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Recipe: Brass Tacks Comfort – Simple Khichdi

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Rounding off this series of grain-based, khichdi-like dishes is the simplest, most quotidian version of all: a frequent-use Gujarati-style khichdi. If you’d like to catch up first, we began the series with the work-intensive and tummy-filling seven-grain khichdo and then went on to the versatile breakfast/dinner meal of bajra ghensh). Today, we come to an extremely basic dish, one that is sheer comfort food. What I’ve come to see over the years is that meals that one takes for granted in one’s own home are sometimes novelties in another’s. This is why I often share unassumingly familiar recipes alongside original and unusual ones. This classic khichdi is one among the former category.

Like many staples that are good for our health, khichdi is the kind of dish that kids turn their noses up at. At least, my siblings and I just hated it were growing up. So our mother would negotiate a lot of deals to work around our aversion. In those days, all our food was homemade, so this would take some extra effort on her part. If there was going to be khichdi for dinner, she’d serve something exotic that she learnt at her Continental cuisine or baking classes for lunch. We also cottoned on to the strategy: if there was a special snack in the evening without it being an occasion or a holiday, we knew she was going to put a bowl of khichdi on the table for dinner!

As adults though, it’s a different story. Our palates change and we begin to enjoy food that is good for us, feeling the difference in our bodies when we consume it. In fact, this subcontinental staple (which is eaten in similar forms like pongal in South India) is so relished that it even caught the fancy of the British during the colonial era. They enjoyed a version with fish, a dish they called “kedgeree”, and popularised it in England for a time. It was an import similar to mulligatawny soup, which came from the Tamil dish called molaga-thanni. Some form of khichdi is believed to have been eaten in this part of the world since ancient times, but the recipe reached its pinnacle in the kitchens of the Mughal empire, where its richly spiced and garnished versions are recorded as having been among the favourites dishes of various rulers.

For us at home though, khichdi is neither fancy nor fishy. Every single Gujarati household consumes this khichdi as a comfort food, as well as a frequent meal. During festive seasons or after important occasions like weddings, when the feasting is in full flow, someone or the other will finally say, “Bas (‘enough’), make khichdi today.” That is shorthand for being done with heavy meals, and wanting something that will make the gut smile.

In fact, when I say it is comfort food, I mean that quite literally. It’s the dish that is most commonly made in a home that has just undergone a bereavement, when the family just needs something basic to meet their nutritional needs as they tend to the necessary rituals. Most likely because of its association with grieving, khichdi is never served during celebrations. After them, certainly, as I mentioned above. But never as part of a special event. Neither is it served while entertaining guests. It is very much something that is all about family and simplicity. As we rarely get to encounter another family’s khichdi, I can only guess that the variations between recipes must be innumerable.

So no, khichdi is not special. That’s the best thing about it. It’s a brass tacks dish that gives the body the basics, and uses ingredients that are likely to be in the kitchen at all times. It is comprised mostly of moong dal and rice, with a bit of salt, turmeric and ghee. If it is served with accompaniments, crispy pappads and a bit of kadhi are usually enough. Some potato curry or other vegetable may round out the meal more, if desired. I’ve mentioned kadhi, a type of gravy, a couple of times recently. I’ll be sure to share the recipe for that soon.

Another recipe I will share soon will be for theplas that use leftover khichdi. As I’ve said before: cuisines across all communities in India are innovative when it comes to leftovers. We see poverty everywhere in our country and respect food, acknowledging it as a blessing from God. This in turn becomes a part of our religions too, which discourage food wastage.

Simple Khichdi

(Yield: 2 persons)

 

75 grams rice

25 grams split mung beans

3 cups water to soak

2 cups water to cook

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

2 tablespoons ghee

 

Wash and soak the rice and dal together for approximately ½ an hour to an hour. I have used split mung beans, but you can try this with other variants including pigeon pea/toor dal. Doing so will change the khichdi somewhat. Toor dal grains will separate like rice does, whereas split mung beans will create a thicker concoction.

Once soaked, discard the soaking water. Place the rice and dal in a pressure cooker along with the cooking water. Use a medium flame. Allow to cook for approximately 20 minutes or 3 whistles, or until the grains are tender and soft to touch.

Allow the pressure to decrease, then open the cooker.

