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Recipe: The Tasty Things In Life – Tomato Chutney

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If you are ever in any South Indian restaurant, you will notice that they will offer you an abundance of chutneys. Each restaurant will be famous for its own twist on ginger, coconut, mango and so many other variations and options. Whenever such a range is available, I usually want to lick and taste them all, until I find one that I love. Then, I’ll stick with that for that particular restaurant – at least for that particular day. Across many such meals, I have discovered that my favourite at many places is tomato chutney, so of course I decided to make my own version at home too – and to share it with you.

This tomato chutney can be kept in your fridge for about a week, and it goes well with anything – from main staples like dosas and idlys to assorted savoury snacks.

One thing I also like to do is to spread this chutney on the dosa itself, and it makes for an amazing flavour combination, along with the sesame oil used to fry the dosa and the ghee used as a topping. The dish looks so pleasing to the eye, is so appetizing, and is also healthy. Whenever I prepare a tomato chutney-laden dosa, it reminds me once again of the colourful plates at restaurants. Those red, green and white chutneys really change your perspective on just how delicious nutritious food can also look.

This in turn reminds me of a friend of mine whom I have learnt a lot from. She lives alone in a beautiful home, and at every single meal – whether or not she has visitors – she takes care to set a table properly. She places the crockery out along with crisp linen napkins and silverware. When one lives alone, one often takes things for granted. But not so with my friend, who pays attention to her meal and enjoys it the old-school way. No TV switched on, no carelessness. She cooks every single meal afresh and makes it a point to make it a pleasure.

Watching how she has chosen to live inspires me. We often rush through processes rather than pausing and being present. Yet what a difference it makes, especially as we get older, to truly enjoy and experience each moment.

Stop. Sit down. Look at the wonderful plate in front of you. See what the colours and flavours add to your life. If you plan to prepare such a plate soon, be sure to add this vibrant tomato chutney to it. I’m sure you’ll see and feel the difference it makes to the tastebuds, and to the mind.

Tomato Chutney

(Yield: 1 cup)

1 onion

2 tomatoes

3 dried red chilies

4-5 cloves garlic

2 tablespoons oil

1 piece ginger

1 teaspoon urad dal

Salt to taste

Water as required, enough to grind to a paste (I used 3-4 tablespoons)

Juice of ½ lemon

 

Heat a pan and add the oil. Add the garlic and urad dal and sauté.

Add the onions and dry red chilies. Sauté until the onions becomes translucent then add the tomatoes. Then, add the salt. Cook until the tomatoes are tender and their colour changes.

Now, add the water. Once the concoction cools considerably, blend with the lemon juice.

Store in a fridge for up to a week, using as an accompaniment to any dish of your choice. Enjoy!

For another tomato recipe that has multipurpose qualities, do check out my tomato purée recipe too!

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Recipes

Recipe: Learning Something New – Ginger Chutney

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For many years, a lovely lady named Hamsa has visited a few times a week, to conduct a chanting class for me. She teaches me Sanskrit scriptures like the Vishnu Sahasranamam and the Lalitha Sahasranamam. I’ve been chanting for the last fifteen years and it’s a source of immense solace for me. Hamsa is from Andhra Pradesh, a region known for its spicy cuisine, and it so happens that one of my favourite condiments comes from there. It’s a ginger chutney sweetened with a hint of jaggery, and I’m delighted to share the recipe for it with you today.

Before the pandemic, I was a frequent customer at a wonderful South Indian restaurant where an array of chutneys would be served. No matter how diverse the spread, I would always reach instantly for the ginger chutney, so much so that I’d even ask to have any leftovers of it packed to take back home and enjoy with the next meal. One day, as we were chatting after class, I asked Hamsa if she knew how to make that fabulous dish. I was thrilled to hear her say, casually, that she made it daily! Of course, she then kindly brought me some a couple of times, after which I asked that she teach me the recipe. I’m a hands-on learner and I wanted to watch her preparing the dish. So one day when she visited, she prepared it in my kitchen as I eagerly watched the process, and I’ve been making it happily ever since.

I believe that we all experience learnings from any person. It doesn’t matter who they are, or in what form the learning comes, but it enriches us just the same. This is something that’s so crucial for us to keep in mind at this difficult time for India. If we keep our eyes and our minds open, we will perceive that all of life itself is a learning, and that we are amidst so many ongoing lessons given what is happening is the country and the world. We are learning about what works and what doesn’t, and what has to change for a better future. In our personal lives and relationships, we are learning something every day about how to get through this crisis – seeing which relationships can withstand it and how, seeing sometimes that the problem isn’t the other person but us, and so much more. These are valuable learnings that we must carry forward.

