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Recipe: Traditionally Dal-icious – Gujarati Dal

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Dal is made in every single Gujarati home almost every single day. Literally. No exaggeration. Dal is the staple, the tradition, the go-to, the “I must have my daily dal”. It is made the same way every afternoon, and we never get bored of it. Come what may, there’s a bowl of dal on the table for lunch, alongside a vessel of hot rice. Given what a fundamental part of our palate it is, it’s funny that it’s taken me over four years of blogging to share the recipe, especially when so many of you have also requested it from me. But here it is, finally! I can say for certain that it’s been worth the wait.

While I’ve asserted repeatedly over so many recipes that every dish tastes different based on the cook, the kitchen and the place it’s being made in, this one somehow always tastes the same. Which is to say: it tastes perfect. It’s a mainstay, made exactly the same way no matter who is making it or where. I have enjoyed it everywhere I have tried it and have never tasted a difference. So what you are getting today is an absolutely authentic, time-honoured recipe for quintessentially Gujarati dal.

It’s funny how the stereotype as far as food is concerned goes “dhokla!”, when dhokla isn’t quite the backbone of the cuisine the way that dal-bhat (dal and rice) is. It should tell you so much about stereotypes versus the real experience because while we may not be famously associated with dal-bhat, it’s such a part of our culture that the dish even forms part of our pleasantries. When one Gujarati person meets up with another, we often say these words: “dal-bhat, rotli, shaak?” The phrase means: “dal and rice, rotli and vegetables?”. The question is a way of saying, “Have you eaten?” – a typical and pan-Indian form of polite chatter. If you notice, dal-bhat is the first term even though it is actually served later in a meal. In a traditional meal, it is rotlis that are served first, and once the rice comes out you know that there are no more rotlis left. Still, in our greetings, the importance is accorded to dal-bhat, because that’s the place it has in our hearts.

The Gujarati dal and rice combo is one that has been relished for generations in my home. When my husband was little, his grandpa nicknamed him Dal-Sukh Dal-Bhat (“sukh” means “happiness”) because it was the only dish that always satisfied him, without fail. My husband’s grandpa also lived to the ripe old age of 99, very fit and healthy on a daily diet of dal and rice – and happily watching his great-grandchildren eat this beloved dish every day too. The very first solid food that my children all ate was dal and rice, and it is still their comfort food. Just as in some South Indian homes, when kids come home after eating out somewhere, they’ll head to the kitchen and say, “Ma, do you have any thayir sadam (curd rice)?”, a bit of dal-bhat is the dish that most Gujaratis will crave in order to feel like a meal is truly complete.

Never come between a Gujarati and their dal rice. Trust me, no matter what other traditions are parted from, this one will stay true for the ages!

While dals are eaten everywhere in India, what makes this one unique to our community is that it panders to our famous sweet tooth. It contains jaggery, which sweetens it, and is also made tangy through kokum. It should only be made with toor dal (pigeon pea), and there is no substitute for this ingredient that won’t alter the entire recipe and the entire experience.

Gujarati Dal

(Yield: Serves 4-5 persons)

 

½ cup raw toor dal

2 cups + 2 cups water

2 tablespoons ghee

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

1 dry red chilli

A pinch of methi seeds

A few curry leaves

A pinch of asafoetida

½ cup finely chopped tomato

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon turmeric powder

½ teaspoon red chili powder

2 tablespoons unsalted peanuts

3 tablespoons jaggery

4-6 stems of kokum flowers

¼ cup chopped coriander leaves

 

Wash and strain the dal. Pressure cook it in 2 cups of water. Then, blend the dal with a handheld blender and set it aside.

In a kadai, add ghee. Once it has heated, add the mustard seeds, cumin seeds and fenugreek seeds and allow them to splutter. Next, add the dry red chili and the salt, chili powder, turmeric and asafoetida. Finally, add the curry leaves, peanuts, chopped coriander leaves and chopped tomato. Sauté. Cover with a lid and allow this to cook on a slow flame until all the spices and the tomato come together and look mashed, as in this video below.

Now, add the jaggery. Then, add the blended dal that was set aside earlier. You will need to add more water at this stage, based on the thickness you prefer. I’ve added 2 cups. Remember that once cooled, the dal will thicken a little more.

The final touch is to add the kokum to the kadai. If you don’t have this ingredient, you can use a little lime juice as a substitute. Allow the concoction to boil for approximately 4-5 minutes.

Then, serve hot alongside rice or rotli, or both – as in a traditional Gujarati thaali.

Not only does this dish have the charm of simplicity and familiarity, it is also downright delicious. It’s truly such a pleasure to share this recipe for this deeply-loved Gujarati dal with you. I would not be surprised to hear of it being made in your own home daily from now on, just as it has been in mine since time immemorial!

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Recipe: Perchance, Passion Fruit – Vegan Passion Fruit Shrikhand

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A friend and I were on a weekend getaway in the hills when another friend, who coincidentally had embarked on the same idea of a little escape to the same sleepy town, dropped by to visit us. We were enjoying each others’ company and trying to pep up the meal we would share, wanting to make it as fancy as possible with the simple but fresh ingredients at our disposal. There was a lot of yoghurt on hand, and perchance, some luscious passion fruit. Voilà, inspiration struck! We were quick to leap into action and put together a beautiful shrikhand for dessert, and even quicker to polish it off as we caught up on our conversation.

Both passion fruit and shrikhand have been celebrated on this blog before, and bringing them together felt like a lovely stroke of luck. Passion fruit always has a short season, so I suggest that you take advantage of the same and try this recipe as soon as you find the fruit. It truly is one of the most beloved fruits in my home, as you may remember from this recipe for a passion fruit salad dressing that I still make as often as possible. At the very least, sliced passion fruit or passion fruit juice is a daily feature whenever we’re able to get a fresh harvest.