In a small pan, add ghee. Once it is hot, add the cumin seeds. Let them fry until they change colour. Add this cumin-filled ghee to the khichdi. Stir gently and serve hot.

This grain series concludes with this simple and flavoursome recipe. I hope you’ve enjoyed trying out the gamut, from the work-intensive, “holiday special” seven-grain khichdo to the nourishing breakfast that is bajra ghensh, to this basic khichdi that is the ultimate go-to dish. Traditional Gujarati cuisine is something I’ve delved into many times on this blog, and I hope you’ll have a delicious time exploring a wide range of meals, snacks and desserts that I’ve shared here over the years.

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Recipe: A Good Breakfast – Bajra Ghensh

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After making the nutritious (and labourious) seven-grain khichdo to share with you last week, I felt inspired to do a short series of similar dishes. This series will showcase the versatility of the staple grains we consume, and the many ways they help make up the traditional Gujarati menu. So here is part two of this series: bajra ghensh, which uses the goodness of broken pearl millet. Pearl millet has been cultivated in India for thousands of years, and is a vital part of both the authentic Gujarati and authentic Tamil cuisines that I grew up surrounded by. As you may know, I truly believe in the revival of higher quantities of millet usage in our diets, especially as a preferred alternative to white rice, and have written many times about their value to us.

I’ve been spending more time with my sister recently, and as always this means exploring her cooking style and picking up new techniques to include in my own. As she sometimes does, she said to me the other day, “Come, I’ll teach you a new recipe.” Working alongside her in her kitchen, I was very surprised to discover that it wasn’t a new recipe to me at all, but only a different interpretation of one I knew well, and made for a different meal of the day. My sister prepares bajra ghensh as dinner, whereas for over three decades my mother-in-law and I have been eating it for breakfast.

What did I tell you about the versatility of millets? In this highly adaptable bajra ghensh, we see an example of how dishes themselves become versatile too depending on the choices of the cook and the habits of the one consuming the same. The method of preparing it, as either breakfast or dinner, is still less the same, but storage and serving determine the type of meal it becomes. It’s a very simple dish with three base ingredients and a generous helping of dry fruits and nuts.

Bajra ghensh wasn’t something we ate while we were growing up, and just as my sister was introduced to it after getting married, I too first encountered it thanks to my mother-in-law. I remember how when I first moved in, my mother-in-law would make it as a porridge or cereal to be had in the mornings, and I loved it from the start. Soon, I was frequently whipping up a big pot of it for both her and I and we would share it for breakfast. We both enjoyed it so much that we would have the same dish for two or three mornings in a row, without needing variety. This was the only way I’d ever eaten it, until my sister served it for dinner the other day.

As delicious as that was, to my mind this is still a breakfast dish, and so my recipe and my photographs here reflect this perspective. It’s a very healthy post-workout meal, and it’s an ideal replacement for supermarket cereals, which make tall claims about nutrition values but are usually full of processed ingredients and sugar. On the other hand, this is comparable only to the simplicity and goodness of whole oats. It is also gluten-free, for those who are making a dietary switch, but it is not dairy-free.

Traditionally, just like the seven-grain khichdo, bajra ghensh was also a winter dish. Pearl millet is warming and high in iron, and the Macrobiotic principle of darker grains being considered winter-friendly applies here. They are harder to digest, whereas in summer lighter grains like jowar and amaranth that are light on the stomach and easiest to digest are better, as per the time-honoured logic of seasonal culinary usages. As I said earlier, since I usually have bajra ghensh in the mornings, I’ve noticed that on days when I have done so, I tend to not become hungry again till at least lunch time or even later. A dish like this cancels out your snack cravings, which automatically increases its already high healthiness quotient.

Finding out that this works well both as a filling breakfast and as a heavy dinner, as well as making the connections with Indian seasonal logic and Macrobiotics, also made me ponder how my mother-in-law and I prepare this at night and store it in the fridge. Since this is a traditional recipe, this meant that in earlier times it could only have been made in winters, when the climate as well as the type of vessels used would allow it to be stored overnight. Only certain probiotic foods would be kept to be on eaten the following day (including homemade yoghurt). There could be no such thing as leftovers, and if there were there were resourceful ways to ensure that these were consumed quickly too. Particularly for Jains, wastage goes against religious philosophy and practice, so quantities are an important part of cooking methods. In the absence of refrigeration, and often with access issues or resource concerns to consider as well, creating perfect portions that satisfy the entire family without any excess is a special skill, and one that cooks across the centuries had to cultivate. It is only in our modern age that we can rely on certain conveniences.

