Month: March 2015

“Can’t we have rajma or chole or paneer or something instead?”asks the eight-year old daughter of a friend. Why boring bisibele and stuff?”

Her mother is planning the menu for a dinner party and the child in question is of the opinion that South Indian food is… well, boring! Am first horrified, then amused… as I realise that what the kid is objecting to is everyday food. All the North Indian dishes are ‘special’ in her mind because they are eaten mostly in restaurants and not really much at home. The lure of the exotic, the grass being greener on the other side, or in our own more graphic Indian languages poruginti pullakoora/pakkathuveettu pulichakeerai/ghar ki murgi dall barabar – the neighbour’s food is always tastier.

So the poor mother tries to explain that bisibele is a very special dish, made only for festive occasions… but the child is having none of it. The mother gives in and rajma replaces bisibele on the menu! Both are happy – the mom because it lets her off the far greater effort that bisibele takes to make!

On another occasion, have been invited to a North Indian friend’s house for lunch and she’s made the inevitable rajma-chawal (which I love btw!), some aalu, some paneer and then as I compliment her on how good everything is, she says she always finds it tough to plan a menu for vegetarians! I look surprised… she explains… “See when i have to plan a  non-veg meal, i just put together a combo of chicken/fish/mutton and a salad and I’m done. With vegetarian food, I can’t think beyond the rajma-chawal, chana-puri combo!”

So then I ask her about stuff like lauki (bottle gourd), tori (ribbed gourd), baingan (eggplant) and the millions of vegetables I can think of. Her turn to look aghast. “But.. but… “, she splutters, “that’s not food“!  I collapse with laughter! I guess, in this case, the ghaas-phoos on the other side of this fence was not greener!

As a child, I too definitely preferred the rajma-rice in Neeroo’s house to the sambar in mine! And she the other way around. There were occasions when she’d be tucking away into the sambar at my place while i slurped down her mom’s brilliant rajma at her place! Another Punjabi friend who told me that no matter how hard she tried, her sambar came out tasting wrong – like masala-fied and not unlike rajma!

As a generation though, today, with the very urbanised kitchens we run, I really think we’ve bridged the divide – rajma in my South Indian kitchen tastes like rajma should and not like a masale-wallah sambar! So much so that the quest now is to go back to the villages and discover forgotten grains, pulses, methods of cooking and even cooking vessels, implements and fuels! We’ve come full circle… or maybe that’s just my five decades speaking!

The decades in my bag lead me to get excited about the very traditional stuff like this…

UNDALA MAJJIGA  PULUSU OR URUNDAI MOR KOZHAMBU or as the redoubtable Meenakshi Ammal calls it

“Pulse ball buttermilk stew”! ROFL!

FOR UNDALU:

• 3/4 cup toor dal + 1/4 cup chane ka dal – soaked for two hours (or just half an hour in the Madras summer!) and drained
• 2 sprigs curry leaves
• 2 green chilies
• 2 red chilies
• Asafoetida – 1 large pinch
• Coriander – chopped – 1 tbsp
• Jeera/cumin seeds – 1 pinch
• Coconut – 2 tbsp
• Salt

Grind the soaked dals with the chilies, asafoetida, coconut, cumin, and salt to a coarse paste, adding the curry leaves almost at the end so they break apart but don’t get ground up. Mix in the chopped coriander. Shape into small marble sized balls.

Set two or three balls aside.

Steam the rest for about 10-12 minutes till tender and spongy.

FOR MAJJIGA PULUSU

• Sour yogurt – 2 cups
• Turmeric – 1 tsp
• Coconut – 3 tbsp
• Cumin seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Red chilies – 3
• Green chiles – 2
• Asafoetida – 1 pinch
• Jaggery – 1 tsp
• Salt

Grind all the ingredients except yogurt along with the reserved  dal balls to a very smooth paste. Whisk this paste to a smooth mixture with the yogurt adding 2 cups water.

In a large saucepan, cook the yogurt mixture on a low flame till the raw smell of yogurt disappears. Add the steamed ‘undalu’and continue to cook for 4-5 minutes more.