While I had prepared this dish using dairy while on the getaway, once I got back home I tried it again in a vegan preparation. I had initially wanted to make a vegan version of the coconut pudding that was shared last week, but wasn’t able to do enough trials due to the festive rush. So this time, what I am sharing is a tried and tested vegan dessert, made with coconut yoghurt.

Quite like the sitaphal kheer that needs very little to enhance it, being so flavourful on its own, the passion fruit shrikhand too does not need the the usual frills of a typical or traditional shrikand. It doesn’t need saffron or slivers of almond or pistachio to elevate it. All I used was a little bit of cardamom. The focus is very much on the taste of the fruit, which happens to be quite sweet, and this means that you can cut down on the sugar quantity used in the dish.

Gujaratis take pride in our shrikhand, and it is even eaten as part of a main meal in a great combination known as shrikhand-poori (I’ve written many times on this blog about that famous Gujarati sweet tooth!). So while I don’t want to make an easy comparison to flavoured yoghurts you can get in supermarkets, I can definitely say after this experiment that it’s very easy to flavour your shrikhand too, using different kinds of fruits. It’s very easy to prepare overall, too. The best part of it is that being homemade, we know exactly what goes into it. A flavoured shrikhand is a healthy treat, and a fun and simple way to add a twist to this immensely popular Gujarati dish.

 

Vegan Passion Fruit Shrikhand

(Yield: 4-5 cups)

5 cups coconut yoghurt

½ cup icing sugar (substitute: ½ cup honey or maple syrup)

¼ teaspoon cardamom

Pulp of 2 passion fruits

 

Take a fine muslin cloth, put the 5 cups of coconut yoghurt into it and tie the cloth. Use plain yoghurt if you prefer a vegetarian rather than vegan version. Hang this yoghurt for about 2-3 hours or until all the whey drips out. You can use this whey to bind dough for rotis.

Then, put the yoghurt into a strainer and add the sugar to it. Sieve the yoghurt with the help of a spoon and collect it into a bowl. Add the cardamom powder and passion fruit pulp. Mix well.

You may garnish the bowl with a pinch more of cardamom and some lovely passion fruit seeds. Serve chilled.

While you can use almost any fruit as flavouring, there’s just something about a naturally sweet one such as passion fruit that brings this dessert together so beautifully. Do be sure to take advantage of the season for it.

We returned from our trip to the hills with lots of fruits, bringing bags of avocado and passion fruit back to our urban lives. The cooler climes really do have such an interesting variety of produce, and if you have access to these at the moment, I’d love for you to check out some other posts using peas, plums, strawberries and peaches. Fruits had been such an integral part of our meals on our getaway, and usually made up our entire breakfasts too. Given the nutrition quotient of this food category, I think I’m going to keep looking more deeply into bringing more fruits into more dishes, innovatively…

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Recipe: Navaratri Happiness – Handvo

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Handvo is a savoury cake made with lentils, from the Gujarati repertoire. Growing up, I would see it being made by my mother in the traditional way: in the backyard, she would prepare it in a heavy-bottomed brass pot placed on charcoal. She would pour the batter – containing lentils, rice and vegetables – into the vessel, then cover it with a heavy iron lid and let it cook. This was how it was made in most Gujarati homes back then. The funny thing is that although I enjoyed watching the elaborate process outside the kitchen, I found the dish itself quite boring. My mother had given herself a culinary education, learning baking and international cooking styles at a time when such classes were considered unusual, and as a child, I much preferred the foreign dishes she was learning to whip up. Over time, my appreciation for traditional cuisine blossomed, and this is why I am sharing the recipe for this handvo today, during the auspicious period of Navaratri.

I recall that my mother would make a large pot of handvo only about once a month or so. She would bake it in the evening and we would have it fresh for dinner, with the leftovers becoming our breakfast. The baked handvo comes out looking like a cake in height and shape, with a beautiful crust on top, which as kids we prized and fought over (for a dish I had thought dull, that was my favourite part!). So our mother had to divide it equally amongst us all. During Navaratri, however, handvo became our nightly staple. There’s no real link to the festival itself, except that this was my mother’s go-to during that very busy time of year. Even though the process seemed complicated to a watching child, it is actually a simple one-pot meal. It’s also lovely to have during the monsoon season, which usually coincides with the festival.

For us, Navaratri meant having a quick dinner and then heading out for the garba, a wonderful celebration that my siblings and I looked forward to with great anticipation. In those days, those nine nights of dancing, feasting and prayer were one of the major highlights of the calendar for us Gujaratis in Chennai. No more than 50 to 70 families would get together over the nine nights, and some of these families we’d only get to meet annually, so it was a very special occasion for the whole community. I remember how the fathers would be responsible for blocking the hall and all the event logistics, while the mothers would make the prasad  for the Goddess. Each evening would begin with a prayer, followed by the distribution of prasad, and then… the moment most of us would be waiting for: the dancing would begin. First, the women would begin dancing in a circle. Then, the children would come in, and finally everyone else would join. There would be competitions too, and I would always win a prize.

Garbas and dandiya these days don’t bear much resemblance to how they used to be while I was growing up. Now, they are just another party. The ones in my memory were very graceful and traditional, with a sense of propriety. The whole family used to be involved in those days, and the occasion was about keeping our culture alive. Even the little love affairs and marriages that used to come out of these events all happened under the watch of the parents, and with their blessings. Everything was about a sense of family and community back then, and I cherish those memories. Something about the handvo, which always preceded those evenings of fun, invokes them for me.

There are many varieties of handvo, which use different kinds of grains and dals based on what is in season; warmer grains like bajra are used in winters, while lighter rice and millets are used in summers. Rice leftover from lunch is also used, as are seasonal vegetables, the most common of which is the bottle gourd.