So what happens is this: because of its thick consistency, this bajra ghensh sets when you keep it in the fridge. In the morning, take a chunk, add a bit of milk and have it as a cereal. Or else, prepare it in the evening and eat it hot, right off the stove and with no milk added for breakfast, just like a khichdo.

Bajra Ghensh

(Yield: 2 persons)

 

½ cup broken bajra (pearl millet)

1½ – 2 cups water

½ cup thick yoghurt

Salt to taste

20 grams kharek (dried dates)

10 grams dried coconut slices

10 grams cashew nuts

 

Clean, rinse and soak the broken bajra for 2-3 hours.

Once soaked, cook the bajra along with the 1½ cups of water in a pressure cooker until the grain is soft and tender. Open the pressure cooker lid when ready.

Place a kadai on a medium flame and pour the bajra into it. Now, add the yoghurt and stir continuously. Next, add the salt. Finally, add the dried nuts, dates and coconut and mix well.

This is the point at which you have a choice: today’s main meal, or tomorrow’s breakfast?

Let’s say you decide to have it for breakfast. Just pour the concoction into a container and set it aside for some time. As the bajra ghensh cools, it will solidify. Once it is at room temperature, refrigerate.

You don’t have to do anything the next morning but scoop out a portion into a bowl, add a little milk or buttermilk (which I prefer for the tang) and enjoy!

Do you have a recipe in your own repertoire that you’ve been making and having a certain way for ages, which you later found in an alternate rendition somewhere else? It’s always fascinating to me how the very same dish is prepared or consumed in different ways, depending not even on the community but just on the family or the person who does the cooking. I hope you’ll enjoy this bajra ghensh, and be sure to let me know which meal you had it for!

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Recipe: A Feast Of Its Own – Seven-Grain Khichdo

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For centuries, Gujaratis observed the harvest season of Sankranti (which takes place in January) with a special dish, a seven-grain khichdo which celebrated the bounty of the earth. It was originally made with fresh, still green grains, and cooked for many hours in a large brass pot on coal. It would be prepared right before the harvest itself, when the grains would be ripe and tender. What constituted the seven key ingredients of the recipe depended on what was being grown, and some ingredients that we may think of as being legumes or lentils also qualified. It was also sometimes made with fewer. It was called “saat dhaan” – “seven grain” – when made with all the staples, and “paanch dhaan” – “five grain” – when a couple were eliminated for reasons of convenience, availability or taste. Pearl millet (bajra), wheat, rice, split pigeon peas (toor dal), sorghum (jowar) and green gram (moong dal) were among the traditional staples used. Over time, changes in agriculture and culinary life have allowed us to enjoy this wonderful dish whenever we please.

Even still, it’s a dish with a long preparation and cooking time, so I think of it as a Sunday dish – the kind that you begin working on as soon as you wake, and which is hot and ready just in time for lunch with the whole family. This was exactly how I used to see it being prepared in my sister’s home when I would visit her when she first got married. Her mother-in-law made an amazing seven-grain khichdo, and I would observe as she soaked each ingredient separately early in the morning, then as she literally pulled out the big old brass pot and coal in order to cook it in the time-honoured way. I had the good fortune of experiencing this whole process, just as I used to watch my own mother make Navaratri handvo authentically. Biting into the piping hot khichdo when she served it at lunch after having worked on it since the crack of dawn was unimaginably beautiful. My sister and I now make this khichdo in our own ways, with our modern appliances, but of course it’s her mother-in-law’s recipe that inspired us to keep this time-consuming (but so rewarding) dish in our own repertoires.

Another significant change that has come with urbanisation is that while certain ingredients began to become available year-round, access to fresh ingredients became limited. Thus, a contemporary saat dhaan khichdo will be more likely to use dried ingredients. Here, too, availability determines what you can use. For instance, in Gujarat and Maharashtra you can get readymade chaffed wheat, with the skin removed. I haven’t been able to procure the same in Chennai, so I have to pound the grain gently, to remove the outer covering.

Hand-pounding each grain individually is an important part of the process when using dried ingredients. Each one needs a different type of pressure. Bajra and jowar can be pounded very coarsely, for example, whereas wheat breaks when you do so. Of course, if you happen to have the tender green grains, there’s no pounding required.

