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Dairy is a huge part of the pan-Indian diet, and among its many forms, buttermilk is consumed across the length and breadth of the country during the summer. It is mentioned in Ayurvedic texts as a coolant, and provably has this effect on the body. In lore, it was among the delicious goods that Krishna often stole from the cowherds, with his mother Yashoda usually discovering his theft quickly and reprimanding him for it. It has been in our history and mythology for millennia, and in our kitchens as well. A few years ago, I shared a recipe for spiced buttermilk, and today I am sharing one for a flavoured variant: banana stem buttermilk.

As I mentioned in a recent recipe, my mother made butter at home while we were growing up, and its sour residual buttermilk was used in kadhi and other dishes. As a beverage, I prefer my buttermilk less sour and make it with fresh homemade yoghurt, which you can also get into a daily routine of preparing yourself.

How the straightforward buttermilk that I regularly consume came to be pepped up with banana stem is really a photographer’s story. Some time ago, I had been preparing banana stem poriyal, a Tamil stir-fry side dish, when something caught my eye as I was slicing the ingredient. A beautiful geometric pattern (designed by Nature) along the edges of the stem captivated me. I was moved to pause my cooking and pick up my camera. Somehow, as I worked, the thought of adding the ingredient to our regular post-lunch buttermilk occurred to me. From stir-fry to shoot subject to summer heat-buster, the humble banana stem had quite a journey in my hands that day.

Though it is humble indeed, and sometimes neglected for this reason, banana stem is a much-loved ingredient in Tamil cuisine due to its powerful health benefits. It is most famous for being able to dissolve kidney stones, and also has anti-diabetic and detoxification properties. It is rich in iron, fibre, potassium and Vitamin B. It can be eaten raw, but not everyone’s constitution reacts well to this, so you can lightly steam it before consumption without losing much of its nutritious qualities too. Although I was inspired that day to put my photographic muse into my afternoon drink, it was not a brainwave that simply came out of nowhere. Somewhere in my growing years, at some friend’s house or another, I certainly drank banana stem buttermilk. As a local, accessible and inexpensive ingredient, it has always been put to good use by cooks over the centuries.

As mentioned, we have buttermilk with our summer lunches daily, or else a banana. Either a drink to cool the body down, or else the fruit of the same plant to assist with digestion. This was the case when I was a child as well, when my mother would prepare plain buttermilk that was seasoned with nothing but salt and cumin powder. During the summers, our school holiday time, we would play with our neighbourhood friends in the afternoon, climbing trees and tiring ourselves out in a happy way, then have a glass of this and go off for a siesta. The drink was especially vital because it would also be mango season. Mangoes in high quantities increase body heat. Of course, we would have gorged on them, so something had to be consumed to counter this.

Buttermilk really is a summer beverage for so many reasons, and I always find it interesting and awe-inspiring how Nature laid everything out for us in such a way that there is always a seasonal logic. Isn’t it marvellous that yoghurt just takes 3-4 hours to set at this time of year, when it is a more necessary part of our diets, as opposed to needing to set overnight in winter? To this natural design, we also add our common sense: we consume cooling buttermilk during the day, when the sun is high, and not at dinner time.

As a Gujarati born and brought up in Tamil Nadu, bringing the local banana stem into my traditional buttermilk was an intuitive choice. You can make it with other flavours too. The sweetened version of this drink, the lassi, is similarly versatile, and you may remember a fruity version from my recent mango series.

Banana Stem Buttermilk

(Yield: 2 cups)

1 cup chopped banana stem

2 cups yoghurt

1 piece ginger

¼ teaspoon asafoetida

A few curry leaves

A handful of chopped coriander leaves

1 green chilli

½ teaspoon roasted cumin powder

Salt to taste

2 -3 cups water

Juice of half a lime/lemon

Chop the banana stem and soak the pieces in water. Set aside while you prepare the other ingredients. If you tend to find consuming raw banana stem difficult on your digestion, lightly steam it beforehand.

In a bowl, prepare the yoghurt by adding salt and cumin powder. Add 2 ½ cups water and beat well. Keep aside.

Discard the water that the chopped banana stem was soaking in. Put the chopped stem pieces into a blender. Add the green chili, coriander leaves, asafoetida, ginger and curry leaves. Add the remaining ½ cup water and blend well. The quantity of water you use depends on how thick you want your beverage. Then, strain the thick purée into the prepared buttermilk. Add a dash of lime/lemon juice, for a bit of a sour tang.  Beat well. Consume immediately, before it starts to change colour.