Over the years, the brass pot in the backyard kind of disappeared, and nowadays we see handvos being made in casseroles and glass containers that can be stuck in the oven. This year, I’m making my handvo the same way too, especially as I know that this is how most of you will try out this recipe. In fact, I felt tempted to modernise the method a step further and try out a batch in my waffle pan, as well! (If you’re one of those cooks who uses such tricks-of-the-eye to convince your fussy eaters at home to eat simply and well, this may be something to try out too!)

There are a few other keynotes that make my re:store style handvo distinct from the traditional kind. Firstly, I’ve eliminated the usage of rice, so as to ensure that the dish is carb-free. Most importantly, rather than bake a single large cake-like handvo and cut it into pieces, I’ve experimented with preparing individual portions, similar to dosas or crepes. I find that making the handvo in this method makes the cooking process easier and faster. The fermenting and soaking still require a day’s advance planning (unless you use readymade dal powders), but the actually frying up happens much faster than baking.

Handvo

(Yield: For 3-4 people)

1 cup toor dal

¼ cup urad dal

¼ cup moong dal

½ cup channa dal

¼ cup dahi + 2 teaspoons lemon juice

¾ cup grated bottle gourd (+ optional methi leaves)

¼ cup coriander leaves

2 teaspoons oil

¼ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon green chili paste

½ teaspoon ginger paste

1 teaspoon sugar

Salt to taste

 

Tempering:

2 teaspoons oil

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

½ teaspoon sesame seeds

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

½ teaspoon carom seeds

A few curry leaves

 

Clean the dals and soak them in sufficient water for 5-6 hours.

After this, remove the water and blend the dals coarsely. Add the dahi and lemon juice. Allow to rest for 3-5 hours.

Once the soaking and fermentation processes are completed, add the vegetable of your choice and the remaining spices to the batter. While I’ve made the batter from scratch, you may wish to use readymade dal powders instead.

Heat the oil in a flat pan. Add all the different seeds. Wait till they splutter and then add some curry leaves. Immediately, add 2 cups of the batter. Spread it a little, as you would a thick dosa or uthappam, then lower the flame. Cover the pan with a lid. Allow to cook for about 5-7 minutes. Now open the lid, and be careful as it would have trapped a lot of steam. Flip the handvo. Repeat the same process on this side.

After the handvo cooks and turns golden on both sides, remove it from the pan and make the next one. Cut into pieces and serve with green chutney or sweet mango pickle.

Over a few trials, this was the easiest method of preparing handvo that I discovered. You may of course choose to bake it instead. In that case, put all the batter in a bake-proof bowl. In a small pan, sauté the oil and seeds. Once they splutter, use a spoon to gently drizzle the tempering evenly on top of the batter. Bake at 160°C for half an hour, then slice and serve with the condiments.

The days of brass pots in the backyard and wholesome garba gatherings may have gone by, but the great thing about food is that it lets you keep making new memories. I wish you and your loved ones an auspicious Navaratri. I’d love to know if my easy, uthappam-inspired handvo finds a place in your festivities!

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Recipe: Making The Most Of Mangoes 3 – Mango Osaman

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Osaman is a kind of thin broth made in Gujarati kitchens. It’s rather similar to rasam, although certain ingredients like tamarind are eliminated whereas other ingredients like jaggery are used. As I’ve said numerous times in other posts, every community and region in India will have its own variations on certain staples: rices, curries, dals and so on. With it being mango season here – in the country as well as on this blog! – this ripe mango rasam I shared a couple of years back was on my mind. That was when an idea struck: why not make the traditional osaman I had grown up with, but with a luscious, fruity twist?

Osaman is essentially made using the water that dal is boiled in, and served alongside the same dal in a meal. Inspired partly by mango rasam and partly by the Gujarati curry known as fajeto (which is similar to Tamil cuisine’s morkuzhambu), I blended some ripe mango into an osaman as a culinary experiment. The result was something delightful, and I’m excited to share it with you today. This mango osaman is my own recipe, bringing together various comforting influences into a single dish.

Despite being popular in Gujarati homes in the summer, the yoghurt-based fajeto is a heavier dish, and is not among my family’s favourites. They’ve been getting their dairy intake from this lovely lassi anyway, so this osaman was the perfect substitute, allowing me to bring mangoes into our lunch preparations in a new way as well. It’s been much appreciated, and I’m sure it will become a part of our regular meals over many mango seasons to come.

Ripe Mango Osaman

(Yield: Approximately 5 cups)

 

3½ cups water

1 cup ripe mango pulp

½ cup boiled toor dal

Juice of 1 lemon

Salt to taste

½ teaspoon turmeric powder

1 teaspoon cumin powder

1 teaspoon coriander powder

½ teaspoon red chilli powder

2 teaspoons jaggery

2 teaspoons ghee

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

1 teaspoon grated ginger

2 dry red chilies

A handful of finely cut coriander leaves

In a pot, add the dal, mango pulp and water. Mix well, using a hand blender.

Add the salt, cumin powder, coriander powder, jaggery, turmeric powder and grated ginger to the pot. Allow to boil for about five minutes so that the flavours come together nicely.

In a small pot, prepare the tadka (seasoning). Add ghee. Once it’s hot, add the mustard seeds, cumin seeds and dry red chillies. As soon as they begin spluttering, add the red chilli powder and immediately pour it over the hot osaman.

Squeeze some lemon juice over it, and garnish with coriander leaves and serve.

Just like rasam, this ripe mango osaman works beautifully both as a warm beverage and as an accompaniment to rice. I hope you’ll enjoy this Gujarati-Tamil fusion dish of mine. I’m simply thrilled to have one more recipe to make the most of my mango madness with!

 

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Recipe: Mum’s Memories – Gujarati Potato & Brinjal Curry

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Here in lockdown mode, due to the global pandemic, I feel now more than ever that memories, bonding, love and food are what keep us going and make it possible to manage this difficult time. I sincerely hope that you and your families are keeping well, and that my recipes will offer you some comfort.