TO TEMPER

• Mustard  seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Urad dal – 1/2 tsp
• Jeera seeds – 1/4 tsp
• Curry leaves – 2 sprigs
• Coconut or sesame oil – 1 tsp

Heat oil, add mustard. When it splutters, add everything else and fry for a few seconds. Turn off and pour over the pulusu.

Serve with hot rice (or cold in the summer!) and a roast potato or green plantain curry!

And no, I assure you it will NOT taste like rajma or kadhi even! The answer to chicken from this side of the fence!

And then there was this annual school trip – the BIG one – each trip being planned by the powers that be at my school with more enthusiasm than skill or knowledge! Unconfirmed tickets (for a journey of over a thousand kilometres from Delhi to Hyderabad!), unscheduled stops, natural disasters, missing cooks, stolen luggage, inadequate arrangements to stay, toilets – everything that could possibly go wrong usually went wrong on these trips! But the unkindest cut of all, as far as I was concerned was the inadequate food! Too spicy, too late and almost all the time, too little of it!

Nothing seemed to faze the good sisters of the convent where we studied and plans were made for even more elaborate trips year after year! Of course I hated missing them! Who liked missing the fun of endless bus trips with tuneless (and endless) antakshari games? The giggling, the sleeping together squashed with inadequate covering, four to a bed meant for two – you fell off if you so much as turned over! The bedbugs, mosquitoes and on one memorable occasion, a hole in the roof through which the rain actually poured down on us – didn’t even have the decency to drip decorously into a bucket! Of course we had to go!

One trip stands out in my memory – the trip made in the month of November , 1977. The year the worst ever cyclone to hit India hit the entire state of Andhra and the neighbouring states. The year the school decided to take us on a bus trip of the South of India! It rained, of course. Incessantly. Our suitcases which were loaded on top of the bus were soaked though. Clothes developed fungus! After several days (or what seemed like it) the good sisters finally saw sense and decided to cut the trip short – turning back from somewhere close to the halfway point. Being about thirteen years old, we didn’t really care much! Also, we’d just finished with Kerala where most places we could afford to eat in had only red rice and coconut-ty accompaniments. Our very Andhra stomachs had quailed, worked up courage, tackled the food and then, quietly lain down to die! We were secretly rather relieved at the prospect of going home!

And so we drove back. And the bus started to cross a bridge on a river. Halfway point. There was a sudden flash flood. Water rising up to almost window height. The teachers, some of whom had brought little children along, started praying to every god they knew for succour. Our cook and his assistant were more practical – they promptly clambered on to the roof of the bus – if we had to get washed away, at least they’d be the last to die! I notice a fish – a rather large two-foot specimen – swimming just below my window and excitedly call everyone else to look at it. The bus teeters perilously to my side and then rights itself as everyone screams and rushes back to their seats!

We – i think everyone in the bus below the age of about fifteen – thought it was the most hilarious thing that had happened to us! There was no realisation of the danger we were in…

Luckily, the bus had got stuck in the middle of the bridge in a large pile of sand. A few hours later, some brave villagers swam across and harnessing the bus with ropes and things, pulled us across to the other side… the only discomfort we felt was in not being able to go to the loo!

A couple of days later, we were safely, if rather stinkily (remember the fungal clothes? – we couldn’t change!) back home… after, as far as we were concerned, yet another fun trip!

I learnt to love much of Kerala’s cuisine later, though the red rice still defeats me… but one dish which stood out in my memory is a dish from Karnataka – eaten somewhere on the Karnataka roads, obviously! Akin to the Andhra mukkala pulusu, this had a unique taste of its own.

