Month: September 2014

“Beerakai? You mean there a vegetable which gives out beer? Hahaha! ” Which Telugu hasn’t heard this hoary old one when a non-Telugu hears the word “beerakai” for the first time? But just last week there was an article in the Hindu with liquor consumption statistics across India and among the bigger states, AP (the undivided one) tops the list by far with 34.5 litres per head per year, far outstripping Kerala which was undisputed liquor king for years!!

At a population of 50 million, that works out to 1.75 billion litres a year which is many times the amount of milk consumed by all of India in a year! (I tried doing the maths – so many metric tonnes of milk to litres of beer but somewhere along the way, the numbers – and the milk – got curdled!) Hmmm…wondering whether there is something to the beer and beerakai naming after all???

Wow, we Telugus take our beer and our beerakais seriously!

This staple – cheap and best- vegetable – is what has helped millions of homemakers tide over the end-of-the-month-pocket-is-empty-what-to-put-on-the-table blues for generations.

Okay, to put the rest of you out of your misery, beerakai is the Telugu name for what is called a ribbed or ridged gourd – one of those you have to bribe your kids to eat. See photo above by scrolling.

Like the coconut in Kerala, there is no part of this super-‘umble veggie that is not used. You make a tonic to darken your hair – did you know that???! Bet you’re regretting saying ‘yuck’ to beerakai pappu for the nth time when you were a kid, right? The fibrous part that is peeled away is used to make loofahs to scrub yourself free of all the ‘yucks’! The thrifty Telugu housewife uses even the peel of this vegetable to make the most delicious “thokku” or chutney.

Wash and peel two large beerakais. Reserve the beerakais for use later. Just now, we’ll make only the chutney with the peel.

Chana dal – (Bengal gram dal) – 2 tbsp

Urad dal – 1 tbsp

Mustard seeds – 1/2 tsp

Asafoetida- 1 small pinkie-nail sized lump

Red chilies – 5

Green chilies – 3

Tamarind – small marble -sized ball

Jaggery – 1.5 tbsp

Coconut – 1/2 cup

Sesame oil – 2tbsp

Salt – about 3/4 tsp

Heat the oil in a pan. Add mustard seeds and wait till they crackle. Add chana dal and roast till golden brown. Add urad dal and chilies and stir for a couple of minutes more. Add the peel and stir for 3-4 minutes till they shrink slightly. Add the coconut and stir again for a couple of minutes. Add the tamarind, jaggery and salt and switch off. Let cool and grind to a rough chutney adding a little water.

This chutney goes with most everything – rice, rotis, idlis, dosas, plain!

“Why can’t we have hole vadas at home? Why does someone have to die before we eat them??” It seemed very unfair – there was some weird superstition when were kids about round things with holes not being made except at death ceremonies and so we grew up essentially vada-deprived – after all, even kids can’t hope that people will keep popping off just to oblige our gastronomic dreams! Come to think of it, maybe it was the other way around – nobody must have liked  death ceremonies so there had to be some inducement for people to attend… ergo, vada?

 

Now of course, all those superstitions have been given the go-by and vadas are had at every possible occasion when dietary consciences don’t bite! We, in fact, have a vaadyar (a family priest) whose nickname is “vada vaadyar” in honour of his capacity to put away these little savoury doughnuts of deliciousness! The “maami” who comes to cook for religious functions at home always asks ahead if the vada vaadyar is going to be there so that she’s not caught unprepared!

 

A few years ago, a cousin from the US – an avid reader and commentator on this blog – had come home with his family for breakfast. Hadn’t seen them in some years, so I really went to town on an elaborate breakfast of vada, sambar, idli, pongal and various chutneys! Almost everything got demolished excet for the idlis. Said cousin turns around and says, “what’s the point in calling any Nemali home for breakfast and giving us an option of idlis and vadas? We’ll always go for the vadas, of course!

 

Here it is – the vada or to give it it’s Tamil name – “medu wadai” with the “dai” rhyming with “die” – there’s another clue to the superstition! Vada –  the dearly beloved, almost always rationed commodity – the original food to which the song “no one can eat just one” was intended but P…i stole it along the way!

 

 

Urad dal – 1 cup – washed and soaked for at least 4 hours

Salt

Green chili- 1

Ginger – 1/2 inch piece

Onion – chopped – 1 (optional)

Pepper corns – 1 tsp

Coconut pieces –  1tbsp (optional )

Curry leaves – 1 sprig – chopped

Coriander leaves – 1 tbsp – chopped

Oil to deep fry

 

Grind the urad dal along with the green chili and the ginger with very little water – 2-3 tbsp is ample. The consistency of the ground batter is very important because if it’s too watery, the vadas absorb too much oil when frying. Drop a few drops of batter into a bowl of water. The batter should stay intact and not blend into the water. If the batter is too thin, add a couple of tbsp of semolina. Add the rest of the ingredients and mix well. 