Ever since I can remember, this traditional stuffed vegetable dish has been a part of my life. It’s typically Gujarati, in the sense that every Gujarati household makes it. Some use onions and garlic, while for others these ingredients are not permitted religiously. Some use peanuts to add more texture. This dish is true to its region, so the taste and style you experience will also vary depending on where in the state the family originated from. No matter the variant, the base recipe for this Gujarati Potato & Brinjal Curry, which can be made either as a gravy or dry, is the same.

Needless to say, it’s a favourite and frequent dish in my home today, just as it was when I was growing up. It was a trademark preparation of my mother’s. When I first got married, she would speak to me often on the phone and if she sensed that I was feeling down, she would always say, “Come home for a meal. I made your favourite vegetable dish today.” Till she was 84 years old, she cooked this sabzi regularly for me. In that last year when she was unwell, it became my turn to. I would cook it and send it to her, made with all the love I have for her and the memories she had given me, and she would enjoy it just as much as I did.

And how many memories I have of this dish! Memories of eating it at home as a child, memories of making it for my own family once my kids were born, memories of visiting Gujarati relatives and friends for a meal and almost invariably being offered their own personal rendition of it. Perhaps there was something extra special about it to me always, and maybe this was the reason why my mother recognised that it was my favourite. That was because it was always served during our Sunday lunches when we were growing up. We would all be glad for the weekend, enjoying our leisure, and this delicious concoction of potato and stuffed brinjal would fill our tummies and become associated with the joy of a day of rest itself. Funnily, for such a quintessential and ubiquitious dish, Gujaratis don’t have a special name for it. We just call it “potato-brinjal curry” in our language too!

There are certain dishes which, even if one usually dislikes the main ingredient, the magic of the preparation always sways the eater to relish it. I’ve heard quite often that people who don’t enjoy eggplant in other ways do so when they have a bite of this. (People not liking potatoes is much rarer, of course!). Whether you call it brinjal, baingan, aubergine or eggplant, it’s a vegetable that has a host of benefits, and which can be made in delicious ways so that your family receives these. This Gujarati curry, for which I will provide both the gravy and the dry options in the method below, is the perfect way to bring the antioxidant-rich, fibre-rich, nutrient-rich vegetable into your regular diet.

Gujarati Potato & Brinjal Curry (Gravy/Dry)

(Yield: 1 bowl)

½ cup grated coconut

¼ teaspoon turmeric powder

2 tablespoons cumin/dhania (coriander) powder

1 teaspoon amchur (mango powder)

1 teaspoon garam masala

2 tablespoons jaggery

1 teaspoon chilli powder

Salt to taste

½ teaspoon grated ginger/green chili

½ cup finely chopped coriander leaves

2 tablespoons oil

6 baby eggplants

3 large potatoes

3-4 cups water

First, let me share the gravy version of this dish. The dry version is provided further below.

Wash the baby eggplants. Slit them lengthwise (so that they can be stuffed; be careful not to cut completely) and keep the slices in water.

Peel the potatoes and cut them into big pieces. Set aside.

In a plate, prepare the stuffing by adding together the coconut, salt, spices, coriander leaves, ginger chili paste, and jaggery. Mix it well with your fingertips and set aside. Now, take each eggplant and stuff it with this prepared masala. Keep aside.

Heat the oil in a pressure cooker and gently add potatoes, making sure the oil doesn’t splutter. Next, gently add the stuffed eggplants over the potatoes. You will find that there is a lot of masala left over. Sprinkle this over the vegetables, leaving just a little on the plate for later. Again, gentleness is key so that the stuffed eggplants don’t break.

Now, add the water and mix the concoction – again, gently! Cover the cooker and wait for three whistles. Allow to cool, then open the lid and add the remaining masala. Stir once again. Your gravy Gujarati Potato-Brinjal Curry is ready to serve.

If you prefer a dry version of the same, follow the first three steps as above: cleaning and preparing the eggplants for stuffing, cutting the potatoes, and preparing the masala.

Then, add the oil in a kadai. Once it has heated, add the potatoes. Stir them, then cover with a lid on a slow flame. Stir occasionally, making sure they do not stick to the bottom. Once the potatoes are slightly tender to the touch and not overcooked, open the lid and add the stuffed eggplants. Remember that potatoes take longer to cook than eggplants so gauge the time well.  Cover again.

If required, especially if the vegetables are sticking to the bottom of the pan, sprinkle some water and cover. Continue to allow the dish to cook until all the vegetables are well-done. Finally, add the masala and stir gently. Cover again and allow it to sit. The dry version of this dish is now ready to serve.

As you prepare the dish, adjust the spices as per your preference. If you don’t like the standard Gujarati-style touch of sweetness, don’t include jaggery. If you want to spice it up while maintaining colour, chopped green chillies will do the trick. Don’t forget the versions mentioned at the beginning, which incorporate peanuts, garlic or onions.

No matter which way you choose to make it, I hope this Gujarati Potato-Brinjal Curry brings as much comfort and deliciousness to your home as it does to mine. As with all Indian curries, it’s perfect with rice and a range of breads. It’s got the spiciness of our masala, is tummy-filling thanks to the potatoes, and just has such a feel-good effect on the heart. Trust me: generations of Gujaratis have been turning to this dish as nutritious comfort food!

 

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Recipe: Festively Flavourful – Pistachio & Rose Nan Khatai

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When we were growing up, our mother once decided to take a Western baking class to expand her repertoire in the kitchen. As children, we adored the pastries, cakes and short eats our mother learned to bake there. In those days, embarking on such a class was considered quite unusual and therefore very progressive in Chennai, and in other parts of India. In the hill stations, there would always be families who had learned recipes from the British chefs, so they knew how to bake. In the cities, Western food was available only at clubs, and made by chefs who themselves would have studied under foreigners. For an average homemaker to go out and educate herself in Western cooking was a rare thing. Now, thinking back on how uncommon it was, I admire her all the more.

