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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!

My childhood summers were almost always spent in Vijayawada, where my maternal grandparents lived. If you’ve followed my blog for some time, you may remember when I mentioned their huge fridge or the vetiver-scented curtains in their rooms. So many precious memories were made there as we grew up. Maybe one reason why the scent and flavour of roses are such a vital element in the re:store kitchen is because they always evoke for me one very special taste from those long-ago days:  rose sherbet.

This is my aunt’s recipe, and she made it almost ceremonially every summer in Vijayawada. Or so it felt to me, at least, because the luscious colours and fragrance – and that wonderful, cool taste at the end of it all – were so grand. The household had a very traditional kitchen, despite the ultra-modern fridge, and there was no dining table. In one corner was a puja area, where the gods were always served first, which is why our custom is to never taste food as it is being cooked. Followed by the offering to the gods, the kids would be served. Leaves would be laid on the floor in rows, and my siblings, cousins and I would sit down cross-legged and eat. Banana leaves are popular in South India, but we also used sal or banyan leaves, known as patravali (and locally as istrakku). Leaves are not only a traditional form of crockery, they are also environmentally-friendly. They are biodegradable and are a single-use item, thus requiring no water wastage during cleaning.

Sitting on the floor expectantly, the leaf before me, I would glance up and look at the amazing array of glass bottles on the shelves. My aunt collected these in every colour and shape, and this beautiful mismatched display was used to store her luscious rose sherbet. We would each be treated to a single glass of it after lunch, so I always looked forward to the end of the meal. The sherbet would be mixed with either water or milk. The latter was a healthy concession (because this is a sugary beverage), as well as a way to get us kids excited about drinking milk.

Sherbet is a drink brought to India from the Middle East, as its name indicates, coming from the Turkish “şerbet”, Persian “sharbat” and Arabic “sharba”. Naturally cooling, it is a concentrate made of either flowers or fruits, which is diluted. It is sometimes spiced but always sweetened.

I had the good fortune of having my aunt visit recently. She is in her 80s now and as we reminisced about the good times, we ended up making a fresh batch of rose sherbet in my home. Now it’s my shelves that are lined with those gleaming pink bottles.

The roses we used are the pretty local ones known as “paneer roja”, which may be familiar to you as damask rose or country rose. They grow well in the tough weather conditions of Chennai, and they are so fragrant. Prepare for your entire kitchen to smell like heaven as you make this recipe. And why not? You deserve it. On those long summer days, like the ones we’ve started to have in Chennai now, it’s the perfect cheat day beverage. So cooling and so decadent!

 

Rose Sherbet

(Yield: Approximately 2 litres)

Ingredients

2 litres water

150 grams rose petals

1½  kilograms sugar

1 teaspoon citric acid

1 teaspoon rose extract

2 pinches of raspberry colour

Pick and clean the rose petals. Place them in a vessel, cover with a lid, and let them soak in water overnight.

The following morning, crush the petals well using your hands or a hand blender. The water will now change colour.

Squeeze the petals using your hands and strain and pour the rose water into a big steel pot and place it over a medium flame. Discard the petals. Add the sugar and stir constantly. Be careful not to allow the sugar to crystallise – this is a precise art.

Boil and stir until the water turns sticky when touched between your fingers. Then, turn off the flame and add the citric acid. Make sure you stir the pot well and the citric acid blends completely. Cover the pot with a net and allow to cool.

After a few hours, add some rose extract and the raspberry red colour to the sherbet. The latter is optional, but look at how delightful the drink looks when you do it! Kids will especially get a thrill from that rich colour.

Strain the sherbet, then use a funnel to pour the syrup into glass bottles. Store in a cool place. This beverage does not require refrigeration.

To serve, add 2 tablespoons of the syrup into a glass. Pour cold water until it fills the glass and mix lightly.

In my home, the favourite finishing touch is always a topping of ice cubes and a squeeze of lemon. Rose sherbet is so very refreshing, as well as so lovely to look at. You’ll have to do what my aunt did when we were kids and restrict yourself – just one sugary-sweet glass a day!

 

Standing at that quaint tea shop in Kolkata that early November morning, I realised that the city had been awake for hours. We were on a guided tour, and as we found ourselves there for our first cup of the day, I noticed how around us were people who had taken a pause during their work. All of us – locals and tourists, at leisure or on the job – were treating ourselves to a small terracotta or glass cup of warm chai. In just five minutes, I saw not only a classic street-style chai-making procedure, but faces from everywhere – each of them enjoying a rejuvenating sip of this quintessential beverage.

I couldn’t resist picking up my camera. I was so pleased that these men, for whom this particular stall is a routine, were happy not just to be photographed but also to chat! They say a cup of tea brings people together – and for a few minutes on a morning in Kolkata, that’s exactly what happened.