I’m grateful to have learnt this recipe from Hamsa, to add to all the knowledge she has given me over the years spiritually. She doesn’t just teach me chants, but also talks about culture and ritual, deepening my understanding of the same. When I’m feeling down, she will often suggest a mantra that I can say to strengthen myself. This is advice that has kept me in good stead through my adversities.

I’m sharing the recipe for ginger chutney with you today along with a slice of my life. After I have completed my baking, cooking and exercise schedule in the morning, I always sit down to chant. I genuinely believe in prayer, and in the power of hope. I believe that as a human race we will come out of this darkness, and when I am in prayer, my conviction in this is at its strongest.

With the current lockdown in Chennai, I now take virtual classes from Hamsa daily. I can read Sanskrit, and one of the things I appreciate about her teaching style is that she is very particular about pronunciation. This takes me back to when I was a little girl in a convent school full of wonderful Irish nuns, who insisted on precision in handwriting and enunciation. The lovely Mrs. Martanda, my English teacher, would teach us the difference between the spoken words “vow” and “wow”, for example. She used the Wren and Martin grammar book and various dictionaries as teaching tools. That I am able to recall these details decades on is a testament to the influence a good teacher can have, in any aspect of life. As I said earlier: we learn something from someone, every day. We are all students, and we are all teachers.

And so – I learnt this from Hamsa and I am now teaching it to you. It’s a brilliant ginger chutney made in the Andhra style. My version is drier than Hamsa’s, and I make it this way so that it lasts longer. It has a perfect combination of flavours – sweet jaggery, spicy red chilli and piquantly aromatic ginger, the last one being a particular favourite of mine. It’s so Indian, yet so doable in any part of the world, consisting of simple ingredients and a quick and easy process. In case you cannot source jaggery, try brown sugar or coconut sugar as a substitute. This ginger chutney lifts up the flavours of my Buddha bowls, my dhoklas, my dosas… it adds such a sumptuous taste to anything I pair it with.

Ginger Chutney

(Yield: 1 cup)

2 small cups washed, finely cut ginger

1 small (lime-sized) ball tamarind

8 dry red Kashmiri chillies

2 tablespoons urad dal

Salt to taste

2 teaspoons cumin seeds

2 tablespoons jaggery powder

2 tablespoons sesame oil

 

Add the oil to a pan. Dry roast all the ingredients – except the jaggery – until they all turn golden, on a medium flame. Finally, add the jaggery.

Allow to cool. Blend well together without adding any water. You can store this in the refrigerator for 10-15 days. As a dry chutney, it is inherently more long-lasting.

I’d love to know how you’ve been pairing the various dips I’ve been sharing. The previous two in this Indian condiments series were the Tamil-style raw mango thovayal and the Gujarati-style dry garlic chutney. In the past, I’ve also shared several fusion and Indian dips and condiments, all of which can be used creatively, and I hope you’ll be curious about exploring those too. Here they are: curry leaf and green chilli hummus, plum chutney, wood-apple chutney, coriander chutney and date chutney. Enjoy!

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Recipes

Recipe: A Coconut Condiment – Coconut Podi

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I’ve spoken often about how I love growing many of my own ingredients, whether at home or on our farm. I’m excited about sharing this new series about one that is a staple in so many dishes here, and which I’m fortunate to have a lovely homegrown supply of. That hero ingredient is the coconut, and over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing several recipes that star it. We have our own coconut trees in the backyard, and I am always looking for ways to put the yield to use. The coconut climber came by recently, to harvest the trees, and from this abundance of crop I’m making as many things as I can. For any recipe at all that calls for coconut, I use a fresh one. Even coconut milk is squeezed at home.

Kicking off this series is a condiment, coconut podi. Condiments are popular across Indian cuisines, and South India has a fair share. Dry podis (“podi” means “powder” in Tamil) and wet chutneys, as well as semi-wet, semi-dry variations are made using a variety of spices, dals and ingredients like curry leaves, raw mangoes and more. The idli podi, for instance, is made to last long. Coconut is not an ingredient that can be be kept for that long, so this one has a shorter shelf life. But I can almost guarantee that you’ll reach out so often for it that your stock won’t expire. If made correctly, this coconut podi remains fresh for around 3-4 weeks, stored at room temperature.