Mum was always very curious. She always wanted to know how food had been prepared, and never felt any embarrassment about enquiring on the same. She would just ask nicely, and people were often forthcoming about how a particular dish was made. In this way, she picked up a wide range of recipes, and became a master in the kitchen. I’m sure that this trait is something I’ve inherited from her, and I am always eager to keep learning, just as she did.

Our mother attending this baking course opened up so many snacking and celebration possibilities for us. There, she learned not only Western-style cakes and pastries, but various other types of baked goods as well. Among them was nan khatai, a kind of shortbread biscuit that originated in the Indian subcontinent. Nan khatai has an especially interesting story behind it. It is believed that a Dutch couple ran a bakery in 16th century Surat, a Gujarati seaport which had many traders and expats. This establishment was inherited by a Parsi gentleman when the Dutch left the country, but he found no takers for their cakes and bakes. To his surprise, the locals seemed to enjoy the dried, old bread most of all. The legend is that he decided to simply sell dried bread, which gave rise to this particular recipe. A similar biscuit is eaten in Afghanistan and Iran, where it is known as kulcha-e-khatai.

I remember carrying boxes of nan khatai on the train whenever I visited cousins or relatives, homemade gifts from my mother. I enjoy continuing the tradition of taking homemade dishes as gifts when I visit friends nowadays.

This nan khatai is neither Surat-style, nor what my mother was taught at her baking class, nor her own improvisation (the original uses wheat flour; she added a bit of besan or chickpea to hers). It is, of course, re:store-style – loaded with delicious flavours I love to use in the kitchen. Soft and crisp at the same time, this pistachio and rose nan khatai a real treat. Its fusion of cultures and influences makes me feel it’s ideal for an Indian Christmas. As an eggless baked treat, it’s also perfect for vegetarians.

 

Pistachio & Rose Nan Khatai

(Yield: 25 pieces)

100 grams powdered sugar

80 grams ghee (clarified butter) at room temperature

100 grams maida

25 grams pistachio meal

½ teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon baking powder

2 tablespoons semolina

60 grams chickpea flour (besan)

½ teaspoon cardamom powder

A few strands of saffron, soaked in 1 teaspoon rose water

2 teaspoons yoghurt

½ teaspoon pistachio extract

Rose water (if required)

 

Pre-heat the oven to 160°C.

Add all the dry ingredients together, sift and set aside.

With a hand blender, beat the ghee and sugar together until the mixture is light and fluffy. Now add the yoghurt, pistachio extract and saffron. Mix gently.

Next, add the dry ingredients to the mixture. Use your hands to bring it all together. It will be a soft dough. If required, add 1 teaspoon of rose water to bind it better.

In a baking tray, lay out small rolls of the dough and top each with a slice of pistachio. Make sure there is space between the rolls to give them room to bloom. Bake for approximately 15 minutes, depending on the oven type.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool.

Your re:store-style nan khatai is ready to serve, just in time for the year-end festivities! This Western-but-Asian biscuit is delightful with tea. Isn’t it amazing how much history and how many cultures one little biscuit can contain? Aromatic thanks to the rose water and extra crunchy thanks to the pistachio, I am sure you’ll find it as addictive as I do. Here’s wishing you and your family a wonderful Christmas. I hope a batch of pistachio and rose nan khatai will be baking in your oven soon – let me know what you think of it!

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Recipe: A Craving From My Childhood – Wood-Apple Chutney

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There are two things from the past that I have recently had a hankering for: wood rose trees and wood-apple fruits. For over a year, I’ve been asking people if they know where I can find a cutting of the wood rose tree, which I remember from gazebos at a club in my childhood. I loved to break its pods open and see the black seeds. Many cannot even recall such a plant, and it is sad to know how something that had once been familiar has almost faded from public memory. The wood-apple fruit, however, is one that everyone knows. Or rather, they remember its existence. Even if they may not be able to remember when they last tasted it. This fruit has slowly been disappearing from our palates, as I realised over recent months when this craving hit me and it became almost impossible to source.

Thanks to my good fortune, I found a vendor near the Mylapore market who had some wood-apples in stock. I asked him why I hadn’t been able to find it of late, and he told me that demand for the fruit has gotten so low that farmers no longer have an incentive to grow it. It is just not financially viable for them to do so. The wood-apple season that I remembered from my childhood is right around this time, in conjunction with the festive period and the colder months, and it seems that somewhere in the state, perhaps in a scarce way, there is a small harvest after all.

As I said, I have been craving this wood-apple chutney for months, and it means a lot for me to be able to share the recipe with you, since it took so long to source the chief ingredient! I consider this a “revival recipe”, one which I hope will inspire you to bring this fruit back into grocery shopping. This is the only thing that will allow farmers to cultivate it again as they did before.

Known as “kotha” in Gujarati and “vizhampazham” in Tamil, wood-apple is known to be a tonic for the heart and the liver, and is good for treating intestinal, throat and gum ailments. Many parts of the tree, including the pulp, also have anti-venom properties. It is a pungent fruit, which like jackfruit is something people either love or hate. Needless to say, I love it. My mother often made this wood-apple chutney for us when we were growing up, when the fruit was abundantly available.

This incredibly simple vegan chutney contains just a handful of basic ingredients: wood-apple, jaggery and chilli powder. Some sweetness, some spice and the fruit pulp combined together create an addictive dip that can be eaten in many ways. I am told by a Sri Lankan friend that they often eat their version, which doesn’t contain spice, as a jam on toast. There are of course innumerable recipes in different homes, communities and regions.