 

Heat the oil to below smoking point. Wet you hand, take a large tbsp of batter , make a hole in the centre (you’re not superstitious, are you??!) and slide it into the oil. Repeat with the rest of the batter in batches, turning over the vadas with a skewer till they are golden brown. Remove and serve hot with sambar and chutney.

 

Oh, and do you read the obit columns?

 

“Ooooooohh, snaaake, snaaake!” Three kids, oiled from top to toe waiting for the dreaded Sunday morning mandatory “oil baths”, decide to make the most of it by chasing each other round and round the garden clad in bare necessities and armed with long, green, snakelike gourds in their hands – potlakai, podalanga, parval, chichinda – the various names by which this vegetable is known in India are nowhere near as descriptive as it’s English title – the snake gourd. Being the youngest at about 5 or 6 years old, I half believed it was a snake !

That Sunday morning ritual was dreaded for many reasons. First the process of being oiled meant you got kneaded and pummelled and squashed and your nose got pulled – to make it longer – well going by the length it reached, the rest of my face caught up with it only in my 30s!!! I had one aunt whom i shall not name here but who i think used to pummel us more than the others – maybe the frustrations of her existence got too much for her by the weekend (!) and the oil massage used to be accompanied by a rising crescendo of howls of despair and many complaints to mom later!

The best part of it was when were let out – makes us sound like a pack of dogs, doesn’t it? – to run about and play in the sun for a while till the water was heated in an old copper boiler. What a deadly dose of Vit D we must have absorbed in the running around – whether we played “snake” or not. Then followed the agony of having your skin almost scraped off with “nalugu pindi” (a mixture of chickpea flour and turmeric): “GOOD FOR YOU”!

Your hair and very likely much of your head was nearly pulled out by the “sheekai” (soapnut powder), a brown and in my opinion “kaaram”(chilli-hot) substance which inevitably leaked into our eyes and made the howls even louder. And all this with boiling hot water from the “anda”!

It was some kind of torture system devised to take a perfectly happy, reasonably clean kid and designed to turn him/her inside out in the adult’s quest for that stray particle of dirt which might cause you to… what? Die? I never found out! End of process you came out smelling like a pakoda from all the flour and turmeric, eyes streaming and a feeling of deep gratitude that you did not have to face this again for another blessed 168 hours (7 * 24) and the incurable optimism of childhood that something, anything might happen to prevent the next one! Alas, that hope was very rarely realised…

And what happened to the snake which allayed the agony of Sunday baths? Many things were made out of it – in my memory it was either overcooked into a mush or under-cooked so that it tasted like a sharp-ish cucumber. Then I grew up and learnt how to actually cook it!

Here’s one which my family loves – stuffed potlakai – my way.

1 long, tender snake gourd -wash and cut into pieces about 2″ long With your pinkie or a narrow spoon, remove the insides – seeds and tissue. These are tender so easily removed.

Mix together:

Roasted and powdered sesame (til) seeds – 1 tbsp

Roasted chickpea flour(roasted besan) – 1/2 cup

Jeera powder – 1 tsp

Dhania powder – 1.5 tsp

Kasooti methi (dried fenugreek leaves) – 1 tsp

Coriander leaves – chopped – 2tbsp

Chili powder – 1 tsp

Turmeric – 1 large pinch.

Salt – about 3/4 tsp

Oil – 1 tbsp

Stuff the pieces with this masala powder. Heat oil in a large, flat pan and add the pieces. Cover and cook, turning over occasionally for abut 12-15 minutes till the vegetable is tender. Open and cook for a few minutes more.

Serve hot with rice. Don’t forget to have your oil bath before this otherwise how will you make FULL use of the potlakai – to scare the littlest kid with and to get your dose of Vit. D????

P.S: Wonder what they did with all the besan they washed us with?? Recycled as… no, no perish the thought. It’s too yucky!

Rarely does real life live up to the promise of what books or movies describe. Take the case of Enid Blyton’s food for example. Which of us has grown up not salivating over “potted meat” sandwiches, tomatoes,scones and lettuce – even those of us who were highly vegetarian?

 

I know a little girl who went to England when she was about ten years old, still in the throes of the Famous Five’s picnics, the “steak and kidney” pies, “tinned sardines” and ginger beer, insisting that the grandparents (who lived there) get her all these amazing goodies to eat.

 

The grandparents, poor things, having already gone through the rigours of “British cooking, tried their best to dissuade her. “Are you quite sure you want it, dear? It’s not all that it’s pumped up to be; let’s have pizza instead”. Or maybe – since these were the days before pizzas became as ubiquitous as they are today – let’s have curry instead (whatever ‘curry’ is ) – remember the setting is England!