I hope you’ll enjoy this nutritious banana stem buttermilk! I’ve shared quite a few summery beverages over the years, and here are some more recipes for your enjoyment too, shared with good wishes for your health and well-being: strawberry-rose smoothie, barley lime drink, rose sherbet and curry leaf and raw mango cooler.

I dropped references to kadhi not once but twice on this blog recently, during the grains-based Gujarati recipe series I was sharing. I’m delighted to feature the recipe for this wonderful accompaniment today, and I hope it gives a superb flavouring to all your khichdis, khichdos and much more.

Kadhi was traditionally made from soured buttermilk. Here in South India, even today, many households make our dairy products at home. I still prepare my daily yoghurt and let it set overnight. While I was growing up, my mother and most of our neighbours also made butter, cream and ghee regularly. As long as milk and a fridge were available, these resourceful homemakers ensured that their families had a steady, homemade supply of these essential ingredients.

So my mother would often collect cream in a pot, store it in the fridge, and then make white butter from it. We absolutely loved this as kids, and ate it with everything, including rotis. There would always be quite a lot of white butter prepared, and from it she would also make ghee. The residue of that white butter would be soured buttermilk, and from this she would make kadhi. It’s truly amazing how far she could stretch a vessel of milk!

So on the days when she made butter, we would almost invariably have kadhi, because she would never let that soured buttermilk go to waste. My father loved this kadhi, and never ate that great Gujarati mainstay, dal (the rest of my family are ardent dal enthusiasts, and you can check out my recipes for horse gram dal, mixed dal and classic Gujarati dal). I prefer lentils and legumes myself, but always prepare some kadhi for my father when he visits.

As I’ve said before in the posts in the Second Helpings series, culinary innovations are truly the forte of ordinary people over so many generations, who would dream up ways and means to make every bit of food go an extra mile. I too have learned that another good way to make kadhi, rather than to prepare butter and use its residue, is with yoghurt that’s been in the fridge for a few days.

If you’ve never tried a kadhi before, I would describe it as being an equivalent to the South Indian mor-kulambu. A kadhi is thinner in consistency, but it has a similarly spicy, slightly sour flavour. There are also mango kadhis, in which chunks of the fruit are added to the mixture when they are in season. These may be similar to the Tamil manga pulissery. Dumpling kadhis are another interesting variant. The recipe I will be sharing with you today is the base on which these variations are built.

Gujarati kadhi is sweetened with sugar, as with many of our dishes. This is a culinary twist that’s a signature of the cuisine, and you may prefer to make yours without it. We also do not add turmeric, and prefer to keep the kadhi white in colour. It is always tempered with ghee and just a few spices, so that just a subtle hint of their flavours are infused.

There’s one way in which my kadhi differs from my mother’s, and that is in my addition of curry leaves, which she never used. I have a sense that curry leaves as an ingredient are a South Indian element, which is why they seem to be absent in Gujarati cuisine. I’ve never come across any dish that uses curry leaves in any form in Gujarat, whereas here in Tamil Nadu we prolifically use powders, chutneys and the fresh leaves too. I’ve noticed in my travels there, especially to agricultural areas, that curry leaf trees aren’t abundant either. But like I said, this is just a sense of things. I would absolutely love to hear any insights you may have into curry leaves and their role or lack thereof in Gujarati culture or cuisine. Please do shed some light if there’s anything you may know about this topic.

I’d love to hear those insights over a tummy-filling thaali, but in these socially-distanced times, here’s the next best thing: my recipe, and a request to share what you know in return!

Kadhi

(Serves: 2 people)

½ cup yoghurt

1¼ cups water

1 tablespoon chickpea flour

½ teaspoon green chilli/ginger paste

Salt to taste

1 teaspoon sugar (optional)

1 tablespoon ghee

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

¼ teaspoon methi seeds (fenugreek)

A pinch of asafoetida

2 dry red chillis

2 cloves

1 stick cinnamon

1 cardamom

1 sprig curry leaves

In a pot, add the yoghurt, water, chickpea flour, ginger and chili pastes as well as the salt. Beat well until the mixture is fully incorporated.

Allow this to cook for approximately 7-8 minutes on a medium flame. Stir constantly so as to prevent the yoghurt from splitting.

Add the fenugreek seeds. Boil some more. Once this has cooked, set aside.

Prepare the tempering. For this, use a small pan. Add ghee and then add the cumin seeds, cardamom, cloves and dry red chillis. Once the cumin seeds splutter, add the curry leaves and the asafoetida, and immediately pour the tempering into the kadhi.

Garnish with coriander leaves, stir then serve hot. As mentioned earlier, kadhi goes beautifully with several kinds of khichdis (or you could have it with white rice, in which case it becomes the meal known as “kadhi-bhat”). It’s wonderful as part of a simple, traditional meal. I’d love to know what you think of it!