What I am sharing today is my mother’s recipe for wood-apple chutney, which I recall eating along with leftover rotis as an after-school snack. I used to think of it as being a part of the larger category of homemade condiments that she would make and bottle at home. Many Indians used to do this – do you remember those pickles that would last a whole year? We would reach out for these pickles, chutneys and more whenever we were in a pinch and just needed something to eat between meals. This wood-apple chutney always satisfied the craving. It’s no wonder that “craving” is really the only way to describe how I kept searching for it for months, and how satisfied I am to have found it.

 

Wood-Apple Chutney

(Yield: 1 cup)

1 wood-apple

3 tablespoons jaggery

1 teaspoon chilli powder

1 teaspoon roasted cumin powder

1 teaspoon/small ball of tamarind paste

Salt to taste

 

A ripe wood-apple gives out a faint fragrance and tastes a bit pungent on the tongue. It has a soft flesh of an orange-ish colour. You will know that a wood-apple is ripe when the fruit smells. Until then, there is no fragrance.

Scoop the flesh from the wood-apple and keep aside.

Instead of a blender, I used a mortar-and-pestle like my mum used to, which is the traditional way to grind chutneys. I reach out for it for certain recipes, even though we use the blender today for convenience’s sake. Blend the the wood-apple flesh, chilli powder, jaggery, roasted cumin powder, tamarind and salt to taste, either by hand or in a machine. Do so until it becomes of a chutney consistency.

Move to a bowl. You may enjoy it immediately, or refrigerate. It will stay good for 3-4 days, if it lasts that long. When I make bigger batches, I warm a little oil and pour it on top, so that it is preserved for longer.

This simple and tasty wood-apple chutney is a wonderful dish through which to discover (or rediscover) the fruit, which as I’ve shared earlier seems to be disappearing quickly from our markets. What are some of the fruits and vegetables that you recall from your childhoods which we rarely see anymore? Let’s figure out together how to bring them back into circulation. It’s important for us as mindful consumers to consider the origins of the produce we purchase and eat, and to be supportive of those who make it possible for us to do so. Looking forward to your ideas in the comments!

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Recipe: A Tonic For The Changing Season – Raab

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The seasons are changing and the usual respiratory illnesses are going around as we adjust to the weather, worsened of course by pollution and the busy modern lifestyle. A few years ago, I shared this remedy from my childhood, and many of you told me that you found it effective and refreshing. Now, I’ll share a complementary dish, a warm and nourishing porridge that I absolutely loved while growing up. This raab is like chicken broth for the Gujarati soul, and is one of my most favourite comfort foods of all.

Raab was my mother’s go-to fixer for colds, sore throats, coughs and so on. It coats the throat well, alleviating any itchiness there. New mothers are often fed raab, due to its fortifying properties. I think of it as a dish to simply warm the soul, when you’re feeling down and need a hug. It’s a light meal for whenever you’re feeling under the weather.

Raab falls into the category of “accessible medicine”, something which anyone can make, especially when a pharmacy is out of reach. It is comprised of very basic and affordable ingredients that can be found in any Gujarati kitchen: ghee, bajra (pearl millet) or wheat flour, ginger powder (soont) and edible gum resin (gond). Most communities will have some version of such a dish, made of elements which are at hand for all members of society.

Bajra or pearl millet is usually had during the winter months or during the wet, cold seasons. My aunt, an expert in Gujarati cooking, and from whom I learnt a lot during my many summer holidays with her, explained that bajra and ajwain (carom seeds) are used during winters as they warm the body. In the summers, wheat flour is substituted for the millet. The ginger powder also has a warming effect, in addition to adding taste. I’m still trying to find out exactly why dry ginger powder is used rather than freshly grated ginger, and have arrived at my own conclusion. My theory is this: dry ginger is a ‘yang’ ingredient, hence positively affects the deeper organs in the body like our bones. It is also stronger than hydrated fresh ginger.

My aunt would also also say, “Don’t forget to add the gond.” It has numerous health benefits, including aiding the digestion. I saw this lady in Patdi, Gujarat, selling the resin, which she told me she collected herself from the bark of trees in her village. I couldn’t resist buying some from her.

With so many healthy ingredients, you would imagine that children would need a lot of convincing before they ate this porridge, but that’s not true. Whenever my siblings or I fell ill when we were growing up, I would ask for a bowl of raab as I absolutely loved it. The reason for this is that this remedy is… sweet! This is thanks to the jaggery, of course, which has its own host of benefits, as regular readers of this blog will be familiar with. Raab tastes so delicious that you’d never believe it was good for the body, but the proof is in how healed and nourished you feel after you’ve had some.

If I wasn’t unwell, my mother always said No to my request, and this has created a powerful memory link for me. She never treated raab as an anytime dish, as a result of which I too refrain from doing the same. There is also something to the charm of having it when under the weather, and feeling soothed by it in those times, and I feel this would disappear if I began to enjoy it as an ordinary meal. Today of course, my dearest mother is gone and when I make it for myself, I associate it with being soothing both to my throat and to my heart because it was she who would make it for me…

In that sense, raab is sentimental for me in the same way that laapsi, a sweet I only ever make on Diwali, is. No one is going to stop me from making it at some other time of the year, but I consider it sacred in some way, just as I do the raab.

Raab

(Yield: 1 bowl)

⅛ cup bajra (pearl millet) flour

⅛ cup jaggery

1½ tablespoons ghee

2 cups water

1 teaspoon dry ginger powder

½ teaspoon ajwain

In a pan, add the ghee and the flour. Stir them together on a low-medium flame until the mixture looks like a roux. Keep stirring, making sure it does not stick to the bottom of the pan, until it turns a golden colour.

At the same time, in another pot, add the jaggery and the water. Heat until the jaggery melts, stirring occasionally.

Once the roux is golden, add the ginger powder, the ajwain and the powdered gond resin. The gond will make the mixture bubble and fluff up at this point. Finally, add the warm jaggery water. Stir well and carefully, so the mixture does not start to coagulate and get lumpy.