Then there’s the individual soaking too, with each grain requiring a different duration. Wheat, bajra and jowar take the longest, whereas rice can be soaked a few hours after the overall preparation has started. As you will likely be making this khichdo with a mix of readymade, hand-pounded or fresh grains that you have available, do use your familiarity with the ingredients to determine the preparation time you need. In addition to the grains mentioned earlier, some I have used or heard of being used in this khichdo include black-eyed peas and green chickpeas too. It just comes down to availability, but the trick is to strike a balance between heavy grains and the lighter variants.

That is because this seven-grain khichdo is itself a very filling dish. While it was a part of Sankranti traditions that honoured the harvest, there is also a science as to why it was made this way. Mid-January would still be winter in Gujarat, and a heavy dish like this made of up whole grains would take a long time to digest. It would increase the metabolism and keep the body warm through the day. It is meant to be enjoyed at lunch, served hot and without need for accompaniments, except some pickled green chilli and kadhi (which is similar to more kolumbu) if you have it.

In terms of spices, the authentic version of this dish required no sautéing and very minimal spices. Everything just went into the large brass pot and cooked away for hours. The flavours of the grains would be allowed to dominate, with just a bit of ajwain (which aids digestion), and the two quintessentials of turmeric and salt being added. That and ghee – a couple of dollops of glorious ghee are an important part of this khichdo.

My sister’s mother-in-law would include a bit of dhaniya-jeera (coriander-cumin) powder, while my sister chooses to add curry leaves and garam masala. I don’t use any of these, but I do use tomato. Play around as you wish to as well, until you hit on the seasonings you most enjoy.

Seven-Grain Khichdo

(Yield: 2-3 persons)

25 grams whole wheat (chaffed)

15 grams broken bajra

50 grams rice

15 grams green whole mung

15 grams yellow split mung dal

¼ cup green peas

¼ cup fresh green pigeon peas

Water to cook

2 tablespoons ghee

½ teaspoon ajwain (carom seeds)

¼ teaspoon asafoetida

1 crushed tomato

¼ teaspoon turmeric

Salt to taste

1 – 2 cups hot water

Soak the grains individually until they are tender to touch, in water about an inch higher than the level of the grains.

When cooking, add 2½ times water to the quantity of grain.

You may pressure cook the bajra and wheat together as it takes a longer time to cook these grains. Set aside.

Next, pressure cook the rice and green whole mung and yellow split mung dal together. Set aside.

In a kadai, add ghee and once it becomes hot, add the ajwain first and then the asafoetida. Next, add the crushed tomato and then all the spices.

Now, add all the grains together to the hot, spiced ghee in the kadai. Stir on a medium to low flame.

Keep stirring. Add some hot water if required, especially if you like the khichdo to be soft as I do.

Once cooked, serve hot along with a garnish of green chili and coriander leaves.

The long preparation and cooking processes that go into a good seven-grain, or even five-grain, khichdo mean that it’s really meant to be a feast, just as it originally was during Sankranti. I recall how whenever my sister’s mother-in-law prepared it, she would distribute it to their neighbours as well. It is a meal in itself, meant to be shared, and meant to be consumed immediately after the many hours that the cook would have spent putting it together.

As with all tasty things that are best shared, I hope you’ll whip up a nice big batch the next time that you have half a day to linger over putting a meal together. Then, I hope you’ll gather your favourite people around the table, and enjoy this traditional Gujarati khichdo, with all the joy that the farmers of yore would have felt as they feasted with their loved ones right before the big harvest.

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“Garden of Eden” by Apparao Galleries

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I am delighted to share that a selection of my photographs will be showcased at Apparao Galleries’ latest exhibition, entitled Garden of Eden. These photographs are from my still life series of dark and moody compositions that celebrate Indian brassware. If you are in Chennai, please visit Asvah 24 at 4/24, Beach Road, Sri Kapaleeswarar Nagar, Neelankarai between February 1st and February 3rd 2021 to enjoy the exhibition.

This is my second public exhibition, following the inclusion of my work at Apparao Galleries’ showcase at the IDINDIA2020 design fair in Okhla, Delhi. I couldn’t be happier with how Nandi Shah Photography is growing, and I am deeply grateful for your encouragement and support.

