that we’re circling back to our own food but with newer presentations.

Storing, Gifting & Traveling With Thekua#

One of the reasons Thekua is so iconically linked to Bihar is how travel-friendly it is. Long before vacuum-sealed snack packs were a thing, our parents were basically doing their own version with steel dabbas and newspaper layers.

Some quick real-talk tips:

  • Always cool completely before storing. Any heat trapped in the box will make them soft.
  • If you’re in a very humid city, put a little square of butter paper or tissue between layers so they don’t stick.
  • For gifting, glass jars look cute on Instagram but airtight steel or good quality tins keep the crispness better. You can always transfer to a cute jar later for the ‘vibe’ pics.

Every time I go back to my city, my friends now send me messages like, “Can you get that Thekua from your chachi again?” It’s become this predictable ritual: I open my suitcase, and there’s at least one dabba of ghee-fragrant, slightly broken Thekua waiting to be raided. Airport security has looked at my x-ray tray and gone, “Snacks?” and I’m like, “Ya. Sacred snacks.”

Why This Crisp Thekua Means So Much To Me (Not Just As Food)#

I know, at the end of the day, it’s just flour and jaggery and ghee, right? But also… not really. Every time I make Thekua now, I hear my nani’s voice telling me not to press the mould too hard or it’ll stick. I see my mom frying huge batches before Chhath, insisting we don’t touch the ones kept aside for puja. I remember late-night hostel conversations sharing slightly stale Thekua because we were homesick but too proud to admit it.

Food trends come and go. One year it’s bubble tea, next year it’s cloud coffee, then 48-hour-fermented sourdough, now everyone in 2026 is into high-protein laddoos and gut-friendly ferments. But Thekua has somehow just quietly survived all of that. It’s not trying to impress anyone. It’s just… there. Crispy, comforting, unapologetically itself.

For me, a good Thekua is basically the food version of that one friend who doesn’t change with every trend but still somehow fits in everywhere.

So if you’ve never tried it, or you only know it as this “traditional Bihari sweet” from a random article, I really think you should make a batch at home. Start with the basic recipe, fry them slowly, make your whole house smell like ghee and gud, and then sit down with a hot cup of chai and eat one in silence. Just notice how the fennel hits, how the edges crumble, how the center is a little softer. Then, if you want, go wild with brown butter or orange zest or espresso shots. But give the original its moment first.

Final Bite#

Anyway, this turned into a whole love letter to Thekua, which honestly I’m not even sorry about. If you try this crisp, slightly modern version, tell me what twist you added. Maybe you’ll come up with something better than mine – food evolves like that. Just don’t turn it neon pink and call it “Thekua 2.0”, okay?

If you’re into stories like this – real food, slightly messy recipes, lots of emotions sprinkled with ghee – there’s plenty more to read over on AllBlogs.in. I keep stumbling on other people’s nostalgic food rambles there and it feels like sitting in a giant, never-ending kitchen conversation. Which, honestly, is my favourite place to be.