I must have yoghurt with every single meal – a meal is never complete without it, and I am never full! I have tried over the years to go vegan and all that jazz but my love for yoghurt makes this impossible. I can give up milk, but yoghurt? Never. In fact, I loved it so much as a child that my mother had to ration it – she restricted me to a single cup per meal. But how I loved that one cup!

In South India, we take our yoghurt seriously. It has to be perfect – it should not be too sour, it should not have a thin film on top, and it should be smooth not broken. This is how it must be served at the table – and you can be assured that it is served at every table.

I have a friend in Barcelona who visits me each year and takes back a little bit of the yoghurt culture as a starter to make her own. The temperature, quantity of culture and the quality of the milk are very important. Yet, somehow, yoghurt is also very simple to make, which is why it is made in households every single day without fail. I wish sourdough was as easy to make. If you follow me on Instagram, you’d have seen my attempts and adventures at sourdough on my Instastories!

Traditionally, in my home, we set the yoghurt in an earthenware or stoneware pot. I set it both in the mornings and in the evenings, so that we have it fresh at both lunch and dinner. Yoghurt usually sours within a day, so it is one of the ingredients that is often used in leftover-based dishes. Refrigeration can prolong this slightly.

It sets faster in the summers, within 5 to 6 hours. In cooler months, if you set it just before bed, you will certainly be able to have it first thing in the morning. But be warned that these standards are for my climate, here in India. When I visited my son in New York last winter, he had a craving for homemade yoghurt. In the depths of icy November, it took two whole days to set!

So many of my summer stories revolve around my grandparents’ home in Vijayawada. If you went down memory lane with me and my aunt’s rose sherbet or their vetiver-scented curtains which inspired my chia pudding, here is one more from my childhood memories to enjoy: spiced buttermilk. It is a flavour I remember from those summers with my cousins, when we would each be given 25 paisa to go buy ourselves a treat. Someone would get soda, someone would get raw mango slices… My favourite was guava, but buttermilk was what we were always encouraged to have, for its health benefits. What I’ll share with you today is my friend Anandhi’s recipe, made with her guidance. Its core ingredient is homemade yoghurt.

Both yoghurt and buttermilk are great for digestion, and have a cooling effect on the body, which is why they are summer essentials. If you love your dairy like I do – with apologies to my vegan and lactose-intolerant friends! – you’ll absolutely love being able to switch from store-bought yoghurt. After a while, setting it becomes a habit, and it’s always so delicious when it’s fresh.

 

Spiced Buttermilk

(Yield: Approximately 5 glasses)

 

Ingredients

1 cup yoghurt

1 teaspoon roasted cumin powder

1 teaspoon grated ginger

1 tablespoon finely chopped coriander leaves

1 finely chopped green chilli

Salt to taste

3 cups water

A dash of lemon

1 pinch asafoetida (optional)

In a blender, add all the ingredients, except the water, and whir until everything is well blended. Now add the 3 cups of water. You can adjust the consistency by increasing or reducing the quantity of water to your preference. The dash of lemon gives you a little spring of energy, and the spices add such delicious flavours to the drink. Serve immediately.

Known for its probiotic properties, buttermilk acts as a coolant in the summer months, especially when eating heat-inducing mangoes is a full time pleasure!

 

 

Homemade Yoghurt

As I said earlier, setting yoghurt is both very delicate and very easy. To set the yoghurt, the temperature of the room, the temperature of the milk and the quantity of the starter are all very important in order for the yoghurt to be plain and not sour.

In India, where summers are very hot, I add a ¼ teaspoon of starter yoghurt to a bowl and pour room temperature milk into it. I then cover it with a lid and set it aside for 5-6 hours. Do the same if you are working in a similar climate. After the stated time, open the lid and see that the milk is set and rather tight when moved a little. Now refrigerate. Serve whenever you please.

During the winters, warm the milk and increase the quantity of the starter to ½ or even 1 teaspoon. Cover, and keep in a warm place for 10-12 hours or until set.

I am not a fan of sour yoghurt so refrigerating it once set is key, so it stays fresh for longer.

I’d much rather make my own yoghurt at home, where I know what exactly goes into it, as I’m always cautious about my food as far as possible.

This is the yoghurt I use when making buttermilk, as well as my regular accompaniment to my major meals. Yoghurt with rice, yoghurt with rotli, and of course, yoghurt with re:store’s bestselling muesli. It goes so well with everything, in my opinion!

I’d love to hear in the comments about how you’re keeping cool this summer!