KAIRASA

• Sweet potatoes cut into chunks/drumsticks/bhindi/okra/shallots – any or a mixture of these – 1 cup

FOR MASALA PASTE

• Urad dal – 1 tsp
• Sesame seeds – 1 generous tsp
• Fenugreek/methi seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Red chilies – 6
• Asafoetida – 1 large pinch
• Grated coconut – 2 tbsp
• Dhania powder – 1 tsp
• Tamarind paste – 1 tbsp
• Jaggery – 1.5 tbsp
• Salt
• Turmeric – 1/4 tsp

FOR TEMPERING

•  Mustard seeds – 1/2 tsp
• Urad dal – 1/2 tsp
• Curry leaves – 2 sprigs
• Sesame oil – 1 tbsp

Roast and grind the ingredients for the masala paste except for tamarind and jaggery. Grind and set aside.

In a pan, heat the oil and temper with mustard seeds, urad dal and curry leaves.

Add the vegetables and fry for a minute or two. Add a little water, cover and cook till half done. Add the tamarind, jaggery and the masala paste and a cup of water and bring to the boil. Simmer and cook till the vegetables are tender.

Sweet, sour, tangy, slightly nutty from the sesame (reminds me of the good sisters of my convent!) this is a great side dish for a dal or if you want a light meal, just by itself with rice!

I’d just joined my first job and was in training – at Ranchi. Had never travelled much in that part of the North earlier – my one earlier trip up North had been from Hyderabad straight up to Delhi, Kashmir and back down – like a plumbline! East and West of that plumbline was new country – to be marvelled over.

There were just two or three of us new recruits initially – a new initiative the company was trying out from the Institutes and therefore not much excitement. Then another batch of trainees – very senior General Managerial types landed up and life began to look up.

Lunch and dinner table had conversation and much jollity. The only older men I had been around were my family – dad and various uncles – and as we were not a very formal family, much ribbing had always been the order of the day. Not being too familiar with the heirarchy of the company – a very tall structure back then! – I was soon pretty much at home with the very senior trainees – giving as good as I got and playing carrom till late into the night.

The assistant manager who was in charge of our training was horrified – i laughed it off initially till he hinted it was just not “the done thing”! And so, taking his advice seriously, I was very formal at breakfast one morning. Many enquiries happened as to the state of my health – tabeeyyat tho theek hai, beta? Are you quite well, child?!  That was how very formal corporate organisations in India used to work then!

The head of training who was in charge of the centralised training organisation for our very large organisation – took his job very seriously indeed. To the extent that meals would be planned to maximise ‘training impact’!!

Lunch would always be ‘continental’ – bakes and grills and very light desserts – so that people who were used to their afternoon ‘thali meals’ wouldn’t eat too much and snooze through the afternoon sessions – this was particularly true of the older, senior trainees! A couple of times, I caught one these guys trying to chat up the cook – “Arre yaar, just make two rotis for me, na? Kya pharak padega aapko?” What difference will it make? And the cook shaking his head sadly, “Nahin, saab… that S sahib maarega humko!” Will flay me alive! Both parties would then shake their heads over the unreasonableness of S sahib who would not understand the necessity of a “proper” lunch and a little nap afterwards!

I, being much younger, was quite happy with the ‘continental’ food at lunch but the chef’s real brilliance shone out with his Bihari fare!

Some of it is incredibly simple and incredibly tasty, like this quite extraordinary…

BHUNE TAMATAR KI CHUTNEY (ROASTED TOMATO CHUTNEY)

• Ripe tomatoes – 4
• Garlic flakes – 6-7 – mince
• Green chilies – 5-6 or more – mince
• Coriander chopped – 1 cup
• Salt
• Mustard oil – 2-3 tbsp

Roast the tomatoes on an open flame or a grill. I skewer a line of them and roast them on a gas flame, turning over frequently till the skins turn black – 4-5 minutes. Investing in a skewer or shanghai-ing a steel knitting needle is a great idea for the kitchen!

Gently push them off the skewer into a steel dabba with a lid. Lots of recipes call for covering it with cling film and so on – but I am rather plastic-averse! So just push them into the dabba and lid immediately – for about 5-6 minutes. When you open the dabba, the skin slips off easily because the steam would have cooked the tomato skins. If you’re feeling lazy, just leave the skins on – it’ll taste just as good!

Mash the tomatoes with a potato masher or just chop very fine. Mix in everything else and voila- you have a smoky, yummy tomato relish with the sharp bite of mustard! An absolutely authentic Indian salsa!

