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Dal is the daily staple in practically every Gujarati home, and it’s no different in mine. The classic style is slightly sweet and slight sour, and I shared the recipe for it a few months ago. I try to use a range of lentils, so that we get a good mix of nutritious elements as well as variety of tastes over the course of a week at home. Other dal recipes that I’ve shared earlier include this horsegram dal and this mixed dal. There are hundreds of varieties across India, and I’m happy to share one more recipe that I hope you’ll be able to add to your repertoire too.

Just like there are hundreds of varieties of dal in India, there are also hundreds of varieties of mangoes. Other than the parrot-beaked, sweet-sour killimooku, I also have the not-sweet-at-all sindura growing in my garden. This won’t begin to fruit properly until May, however, and I had been eyeing it daily, wanting to make some amchur (dry mango powder), which requires a sour variant. Finally, I decided to put out an enquiry in a local resource group, asking if anyone had organic raw mangoes I could use for the same. Shefali, whom I had known through mutual friends, came to my rescue. She sent across a beautiful bounty from her own tree. Sour mangoes – and one very sweet gesture.

This vegan raw mango dal recipe came about because I had wondered whether raw mango would be a good substitute for the kokum or lime that I was using to add some tang to our daily dals. Since I had Shefali’s mangoes on hand for the amchur, I decided to give this a try. It worked out spectacularly – raw mango here isn’t just a condiment, but is in fact a vital component of this dal.

I know that many communities across the country make dals using either raw mangoes or ripe mangoes, and that this is especially common in Bengal and Kerala. The harvest in my home aside, I was already in ideation mode about what kinds of recipes to share with you through the season, and I knew I wanted to do something that would accompany rice or rotis. Having given you this ripe mango rasam a few summers ago, I was keen to offer a raw mango accompaniment this time. I had been thinking over how to, when this recipe grew organically from the kokum-substitution I’d mentioned earlier. Don’t you just love it when something simple clicks in a surprising way, and you realise that you’ve innovated something special? I’m all the more excited these days when I discover I can make something the vegan way, and this recipe is vegan too.

Raw mangoes are nutritious, as they are high in Vitamins A, B and C, as well as magnesium and calcium, thus offering health benefits ranging from the cardiac to the dental, with some heat-busting and hydrating properties to boot. They’re great for summers as they can prevent water loss, replenish the thirsty body, as well as help against stomach ailments arising from the heat. Digestive detoxification, lowering cholesterol levels and improving hormonal functions are some of the other qualities they are known to have.

As for the lentils I’ve chosen to use in this recipe, they are combination of split yellow mung dal and toor dal (pigeon pea). The former are lighter on the stomach than the latter, hence the mingling of the two to create a dish that’s easier to digest while still giving you the benefits and taste of both lentils. Since we mostly eat this dal at lunch time, I also avoid the use of garlic on weekdays as most of us have to get back to meetings and so on during the rest of the afternoon. If you make a thick preparation, this dal is ideal for rotis, whereas a thinner preparation is best enjoyed with rice.

As for me, being a carb-observant eater, I often consume a bowlful of dal with just a tablespoon of rice, topped with a liberal tempering of ghee (not vegan, I know – but this is completely optional). This becomes such a healthy, delicious meal all by itself. I am still light on my feet afterwards, and that little extra kick that comes from the raw mangoes when I’ve made this particular recipe that day is so satisfying in itself.

Raw Mango Dal

(Yield: 4 cups)

¼ cup toor dal
¼ cup split mung dal
½ cup cut raw mango
1½ cups water to cook
Salt to taste
1 tablespoon oil
½ teaspoon mustard seeds
½ teaspoon cumin seeds
¼ teaspoon turmeric powder
1 teaspoon green chili/ginger paste
¼ teaspoon asafoetida
½ teaspoon coriander/cumin powder
4-6 curry leaves
2 tablespoons finely chopped coriander leaves

Rinse the dals together and place them into a pressure cooker, along with the cut raw mango and turmeric.

Let this cook until tender. Mash the dal with a masher and set aside.

In a kadai, add the oil, and once it has heated, add the mustard seeds. You may substitute the oil with ghee if you are not making a vegan preparation. Once they begin to splutter, add the cumin seeds, curry leaves, asafoetida and finally the chili/ginger paste. Sauté for 2 seconds and add the mashed dal. If you like the flavour of garlic, you can add some during the sautéeing.

Add salt and coriander/cumin powder. Mix well and serve hot with the garnish.

If the mango is not sour enough you can add more chunks of it or even squeeze in some lemon or lime.

If like me or any Gujarati you know, you have a sweet tooth, you could also add some jaggery to compete with the tang of the raw mango. This would make for a most delicious dal, with a medley of tastes.