One of the reasons why I was especially keen to make a coconut condiment is that I personally love the Sri Lankan sambol, and wanted to see if I could make a vegetarian version of sorts. While sambol uses seafood, I feel this recipe is similar. Like sambol, this podi is not a finely-ground one, and has many tiny coconut pieces. My friend Akila also encouraged me to try this experiment out, and she was happy to share her own basic coconut podi recipe. I’m always aware that different communities and families have their own ways of making the same recipe.

With Akila’s recipe as a base, layered with things I learnt from other recipes I’ve tastes over the years, and finally through speaking with various families to retain some kind of local authenticity, I added my own touches: tamarind and curry leaves.

While I was growing up, we often ate some kind of podi mixed with ghee and rice. It was the perfect impromptu go-to in case the day was too busy to prepare a curry or a dal, and I still reach out for this for the same reason. This podi is also delicious with a bit of ghee and a dosa, or to add flavour to yoghurt. One of the great things about any podi is that it tends to be easy to carry to work, since it won’t cause a mess or have a strong smell in one’s lunch carrier, whereas a curry might.

It smells divine as it roasts, however. The morning that I made this coconut podi, using those freshly-harvested coconuts, my whole home was filled with the most beautiful aroma as it was being prepared. Everyone wanted to have it for breakfast, immediately, lured by that fragrance. I wonder if the same thing will happen in your home!

Coconut Podi

(Yield: 2 cups)

1 cup fresh coconut (shredded)

2 tablespoons urad dal

2 teaspoons sesame oil

¼ teaspoon asafoetida

2 -3 dry red chillies

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

Salt to taste

6-8 curry leaves

1 marble-sized ball of tamarind

 

Add oil to a pan. Once it has heated, add the asafoetida, urad dal, mustard seeds, tamarind, red chillies and curry leaves.  Roast until the urad dal turns golden. Set aside.

In the same pan, dry-roast the coconut on a low flame, using just a few drops of oil, until it turns reddish in colour. Set aside.

Use a spoon to remove only the urad dal from the earlier mixture. Coarsely blend the remaining ingredients together, adding salt. Use a blender, and keep it at room temperature. Once a coarse blend is achieved, add the urad dal and blend everything again. The reason for adding the dal only at the end is so that there is a bit of crunch in the podi. You’ll see what I mean when you taste it!

You may also want to add just a pinch of jaggery to this recipe, if you’d like to enhance the flavour with some sweetness. That was an element I used in some trials of mine, and ultimately eliminated from my final version. If you’d like to, you can eliminate the curry leaves too. It all depends on what combination of spice, sweetness and tang (which comes in this case from tamarind) you most enjoy.

Store at room temperature, and enjoy with dosa, idly, rice, roti or any combination you prefer.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing more coconut-ty goodies, from anytime staples to festive specials. Please do subscribe to this blog, so that you’ll know as soon as a new post goes up! Don’t forget to let me know in the comments what you think of the recipes, too. As always, I love hearing from you about how you’ve translated my recipes to suit your own tastes!

 

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Recipes

Recipe: An Introduction To Macrobiotics – The Goodness Of Gomashio

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There I was in the freezing cold of the Berkshire mountains in Massachusetts, USA, telling my friends and family back home that I was finally about to do for fun what I didn’t enjoy doing in school – study! I had given myself the gift of learning: specifically, the subject of Macrobiotics, a system of mindful cooking and eating. My classes at the Kushi Institute often took place in the snowy winters, and even from indoors the beauty of my surroundings inspired me every day. Chirping birds, beautiful trees, and a healing science drawn from the principles of Zen Buddhism… Which I brought back to my home in Chennai, with its own trees and birds and mouths to feed.

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Musings

The Salt Of The Earth – A Journey To Marakkanam

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“Do you know a cure for me?”

“Why yes,” he said, “I know a cure for everything. Salt water.”

“Salt water?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said, “in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea.”

These words from Seven Gothic Tales, the first book by the Danish writer Isak Dinesen (best known for Out Of Africa), came to mind on that mirage-filled drive to Marakkanam in the South Indian summer heat. Anyone who has ever driven from the metropolitan hub of Chennai to the quaint former French colony of Pondicherry  along Tamil Nadu’s East Coast Road has noticed Marakkanam. Even if you do not know the village’s name, it’s impossible to miss the great heaped mounds of white salt glistening under the sun, lining the highway.