Serve it as a side with khichdi or thick Bihari moti roti.

The year is 1985 and we are on the verge of leaving college. Having had a blast throughout the three years we were there, we decide to go out with a bang – a slap-up party. Yet another party? After having partied our way through three years? But how else??!

And so we plan – a “not too big” party because we don’t have a place big enough! Word spreads and people invite themselves or appear to think that they’re invited anyway – we are too polite, too bred in the Hyderabadi tehzeeb and also too young to figure out how to contain numbers! And so finally, as the day of the party dawns, we are not quite sure what the numbers are likely to be – anywhere between twenty five to fifty seems likely! The venue is my friend Priya’s house – her cook is the VERY BEST in the business, you see! Expenses we share – anyway in the Hyderabad of the ’80s, expenses were rather peanut-ty! And so we set to with a will the morning of the party, cleaning up, washing up and wiping cutlery and crockery , shifting furniture and generally creating havoc! We are so busy we don’t notice we haven’t had lunch and suddenly it’s time to get ready for the party. All D2K (dressed to kill!), we powder and puff and preen and prink gloriously in the mirror!

A friend – Gautam Sinha – has very generously offered to mix a really mean punch for us for the party and tells us what to get – some rum, some fruit juice, lots of lemons and loads of ice. We are efficient!

Gautam rushes in, hurriedly mixes the punch, adds ice and leaves it to stew in a big steel cask – we need a really enormous cask and a chai urn usually used for serving tea to the jawans is the closest we can manage…

Being hostesses, we are ready early to receive the earliest guests. Pangs of hunger strike – remember we’ve been too busy to have lunch! The urn beckons. Let’s try this stuff to check if it’s good. Shreesha and I down a quick glass – yum! Teenage hunger is not so easily assuaged. One more? Sure, why not? And another? But, of course! Priya has stuff to see to so she samples just one glass.

Gautam rushes in – just before people start to arrive – hey, awfully, awfully sorry but I seem to have mixed up the proportions of the ingredients. It’s supposed to be three parts of juice to one part of rum – and I’ve mixed it the other way round! And so, in the space of about fifteen minutes, we seem to have imbibed the equivalent of nine shots!

For two extremely tiddly teenagers who are as teenagers are wont to be, normally giggly and right now, uncontrollably so, this sounds completely delightful! Giggles multiply. Reach a crescendo. Priya comes rushing in, takes one look and hustles us off to the frig where she stuffs bread and butter down our reluctant and giggly throats!

The giggles turn into an uncontrollable desire to dance and dance we do – for the next eight hours without sitting down, solemnly making a pact not to sit down at all!

And the numbers finally roll in at over 75 people – the party of the year!

Gautam Sinha makes the meanest rum punch ever! Having tried for years to reproduce it and finally coming to the decision that it was teenage and an empty stomach that made it so delectably spirit-ed, I’ve finally come to my own…

RUM PUNCH

• 1.5 cups dark or golden rum
• 3 cups orange or mango juice – chilled
• 3 cups pineapple juice – chilled
• Juice of 3 large lemons
• 3 cups soda
• 1 cup ice cubes
• Sugar syrup – 1/2 cup
• 2 tbsp grenadine – see note below on how to make it at home in minutes
• Mint leaves – crushed
• Lemon slices

TO MAKE GRENADINE

• 2 cups pomegranate juice – fresh or canned – unsweetened
• 3 tbsp sugar
• 1/2 lemon

Boil the juice and sugar together for about 5 minutes till slightly thickened. Cool, squeeze in lemon juice and bottle in a dry bottle. Freeze. Voila – grenadine with NO preservatives!

FOR THE PUNCH

Mix in everything. Chill. Serve over crushed ice with mint leaves and lemon slices.

Dance. Sing. Do whatever. BUT PLEASE EAT BEFORE YOU DRINK this very potent brew!

I cannot tell you what we ate that day – having no memory of the dinner menu whatsoever, but the punch is gloriously etched in my memory!