Once it is completely smooth, it is ready to be served. Raab is best enjoyed hot.

As explained above, bajra is especially good for the winters and monsoons, as is ragi. In the summer months, you can replace it with whole wheat flour or any seasonal flour of your choice. If you don’t have much of a sweet tooth, you can also reduce the quantity of jaggery in this dish.

I wish you and your family good health as the season changes, and I am glad to share this simple and satisfying dish that will help with the sniffles and fatigue that are customary at this time. Such recipes have been treasured for generations, and it’s up to us to keep these healing traditions going in the time to come. Here are a few more home remedies: soothing syrup, raisin kalkand syrup and turmeric shot. Each of them boosts the health – and, as I personally find, the mood too! They take me on a trip down memory lane that always reminds me that food is a form of love.

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Recipe: From The Community Kitchen – Diwali Chevdo (Poha Roast Mix)

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When I was growing up, middle class culture in India was all about eating what was cooked at home. Fresh food was prepared for every meal, every day. When there were leftovers, they were always put to good use. Eating out was a rare occasion, and we didn’t have the luxury of junk food. Even snacks were made at home, and this poha roast mix – what we Gujaratis call chevdo – was one of them.

This is a snack to be consumed by the handful, with a fun mix of nuts and seasoning. The basic ingredient is poha, or flattened rice, which most Indian communities use in some way or another. My own earliest memories of it are in the form of the dudh-poha which my mother would make to take with us to the beach on Sharad Purnima nights, as well as this poha roast mix – the recipe for which I am sharing today.

In those days, this simple but addictive snack was one of my mother’s Diwali staples. I remember how she would usually make it a few days before the festival, in the evenings, after all the duties with us kids were done and we had finished our homework. But sometimes, when we were at school, she would meet with her friends and they would make everyone’s festive batches together. Nowadays, this might be called a community cooking type of get-together. To the mothers of that generation, who did not have home staff, it was so much more easy and convenient to join hands and cook. It was also a way to socialize. Occasionally, if the joint cooking happened on a weekend or at a time when the kids were at home, we would also get a chance to hang out with our own friends, and this was always fun.

The mothers learned from each other in this way. They would just be a group of 3 or 4 women, but each with her own expertise. I recall how my mother would say, for example, “This aunty’s mithai turns out very well, so this year I want to make some with her.” The homes they convened in depended on practical considerations like space or utensils. Who had the big kadai? Whose house was less crowded that day? These gatherings happened mostly around festive occasions, and I think of them as an early version of our blogs today. This is one reason why I treasure my mum’s cookbook so much. It contains all these different recipes that she learned from her friends, collected over the years through interacting with each person who shared the best from her personal repertoire.

As Gujaratis in Tamil Nadu, I think they also wanted a sense of community. Although we never felt alienated by Tamils or their culture, and grew up in our Tamil neighbours’ homes too, there was something meaningful about these gatherings. Meeting a few times a year to celebrate auspicious events in our traditional ways allowed us children to connect with language, cuisine and other aspects of the culture which were reminiscent of our parents’ and grandparents’ own upbringings.

Diwali is all about exchanging sweets and savouries, and back then there were no fancy delicacies to be ordered in bulk, either. Everything was homemade and non-commercial. Everything was simple and there was a spirit of sharing – “I give you a Diwali treat in my box, and you give me a Diwali treat in your box.”. When this group of women got together and cooked, they made enough for each family to take home, as well as to give away.

Some traditions you just have to keep. Which is why, even though Gujaratis are inventive when it comes to mixtures (and you know how much I love doing something unique to any recipe I try!), this chevdo / poha roast mix is a basic, traditional recipe. The one difference is that it is roasted, not fried. You can replace some of the ingredients based on your preference, but I recommend that you leave a hint of the sweetness in as it goes well with the crunch.

Diwali Chevdo / Poha Roast Mix

(Yield: approximately 400 grams)

150 grams poha

60 grams peanuts

60 grams roasted gram

50 grams almonds

50 grams raisins

50 grams cashew

¼ teaspoon turmeric

1 tablespoon heaped powdered sugar

⅓ cup oil + ½ tablespoon oil

1 tsp salt or as per taste

2 green chillies

A handful of curry leaves

 

The truth is that fried poha tastes fantastic, but I am giving you a roasted poha version in order to keep up with the times. With the pollution in the environment today, we must make an effort to eat healthier. This method below is completely different from the fried kind, but if you do want to try a fried variant, do try to get your hands on a special utensil which will make the process easier and less messy – a cup-shaped ladle with draining holes, into which you put small batches of the ingredients in at a time.

In a wide bottom pan, roast the poha on a low flame, making sure it does not turn brown. Avoid using a spatula to stir as this will only cause the brittle poha to break into tiny pieces. I picked up the pan and swirled it around gently, and used my hands to turn the poha around. Keep the poha moving frequently. The roasting takes approximately 15-20 minutes. Once the poha is roasted, set it aside.

In another pan, add the ⅓ cup of oil and allow it to heat. Now, add the roasted gram. On a medium flame, stir using a ladle. Once the roasted gram is golden, drain well and place on an absorbent paper.

Next, add the peanuts and repeat the roasting. Do the same to the cashew nuts and almonds, separately, as well.

Lastly, roast the golden raisins. Be careful as they will burn easily. At this point, lower the flame and once they fluff up, drain and remove them.

Now all the ingredients are ready to be assembled. On a low flame, add the ½ tablespoon of oil to a pan. Add the green chillies and some curry leaves. Once the chillies turn colour slightly, add salt, sugar and turmeric. Immediately after, add all the roasted ingredients – poha, peanuts, cashew nuts and raisins – turn by turn and mix gently. Make sure all the spices are incorporated well and coat all the ingredients. Ensure that the spices do not get burnt. This can be done by keeping a low flame and stirring the ingredients constantly as you add them.