Salt. That condiment so precious to humankind that it has even been a form of wealth, measured at different times as either taxes or wages. The ancient Romans had a “salarium” (“sal” – “salt”), as part of a worker’s remuneration, as people were paid partly in salt. This is where the English language gets both the word “salary” and the idiom “worth his salt”. Closer to home, the monarchs of the Chola dynasty demanded a salt tax, known as “uppayam”. The historian Ramachandran Nagaswamy has spoken of epigraphic evidence showing how the same was paid from Marakkanam, making the salt industry in this village both an ancient and continuous activity. In modern Indian history, Gandhi’s salt march on March 12 1930 was a dramatic turning point in the independence struggle. In protest of the unfairly high British salt tax, he led the march from Dandi, Gujarat, to the Arabian Sea. There, he declared that a symbolic handful of sea salt would bring the end of colonial rule.

That afternoon, unlike so many journeys on that highway, I careened off the beaten path and entered the sprawling salt pans of Marakkanam to find out more….

Salt. The most quintessential of all ingredients. So quintessential that we take it for granted. So quintessential that its absence alone can strip a dish of all taste. Saltiness is one of the five basic human tastes.

I’ve said before that curiousity is the cornerstone of every interesting kitchen. But it cannot end simply with flavours and ingredients. When I trained in the culinary science of macrobiotics at the Kushi Institute, I honed this need to know and to ask questions, because every single thing you put into a dish carries its own energies and its own properties. So what does salt contain? The scientific answer is that it is a mineral which contains sodium chloride (NaCl). In Marakkanam, I searched for a deeper answer by talking to people whose livelihoods are to harvest it.

That afternoon, I was fortunate to meet P. Nallathamby, a supervisor of a 3500 acreage of salt pans staffed by 2000 workers. I caught them during their second shift of the day: they rise early and work from 6am to 9am, then return at 1pm to continue. Both women and men work the salt pans. Mr. Nallathamby has been in this line of work for 40 years, having joined his father and brother in the same at the age of 18. But things have been difficult in the salt business for around 8 years, owing to various reasons such as rising diesel prices, increased labour costs and neglect from the central government, which leases out the pans to individuals.

The harvest season runs from January to May. In January, the salt pans are like a lake owing to recent rains. It takes about a month to dry out, then the harvest begins. Every three days, the flats are scraped, as you can see in this video, and the photographs below.

The salt is collected in small mounds along the grids of the pans, then in the huge mounds that are visible from the highway. Water from the earth or sea is added to the pans as necessary, such as between April and May. The process is entirely water-dependent, but ironically, no work can take place during times of rain. The mounds of salt wait for the daily lorries that come to purchase and take them away to be traded not just in Tamil Nadu and Pondicherry but in Kerala, Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka too. You may be surprised to know that a whopping 110 kilograms of salt is sold for just 130 rupees (approximately USD$2).

Mr. Nallathamby describes his 40 years in this line of work as uneventful. Even the great tsunami of 2004 did not have a negative effect on this coastal business. For six or seven months every year, the salt pans thrive. After all, come rain or shine, it’s an ingredient the world cannot do without.

In Marakkanam, it is rock salt (which is not to be powdered) that is harvested. As you may remember from this recent summer-friendly recipe, rock salt contains many nutrients and works well as a digestive.

The salt pans of Marakkanam are quite amazing to behold: a contrast between grains so small and a landscape so large.

Every year, from the first harvest of the season, a small salt Ganesha is shaped by hand. He is then allowed to dissolve back into the salt pans. While it was the wrong time of year to witness this, my visit to Marakkanam did end with a quick stop at the 1000 year old Bhoomeeshwarar temple, dating to the Chola dynasty. I had been told that the temple’s inscriptions had mention of the salt trade in this area even a millennium ago. The priest said he didn’t think there was anything of that kind there, but sometimes we don’t know what’s right under our noses. Like salt, I suppose – that ubiquitous condiment we often only think about if it’s missing.

I’m not sure if salt was mentioned on them, but what struck me about the inscriptions all over the temple’s inner compound was this: how much the wear and tear of centuries on stone had made it look as though salt was on them. In between the chiselled spaces. In the air… and everywhere.

I had wondered about salt since childhood, that staple of every meal. My mother had taught me that in the precise quantity, it cooks vegetables faster. For years, on every long weekend drive to Pondicherry, I had watched the white salt mounds pass by and wondered about them too. Now, armed with my camera and my curiousity, I had discovered more. That indispensible ingredient comes from somewhere: the labour of people like Mr. Nallathamby and his staff. From those huge mounds that can be seen on the highway to the small pinch that is baked into our daily bread, how much we take for granted.

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