And then there was the summer (why does it always seem summer and the holidays when you think of childhood? Existential question… ) when my mom learnt driving. I’ve talked about my mother’s penchant for ‘projects’,’new’ things, enthusiasms that came on suddenly – that made life with her so exciting…

And so, one year when she had crossed fifty years of age and I was about to join college, she decides that she cannot go through life not knowing how to drive. Not possessing a car does not deter her – my dad having met with a bad accident some years previously, cannot drive. So my mother sets off and buys herself a second hand – a very second-hand Standard Herald. Now, as anyone who grew up in that generation knows, a Herald is the boxiest of boxy little cars with a couple of wings sprouting up in the front, tipped with enormous headlights (see pic) – looking rather like a retriever with its ears standing up straight! And promptly enlisted the help of one of her office drivers to teach her. This lesson used to take place every morning and evening on the way to and from work – from Jubilee Hills to King Kothi Hospital – a distance of some ten or eleven kilometers along some of the busiest of Hyderabad’s roads.

Picture this – a novice driver, no second set of brakes (this is NOT a driving school car!), said novice driver over fifty years of age and never having been on any kind of wheels on any kind of road in her entire life – well… it made for some ‘interesting’ situations, to say the least! Not forgetting the fact that the car was at least ten years old and not in the best of condition! Well, the essentials were there – the brakes worked – just about… the horn was a temperamental creature and many times when we were rounding a blind curve, we had to resort to beating a tattoo on the side of the car with our hands so that the guy around the blind curve could figure that there was some strange beast around this corner!

One memorable summer, there were seven of us in the car – four well-endowed aunts (manchi personalities) and thankfully, three of us skinny nieces! The car started up one of those steep patches on the main hills road, groaning its way to the top… almost but not quite making it and then slowly slid right back down! With my mother heroically trying to manouver it, the car slid back in an S-shaped curve towards the end – a steep, ten foot drop on the right of the road… some of us struck silent with horror, one voluble aunt squeaking away and manouvering my mother’s shoulder as though it was the steering wheel! But did the lady turn a hair? Not a solitary one! The car slid to a halt inches from the chasm! Holding our breath, we got out from the other side carefully. My mom, having kept the engine going through this hair-raising ordeal (there was no guarantee that the engine would start again if allowed to die!), puts it back in gear and crests the hill triumphantly!  We climb the hill under our own steam and clamber back in, reaching home in one piece – where my mom coolly proceeds to tick everyone else off for losing their heads!

On yet another occasion, as my mom is driving, flames suddenly shoot out of the steering wheel! She quietly switches off the engine, pulls the car into gear and collecting her belongings, climbs out. Normal? So far! But then, she waits for the flames to die down, gets back in the car and drives back home! Not quite as normal!

Some few months later, she tried teaching me how to drive – I crest the selfsame hill from the other side – and drive straight into a flock of sheep – braking just in time and narrowly missing making a mutton biryani on the road! Lessons with mother stop. I join a driving school!

And thankfully, never having killed anything on the road, manage to stick to my Buddhist principles and ghaas -phoos diet… like this one… the classic…

CAULIFLOWER CHEESE

• 1 cauliflower – washed well, cut into florets
• Milk – 1/2 litre
• Salt
• Pepper
• Cheddar – grated – 1 cup
• Plain flour – maida – 4 tbsp
• Butter – 1 tbsp
• Breadcrumbs – 3 tbsp – optional

Boil florets in about 1 cup of water till just done but still crunchy. Strain out, reserving water.

Add the milk, salt, pepper, butter and maida to the reserved water and cook, stirring continuously till the mixture thickens. (If you make a roux first, with frying the maida in the butter, you will need a lot of butter – this way, we reduce the fat)

Add the cheese (reserveing 2 tbsp) and mix well. Switch off.

Layer the cauliflowers in a baking dish and pour the white sauce over. Top with the remaining grated cheddar and breadcrumbs.

Bake at 200C for 25 – 30 minutes till golden brown and bubbling on the top.

Quintessential comfort dish – after near misses on the road!