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Recipe: A High-Powered, Low-Profile Legume – Horse Gram Dal

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Sometimes it happens that I chance upon a wonderful dish somewhere, and as I’m never shy about asking for recipes, I decide to find out exactly how to replicate it myself. But then, the story of how that dish wound up at that table turns out to be more complicated, and I’m unable to get to the source. There was a horse gram dal that I had at a friend’s house once, but it had been made by someone else and I didn’t have access to the original recipe. I was intrigued not just by its fine taste, but also by the use of a legume that I’ve encountered relatively rarely. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that dal since, and between my inability to obtain a recipe and my own culinary inquisitiveness, I set forth on a series of trials to create a version that I would want to serve – and to eat! – again and again.

Fortunately for me, I had an accomplice in this endeavour. We have a new cook at home, Prem, who shares the kitchen space with me. He is a wonderful chap, and we’ve been getting used to each others’ styles and quirks. I am very particular about who enters my kitchen, and the cryptic but tangible measure of “good energy” is extremely important for me. He definitely has that. The problem though? He is as meticulous as I am, maybe even more so. He talks constantly and questions everything I do, because of which I call him my second mother-in-law. He rattles off 25 questions about each thing, and nags me about certain details, with food wastage being a pet peeve of his. When I arrange something on the shelves, he’ll come in two minutes later and rearrange it to his own preference. I tease him for his pedantic nature, and he teases me back. I’m not complaining; the kitchen has not become a battleground at all, but is now a space for shared experimentation. We came up with this horse gram dal recipe together. In fact, to give credit where it’s due, it’s more his than mine.

I must add this suspicion here: I think there may be a secret ingredient that he adds to this dish once I’ve stepped out of the kitchen, but you know how determined I am when it comes to cracking a recipe! I think I’ve done it, and between him and I, we have pretty much perfected it. This wonderful dish has actually made me forget what the original horse gram dal I enjoyed at my friend’s home tasted like. Now, this is the only rendition I know, and it’s served in my home several times a week. You may recall from my recent Gujarati dal recipe that toor dal is very beloved in my home. It’s been quite exciting to introduce a new dal that actually challenges the multi-generational staple!

While doing a little research on horse gram, especially since it’s an ingredient that strangely enough isn’t a staple itself, I was tickled to find that it is also called Madras gram! In Tamil, it’s known as “kollu”, and it seems that it is native to the subcontinent and has its own names in various Indian languages (it takes its English name from its prevalence in horse feed, where it was used because it gave the animals such a boost of energy, just as it does for us). In terms of health quotient, horse gram is high in iron and protein, and is used in traditional medicine systems to help treat kidney ailments, mumps and jaundice. It’s certainly a legume that we could all be eating more of. So I would also like to use it in more dishes, and if you’re open to sharing your recipes, you know that I’m all ears!

Perhaps it is just like so many other traditional foods that have slowly been declining in common usage. As a sustainability and authentic food revival enthusiast (as I’ve discussed various times on this blog, such as in this black sticky rice pudding recipe) this has me very intrigued. Do you use horse gram in your cooking? I’d love to hear about your memories, experiences and theories about why it’s become less popular.

Horse Gram Dal

(Yield: Serves 3-4 people)

½ cup horse gram dal

3 cups water

2 tablespoons oil (+ 2 tablespoons)

¼ tsp cumin seeds

1 finely chopped onion

3 blended tomatoes

1 teaspoon garlic-ginger paste

1 teaspoon dhaniya-jeera (coriander-cumin) powder

¼ teaspoon turmeric powder

1 teaspoon rajma masala

1 teaspoon Kashmiri chili powder

1 pinch asafoetida

1½ heaped teaspoon besan (chickpea flour)

Salt to taste

Soak the legumes in water, overnight. Make sure that they are completely immersed. In the morning, the dal will double in size.

Rinse the soaked dal and put it in a pressure cooker. Add 3 cups of water and allow to cook until the legumes are soft and tender to the touch.  Allow to cool slightly.

In a kadai, add the oil and cumin seeds, and allow them to splutter. Then, add the onions. Sauté until they are brown.

Next, add the garlic-ginger paste. Sauté again and add the chickpea flour. At this point you will need to add more oil, about 2 tablespoons, until the concoction looks like it does in this video.