 

 

It was this man’s mashk – a goat-skin bag – that caught my eye. He sells water from it, at ₹10 a serving. He proudly told us that the neighbourhood we were in is colloquially known as Bheeshti Para, an homage to the traditional occupation of the water-carrier (known as “bheeshti”). He also shared that the etymology of “bheeshti” comes from the Persian word “bihisht”, which means “paradise”). How poetic – the water-bearer from paradise, bringing succour to the thirsty.

 

 

We also met this money-lender whose family is from Afghanistan – one of the many communities who settled in Kolkata, who have carried the trade on for generations. In fact, Afghani money-lenders were popularised in Rabindranath Tagore’s short story “Kabuliwala” (literally, “the man from Kabul”), which was also made into a number of films.

Kolkata is home to many such communities of foreign origin, who have enriched it. For instance, it is the only South Asian city with a Chinatown, thanks to several generations of people originally from China who have made it their home. There are also Anglo-Indians, Parsis and numerous other uniquely Indian cultures. And there I was, a Tamil Nadu-raised Gujarati, sipping from my terracotta cup too.

 

 

It’s always a pleasure for me to watch another culinary expert at work. Look at the precision of this chai-maker’s tea-pouring technique!

 

 

The street was abuzz with life that morning, as the fogginess gave way to bright sunlight. A recycling truck was passing by. Right next door to the tea stall was a food stall selling breakfast: pooris, pickles and savouries. Somewhere nearby, I am sure that the famed Bengali milk sweets were being made and sold too.

And how amazing is it that one morning I was drinking Bengali tea at a street-side stall in Kolkata, and the next morning I was back here in Coffeeland aka Chennai, a land famous for its filter coffee? I love my coffee anywhere in the world, but the moody monsoonal rain and my recent trip inspired me to recreate that hot, spiced tea here at home.

 

 

Masala Chai Powder

(Yield – approximately 100 grams)

Ingredients
¾ cup black pepper

½ cup cloves

3 tablespoons peeled cardamom

½ cup cinnamon sticks

1 tablespoon ginger powder

1 tablespoon pipramul powder

 

Tea is so quintessentially Indian that it’s easy to forget that it was actually introduced to India by the British. Originally from China, the tea shrub was found to grow well in hilly regions like Darjeeling and Assam, and closer to my home, in the Nilgiris. In fact, the word “chai” is from the Mandarin word “cha”.

I grew up watching masala chai powder batches being made for a year at a time during the hot summers.  This is what is now known as a Macrobiotic approach, making use of the logic of the seasons, in this case the heat. I have found that sun-drying makes the flavours bloom. But masala chai was originally had in the winters, as the herbs and spices had a warming effect – even roasting in the winter sun was sufficient, provided there was no rain.

If you’re trying this method on a warm day, roast all the ingredients except the ginger and pipramul powders in the sun. If you’re in a rainy or wintry season like I am right now, simply roast the ingredients (except the ginger and pipramul powders) on an iron pan for less than five minutes.

If you’re a fan of spices, the other ingredients will all be familiar to you, but if you’re wondering, pipramul is also known as Indian long pepper or ganthoda, and is a rhizoid similar to ginger. It aids digestion and helps with any kind of gastric trouble.

Once the ingredients have cooled, blend them into a powder. Add the ginger and pipramul powders and mix thoroughly. Store in an air-tight container.

If kept dry, you can use this powder for months at a time. It’s used only for chai and added into the boiling process of tea making, as is the Indian way.

My few minutes at that chai stall in Kolkata that morning made me ponder what a privilege it is to have tea at home, and not on the go while on the job. Tea is said to be a contemplative beverage, and is such a wonderful companion to both conversations with others and moments of musing alone. I’m contemplating the people I met that morning as I savour this cuppa. What’s on your mind today?

What does summer look and feel like in your city? Here in Chennai, temperatures have been crossing 40 °C (104 °F) – and we’re bracing for May, usually the hottest month of the year! The streets are at their sunniest and most scorching, but pleasantly lined by flowering trees and stalls selling fruit. A few weeks ago, on a short road trip, water mirages accompanied me all along the highway. As for what the season feels like: sweat, thirst and the longing for a cool breeze and a chilled beverage are our primary sensations at present. Come visit, I say – just not today!

Fortunately, there’s a method to the madness of every season. Traditional wisdom and the science of macrobiotics make the best culinary use of fruits, vegetables and grains that thrive at different times of the year. Here in the subcontinent, if there is one kind of produce that is ubiquitous with the sweltering, sultry days of summer, it’s the mango.