Allow to cool on the pan. Do not cover as this may cause moisture to fall into the crispy chevdo.

Your Gujarati Diwali chevdo / poha roast mix is now ready, and it tastes especially yummy with chai. It’s my husband’s and daughter’s most favourite snack, which is why I’ve got a headstart on making it for this Diwali. I hope you’ll enjoy it, and make it a part of your festivities too. I’d love to know what you think of this delicious mixture, the recipe for which could be as much my mother’s, or her friend’s, but is now mine and yours!

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Recipe: Making A Fresh Start – Makkai Khichdi

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I was visiting my sister in Mumbai through the fasting week of Paryushan, the most important time of the Jain calendar. Over the course of 8 days, devout Jains maintain some form of abstinence, depending on their personal capacity. Most abstain from eating leafy green vegetables, as this ties in to a belief that they contain life in a way that grains and certain other ingredients do not. Causing harm to any life is forbidden according to the Jain tenets, and during this time of fasting, non-violence is taken as seriously as possible. Some eat only a single meal per day. Others embark on a very intense form of abstinence, in which they will not eat or drink anything at all for the course of the holy days. Paryushan lasts for eight days, the highlight of which is Mahavir Jayanti (celebrating the birth of Mahavir, the twenty-fourth and final spiritual teacher of the religion), which falls on the fifth day. Those who successfully complete the rigorous fasting of consuming nothing over these eight days will say that they have done atthai.

As my sister’s family is a devout one, I saw firsthand what a challenge it can be, in the kitchen, to ensure that meals fulfill the strict criteria of the various fasts being undertaken. At a time like this, there is a complete lack of focus on food as savouring or giving in to desires or temptations are to be avoided. It is the simplicity of the food cooked that is appreciated. Thanking God for the basic things that life gives us, we don’t exactly celebrate (it is not a “festival”) but rather appreciate our blessings.

Given all this, one still has to be creative as a cook. One often finds, during this period, that ingredients that are normally reached for without a thought have to be excluded. For instance, my sister made green moong dhokla but carefully avoided the coriander leaves. Idli-sambar was a popular dish, reminiscent of our Chennai roots of course, that was surprisingly easy – one just avoided the onions and garlic. The one I enjoyed most of all, however, was makkai khichdi.

A khichdi, of which there are numerous variations, is a dish made of rice and lentils. In this version, however, the base ingredient is makkai – corn. Who doesn’t love corn? I’m a huge fan of anything to do with corn, which in addition to being delicious is also highly nutritious. It’s packed with Vitamin B, fibre, zinc, antioxidants, copper, iron and a bevy of other benefits. Corn-based dishes often lend themselves well to being either a snack or a meal, and this makkai khichdi fulfills both criteria.

 

As Jains consider corn (which is technically a grain) a green vegetable, my sister prepares this khichdi using coarsely dried corn. I enjoyed the dish very much when I visited her, but was eagerly waiting to trying out the fresh variation as soon as I got home. Of course, like always, I wanted to add my own twists. In this case, the twists were lemongrass and the use of coconut milk so as to make it vegan. The flavour of corn makes a great base to other flavours, so I knew that my experimental twists would turn out well. Sure enough, they did!

Simple, light and so delicious, this makkai khichdi is one of my favourites. The best evidence that this is a perfect comfort food is that the Dark Prince’s mother used to make it for him during his exams. When you know a child loves a healthy dish, you know that everyone will.

 

 

Makkai Khichdi

(Yield: 1 bowl)

3 cups grated fresh corn

1 cup milk (coconut milk optional)

1 tablespoon oil

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

1 green chilli

A handful of curry leaves

Approximately ½ cup lemongrass or about 8 stalks (cut long)

Salt to taste

 

If you are starting from scratch, ensure that the corn is grated length-wise. Keep it aside.

In a kadai, add the oil. Once it has heated, add the cumin seeds, curry leaves and green chili. Wait for it to splutter and then add the grated corn. Sauté on a medium flame and then add the milk/coconut milk at room temperature. Stir and allow to bubble for approximately 5-10 minutes. Add salt and lemongrass. Stir and turn off the flame.

With time, as the khichdi cools, it will thicken.

Now, remove the lemongrass from the concoction and discard it. You will find upon taking a bite that the flavours would have seeped in beautifully. Garnish with finely chopped coriander leaves and serve.

I also use a similar technique to make a soup some times, which I find pretty filling and tasty when I am not in the mood for a full meal. Prepare the recipe in a more liquid fashion, using more water. Eliminate the tempering, and grind the green chilli, lemongrass and corn together. Add a dollop of butter and voila – you have a rich, flavourful soup.

As a cook, and especially as someone who has trained in Macrobiotics and who is interested in the relationship between science and food, I’ve thought a lot about the logic of the Paryushan fasting season. My understanding is that it is a kind of pre-festive preparation. It falls at the end of the Gujarati calendar, ahead of occasions such as Navaratri, Diwali and so on, which are full of sweets and feasting. By keeping atthai, one detoxes the body and cleanses it before the indulgences of sugar and ghee that are to come. Moreover, the practice of fasting is also a kind of emotional release, a conscious way to close the chapter of a year.

The innovative dishes made during Paryushan, which eliminate all forms of violence as far as possible, are only half of what make me so interested in this holy season. The other half is the way it ends. On the eighth day, the ritual of Micchami Dukkadam is practised. This is the day on which we greet our relatives and friends with the words “Micchami dukkadam”, a Prakrit phrase which translates to “May all the evil that has been done be fruitless.” The ritual is essentially the practice of asking for forgiveness, allowing us to start our new year on a fresh note. What a beautiful way to close the week of purification through fasting, and begin the next chapter. What are some of the rituals from your culture that let you clean the slate? Are there special dishes that are a part of these too?

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