Next, add the chili powder, coriander-cumin powder, turmeric, salt, asafoetida and rajma masala.  Mix, and then add the blended tomatoes. Now, sauté for about 3-6 minutes or until the oil separates.  Finally, add the dal, along with the water it was cooked in, to the mixture.

Stir and allow to boil for no more than 5 minutes. Serve with roti, rice or however you usually take your dal. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it!

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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: A Sweet Finish – Coconut Pudding

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And so, the coconut series comes to a sweet finish with a dessert, just in time for Diwali! The first time that I had this coconut pudding was at a friend’s potluck, a long time ago. I had not yet started re:store then or become known for my baking, and so my standard contribution was always some kind of traditional Gujarati fare, like a kachori or a dal dhokli. Each of us would bring something, and we would partake in a lovely and diverse feast together. It was at one such gathering that I first encountered this sublime coconut pudding. Whose preparation it was, and at whose house, blurs in my mind. Every one of the posts in this series (podi, oil and stew) has involved the inspiration of one or several friends of mine, and while I wish I could recall exactly who inspired this one, I can say with certainty that my friendships were a big part of it too.

Despite forgetting the other details, I still remember vividly that first coconut pudding itself. It looked very pleasing to the eye, giving off a sense that it would be cool and refreshing. The first spoonful confirmed my expectations. It was just fabulous, and tasted so light. I can recall that it was summer at the time, but the elements and sensations of the dish are the same no matter when in the year you have it. It is simply a delight.

Every Diwali, I usually prepare the ghugra that my mother taught me, as well as boondi. This year, given the circumstances, I wanted to create something lighter, something that would not only have a subtle flavour but would also feel more breezy overall. I also wanted something that would be consumed quickly, given that we cannot have guests for days on end as we usually do. The coconut pudding was perfect on all counts. With the exception of the ceremonial laapsi, there are no other sweets at home for Diwali this year.

But rest assured that we are, finally, in a celebratory mood, and I hope very much that you are too. I have had an instinct for a while now that November would be the turning point when things would begin to get better. The news of Joe Biden being elected the next President of the USA seems to usher the good times in, and as I have American family members, the feeling of hope is quite close to home. Moreover, our Gujarati New Year is also around the corner. This time of year is always a new chapter for us, and the number of lovely traditional dishes I’ve linked from my native cuisine in this post also honours the same.

To return to the uplifting and delicious star of our Diwali this year, this coconut pudding… While I can’t remember who brought this dish to the potluck where I fell in love with it, or who shared their recipe with me afterwards, I’ve been making it for years. You may recall an earlier rendition, with chia seeds, here. This is a different version, and the twist here is rose – re:store’s most preferred flavour, as many of you who have made orders with me know. Somehow, a rose represents so many things at once: love, coolness, fragrance, birth, death, celebration and more. It is a universal symbol, and a timeless flavour. One of the things I love most about roses is that they are locally available and very accessible. It’s so easy for me to bring that aroma and those soft petals into my day.

 

Coconut Pudding

(Yield: Serves 4-6)

1 cup condensed milk

½ cup cream

1½ cups coconut milk

11 grams agar agar

¾ cup water

1½ tablespoons rose water

 

Place a saucepan with the water and the agar agar on a double boiler. Stir until the agar agar melts and becomes translucent. Cool and strain.

The method for this dish is quite simple, but agar agar – which is a vegetarian substitute for gelatin – is a bit tricky to work with. If required, add another cup of water while melting it.

Making sure that all the other ingredients are at room temperature, mix them well together. Add the strained agar agar at the end. Pour into cups or moulds.

Leave to set in the refrigerator, and serve chilled. I hope that this dish uplifts your mood as much as it does mine.

I am lighting a lamp this Diwali to wish you all the best for a hopeful and healthy 2021. Even though we have not yet become able to open our homes in the ways we used to, let us open our hearts even wider to make up for it. May the festive season bring you and your family joy!

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Recipe: Cherished and Relished – Coconut Stew

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What is it about the food we taste while we are growing up that somehow, no matter how far we go, becomes the basis of our most important culinary memories? So it is for me and a very special coconut stew (or to be authentic, “ishtew”), which would be served at my friend Girija’s house. We met in the 8th grade and were neighbours, and her mother prepared wonderful Keralan fare. Her ishtew was the first I’d ever had, and fortunately for me, Girija learnt how to prepare it exactly the same way. I’m so delighted to share this love-filled, coconut milk-based deliciousness with you today, as part of the ongoing coconut series.