 

The child however, who had already sent letters off to Mallory Towers and St.Clair’s believing quite firmly in the existence of these, would not be dissuaded. So off they went – to a steak shop and ordered exactly what she wanted – steak and kidney pie. I don’t have to do any cutting a long story short stuff  – because the story only lasted for about ten seconds after the waiter set down the dish in front of her with a cheery, “Here you go, darling”. Our young friend cuts into it, looks around to see if the restaurant has some drainage problem (the smell, you see), decides not to let a bad drain come in the way of her dream meal and puts a forkful in her mouth. She lasted for all of the ten seconds it needed for her to get to the washroom – she hadn’t known that kidneys performed a certain essential but unmentionable function, you see, or that the smell of said function might continue to waft out the cooked fellas!

 

But that is a sad story. One where reality not only lived up to expectation  but surpassed it is the story of the seed cake!  The first time i tasted this was the home of an elderly Anglo-Indian aunt – a friend of the family whose name was Miss Mary (really!) but who was universally know as Baba aunty.

 

The cake itself looked lovely – golden and full of tiny little seeds with more fragrance than anything so tiny has a right to possess but when you bit into it – omg – the sheer luxuriance of flavour that burst in your mouth was enough to transport you right back to Blyton’s England of the 1930s!

 

I’ve experimented hugely but i think i’ve got it right.

 

 

Maida (plain flour) – 150 gm

Cornflour – 30 gm

Table butter – 100 gm

Eggs – 3

Powdered sugar (easier to cream!) – 180 gm

Vanilla essence – 1 tsp

Caraway seeds (these look like tiny shahijeeera seeds but have a strong aniseed-y fragrance) – 1.5 tsp

 

The cake is made as usual – cream butter and sugar together till light and fluffy, add eggs and mix, fold in flour. Add caraway seeds and vanilla. Bake in a preheated oven at 180 C for about 30 minutes till a skewer inserted in the centre comes out clean.

 

This is a fantastic teatime, coffeetime or anytime at all cake 🙂

And i promise it really tastes better than even Enid Blyton can make it sound!

 

“Anu aunty, is this you??!!” – am overjoyed to see the message on Facebook – from a little girl who’s been our neighbour some two decades ago and who has since emigrated to Canada – she and her little brother were two of the cutest little munchkins – therefore the joy of reconnecting! And the next sentence took me back all those years ago to when both the mothers and the doting grandmother would gather on the terrace in the evening to feed the four little kids dinner together – and this little girl – Tas – would be waiting to see if i’d bring “rasam” or anything else she loved!

 

Many squeals of excitement ensued over the catching up of old friends from long ago  and of course, the ubiquitous “how big you’ve grown and how tall Akif is and how’re the grandparents and the parents” kind of talk later, there was one added little message – “Please, Anu aunty. Can you post the recipe for the baby potato pulao that you used to make?” Wow – for a kid who left India when she was about 4 or 5 years old, this was SOME memory!

 

One evening when the kids were coming downstairs, Arch slipped and fell headlong into a cactus plant that someone had left on the landing. Abortive attempt to try and remove the rugae (the fine hairlike spikes on cacti) had us running to the doc who sent us to a surgeon who told us the only way was to pull out the darn things by using tweezers. Back home to borrow tweezers from neighbours, high beam torches too and well, have you ever sat up a whole night trying to pull near invisible hairy things from a little child’s legs and arms? Both parents were in no condition to go to work the next day! But we DID pull out all the hairy fellas! Might have pulled out some hair too – going by the squeals!

 

As a reward, the kids got baby potato pulao for dinner – am sure Tas identified with the “babiness” of the baby potatoes!

 

Tas, dear, this one is for you!

 

 

Baby potatoes – 1/2 kg – boiled and peeled

Methi (Fenugreek) leaves – 1 cup full – washed thoroughly. 

Basmati rice – 1.5 cups

2 cups water 1 cup milk or coconut milk

Salt

 

Grind together for a wet spice mixture.

 

1 green chili

3 -4 flakes of garlic

1″ piece ginger

3 tbsp yogurt

Whole spices:

Dalchini (cinnamon) – 2″

Cloves – 4 or 5

Black cardamom – 1 – crushed

Cardamom – 1 – crushed

Biryani ke phool (paasi poo – a lichen which grows on rock) – optional – 1/2 tsp

Jeera (cumin) seeds- 1/2 tsp

Shahjeera seeds – 1/4 tsp

Nutmeg – 1 pinch

Turmeric – 1 large pinch

Saunf (aniseed) – 1/2 tsp

Asafoetida – 1 large pinch

Ghee – 1 tbsp

Oil- 2 tbsp

Onions – 4 sliced finely and fried separately – to garnish

Mint leaves – washed and chopped – 1 tbsp

 

Cook the basmati rice with the water, milk and the ground wet spice mixture and salt.

 

In a separate pan, heat the oil and ghee together and drop in all the dry spices. Stir on a low flame for a minute. Add one tbsp of the fried onions, the fenugreek leaves, potatoes and salt and cook, turning over occasionally. This should take about ten minutes. Mix with the rice and cover and cook for a few minutes more. Garnish with mint and fried onions. Fried cashews too- if you’re feeling festive. This pulao needs just a  plain raita to go with it!

 

And, oh, don’t go near cacti – they don’t go well with pulao!