“Ishtew” is possibly the Malayalam-ised word for “stew”, which I suppose is what the British must have called this dish when they first encountered it. Or perhaps it’s the other way around, and it’s the English word that is derived from the Indian one? Made with vegetables or meat and warmly spiced, it is usually served alongside aapam, a kind of rice-and-coconut-milk pancake that is also known as hoppers. You can also have this coconut stew with rice, idly or dosa.

The only recipe I have for this dish is the one that Girija shared with me, and to me it’s absolutely the best one. As with any food item, there will be variations from kitchen to kitchen and community to community, and I know of many who prepare it in different ways. The core of this dish, as with most very popular and commonly consumed traditional ones, is that it is quite simple to prepare and uses ingredients that are easily available. Coconut, of course, is the star.

Girija and I were such tight friends as teenagers that it was a given that if I was not at my home, I could be found in hers, and vice versa. Decades later, we remain close, and now, whenever I visit her in Singapore, there is always a large bowl of coconut stew being prepared for me. The photo below is from a few years ago, from one of the times when she prepared it for me and I happened to have my camera on hand. Somehow, over the decades, it’s her stew – not even her mum’s – that is most vivid in my mind. We create new memories and reminisce about old ones whenever we enjoy a meal together, and I hope that this dish becomes a part of yours too.

 

Coconut Stew

(Serves 2-4 people)

50 grams onion

125 grams potato

20 grams ginger

A few curry leaves

2 teaspoons coconut oil

½ cup water

Salt to taste

One coconut

 

Cut the onion and potato into thick juliennes. Set aside.

This recipe requires two cups of fresh coconut milk – a first press cup, and a second press cup. Prepare the first press by grating the coconut flesh and grinding it in a blender with a ¼ cup of water. Strain this and set aside. The first press milk will be thick.

Now, repeat the process using the same grated coconut flesh – this will be the second press milk, and it will be thinner in comparison to the first press. Set aside.

Take the second press milk and boil the julienned potato and onion in it until they are soft. Ensure that you add the onions after the potatoes, as they cook faster. Add the ginger too. You can press down on the potatoes a little using a masher.

Once this is done, add the thick first press coconut milk to the pan. Add the curry leaves and coconut oil as well. Stir well. Your coconut stew is now ready to serve, and a plate of aapams, idlies or dosas will go perfectly with it.

This stew evokes for me one of my most cherished friendships, and so many childhood memories. Although Girija and I are in different countries at present, perhaps one of the many reasons she and her stew have been on my mind is because the lockdown this year has meant that meeting at home has become how most of us socialise now. Here in Chennai, my friends and I often discussed wanting to meet but felt it wasn’t safe to go out to restaurants like we had in the past. Instead, what we now do is something that we had quite rarely done in the past: meeting in each others’ homes over home-cooked meals. It’s so nice to get together this way, knowing that everyone is comfortable and care has been taken.

The lovely thing about old friendships is that even if we don’t see each other often, the bond is absolute. I truly feel relaxed and comfortable when I am with dear friends like Girija. It’s easy to put my feet up with her, and that is the kind of ease that can only come with knowing how much love is given and shared between oneself and another. That love speaks in the food that she cooks for me. We have an understanding that she cooks for me, and I cook for her. The “trade” for this Malayali coconut stew is always a Gujarati dal. Perhaps I will share that recipe some day soon too…

In the meanwhile, don’t forget to check out the previous posts in this coconut series: coconut podi and coconut oil. Stay tuned for a lovely Diwali dessert next weekend, to round the series off!

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Method: Worth Its Weight In Gold – Coconut Oil

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The coconut series continues with something a little different this time: coconut oil! Yes, the oil that most of us are used to purchasing can indeed be made not just at home, but even in a city like Chennai, as long as you have coconut trees around. With about a dozen coconut trees at home, and a reliable coconut harvester who was willing to visit, I collected a big batch of coconuts and embarked on my next adventure.

I’m going through a phase where I feel like I want to learn everything there is to know about food and cooking. Nowadays, when I hear about someone making a special jam or baking a new kind of cake, I experience FOMO (“fear of missing out”). Maybe this comes from having been very naughty as a child, and never focusing on my studies then – at least, that’s what I jokingly say to my kids each time they’re surprised to hear that I’ve taken up a new course or have signed up for some workshop. But I believe in challenging myself and growing. I want to be more self-reliant, and discover new things. Even though it’s impossible to truly learn, let alone master, every single possible recipe or method out there, I feel an urge to try. So when my friend Sujata told me that she had successfully made her own coconut oil, I immediately went, “OMG, I want to do this too!” My motivation was perfectly-timed, as the trees were ripe for harvest just then.

Coconut oil is only one of the many ways that the different parts of the bountiful coconut tree can be used. As I create this series for the blog, I’ve been reflecting on the versatility of the tree in its entirety, even though I’m personally only using its fruits. For instance, I recall how when I was growing up, there was a lady who would come home sometimes, take a knife, sit outside with some coconut tree fronds and use a knife to craft a broom (“thodapam” in Tamil) whenever a new one was needed. I’d watched this process many times over the years. Wherever the tree grows, the shells are used as utensils and even as a charcoal replacement, the husks to fashion ropes out of, the leaves in weaving and thatching, the flowers in herbal medicine, and so on. The edible flesh and water aren’t the only good things to come from this amazing tree.

What follows is more of a method than a recipe as such, and what is produced as a result will be a beautiful and versatile ingredient that you can use in everything from food to beauty essentials. Coconut oil is a staple in South India, used for everything from improving hair health to daily frying needs. It’s also something that has attracted the attention of beauty and health enthusiasts internationally. The latest trend I’ve read about is to have a spoonful of pure coconut oil in the mornings, as this is said to be good for the brain. What I will do in this post is walk you through my own process of preparing coconut oil, and my learnings from the same.

In order to prepare your own coconut oil, you’ll need: coconuts, access to a cold pressery, and space to sun-dry. There are many places in Chennai that do cold-pressing, and it should be possible for you to find a unit near you wherever you are.

The first step is to harvest the coconuts, of course. Then, they are peeled and chopped into smaller pieces (they will need to be small enough to feed to the cold pressing unit). The flesh is left to sun-dry for between four and seven days, depending on the coconut. You will know that it’s done when you press it with your thumb and it releases a little bit of oil.

Next, the dried pieces are sent to the cold pressery. I wanted to supervise the process to ensure that there was no dilution of any sort. The unit where I had my coconut oil made used a lovely old machine made of wood and canvas. I put in about 20 kilos of coconuts and got back about about half as much in raw oil.

The process doesn’t end there, however. This huge container of oil I came home with then had to be dried again, so that residual moisture from the coconut flesh gets evaporated. What you have to do at this stage is to pour it out into flat pans, and allow these to dry in the sun for anywhere between three and five days. You will know that it is done when all the dust particles settle at the bottom, and the raw smell goes away. This being my first time making my own oil, I was not sure whether the final product was less fragrant than the store-bought versions because I hadn’t let the coconut pieces dry long enough, or simply because they were free of artificial additives. Either way, once the oil completed the drying stage, it was ready to use. I couldn’t help but marvel at the result.

And there you have it: coconut oil that you can be sure is free of contamination, preservatives or any other issue that may come with commercially-produced brands. I can’t tell you what a delight it is to have your very own cold-pressed coconut oil. That’s something that you must experience for yourself, and if you can, please do.

Embarking on this little adventure was very rewarding for me, but the thing about my FOMO and subsequent hunger to do more is that sometimes experiments don’t turn out as expected. Whenever this happens, I always tell myself that it’s okay, and that I can focus on what I know I do well and can take pride in. For instance, expanding my repertoire of cakes is something that I am really keen to do, and I’m constantly exploring new recipes and whipping up trial batches. You may have seen the new additions I made to the menu recently, and it’s been really wonderful to prepare your orders for this festive season too.

I would even go as far as to say that I like to show off a little with each successful experiment, but when I share how I did it, I pass on that sense of achievement to you. It’s so exciting to have something that is all handmade, and made to order just for you. I’ve been sharing the oil from my coconut trees with very dear friends in glass jars, so in addition to being used at home both in cooking and in grooming, they’ve also become perfect for gifting this year.

I’d love to know if you try out preparing your own coconut oil based on my own experiment here. I’d also love to know how you use it. I am sure that you will find, as I have, that making your own batch of coconut oil is worth its weight in gold.

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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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