As it is, this is a very simple and appetising dal, with the flavours of the mango and the lentils evident because it is not overloaded with spices or condiments. It’s not the kind of dal one makes when a burst of masala is preferred; instead it is the comforting, homemade kind, albeit with a little kick from the raw fruit.

I hope that this vegan dal made with sour mangoes adds nutrition to your diet, gives you energy and strength, and as strange as it may sound – sweetens your day during these challenging times with its sheer deliciousness.

We have mango trees in the back garden, and every summer I seek out new ways and means to utilise their bounty. This season, I’ve made aamchur – dry mango powder prepared by washing the fruit slices, drying them, then powdering them. It works in cooking as a lime substitute, and is just as healthy and as rich in Vitamic C. I’ve made pickles, and if you’re keen to do the same, you can take your pick of either sweet or spicy kinds from the recipes I shared in this post. I’ve made desserts, like the easy and very satisfying mango twist that I shared last week. Then, I thought – why not make a rice dish with some mangoes, too?

Coconut rice was one of the components of the South Indian Buddha bowl recipe, and this raw mango rice has a similar concept. It’s also like spinach rice, curry leaf rice or any other rice preparation that infuses the flavours of a particular ingredient. It’s interesting how we efficiently and creatively play up staples like rice as well as rotis through simple ways to elevate the basics. Seasonal flavourings are especially popular, just as it is with the recipe I am sharing today.

What I have growing at home are killimooku mangoes, known for their distinctive parrot-beak shape, as described in this raw mango cooler recipe. To my friends and readers around the world – did you know that every single kind of mango has its own flavour? My mother taught me how to select mangoes when I was very young, so I’m adept at differentiating between many of the popular variants on the market at the moment (although India has so many types of mangoes that to tell them all apart would truly be a kind of expertise!). My personal favourites are sweet, juicy ones – specifically the Ratnagiri Alphonso grown in Maharashtra (the state shares a common border with Telangana, where the slightly different Andhra Alphonsos are grown) and the Banagapalli grown in Andhra Pradesh’s Kurnool district, which can come in such large sizes that a single mango can sometimes suffice as an entire meal. Today, however, I’m reaching for what is literally in my backyard. The killimooku is not very sour, but neither is it sweet. It carries a lovely tang that truly uplifts the taste of rice.

This raw mango rice is both easy to prepare and highly adaptable. It travels well, so it’s perfect to pack for a day trip. It can be eaten plain, so you won’t even have to worry about any spills from the accompaniments. It can also work quite well in a Buddha bowl. I presume, based on the flavour palate, that it can be matched exquisitely with a fish curry, and I’d love to hear from those of you who enjoy seafood about how this recipe works in such a meal.

I made a large pot of this over the weekend and it was consumed quite quickly at home, with my family eating it plain, with rasam, with a potato roast and so on. The idea came to me because I saw a few raw mango rice posts on Instagram recently, and realised that I hadn’t made this dish in years. I did recall that it was something we ate now and then while we were growing up, so I knew that my sister would almost certainly have our mother’s preparation in her repertoire. She lives in Bombay, whereas I am based in Chennai, and we often do recipe exchanges, wherein I share Tamil styles like kootu and poriyal with her and she pulls out authentic Gujarati dishes for me. Together, we create quite an eclectic menu. Then again, I’ve also eaten raw mango rice as part of the sumptuous banana leaf service at South Indian weddings too, so perhaps – just like the mango – we can consider this a quintessentially Indian dish!

Raw Mango Rice

(Yield: Serves 2)

½ tablespoon oil

½ teaspoon channa dal

½ teaspoon urad dal

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

1 green chilli (sliced)

A few curry leaves

½ teaspoon turmeric powder

2 cups cooked rice

1 cup raw mango (grated)

Salt to taste

A pinch of asafoetida

Coriander leaves (to garnish)

 

Heat a kadai and add the oil. Once it has heated, add the channa dal and the urad dal. Allow them to turn golden, and then add the mustard seeds. Once they begin to splutter, add the asafoetida, curry leaves and green chilli.

Next, add the rice and the turmeric, along with salt to taste. Mix gently. Once it has all come together, turn off the flame. Finally, add the grated mango and mix once again. If you only have access to sour mangoes, rather than the delicately sweet-sour killimooku variant that I have used, use a smaller quantity than listed above.

Garnish with coriander leaves and serve hot with the accompaniments of your choice, or plain and simple. As I said earlier, I’m very curious to know how you’ll pair this rice, and I would simply love to hear about it from you in the comments!

Sometimes, you just don’t have the energy to do much in the kitchen at all, but that’s no reason to skimp on having a dessert that can make you feel better. Whether the heat has enervated you, or the ongoing pandemic has dragged your cheerful spirits down, the key to preparing a pick-me-up is in one aspect only: the simplicity quotient. I’ve been making this mango twist nearly every day, and you can too.

What I love about it is that ticks all the boxes: it satisfies my sweet tooth without the use of refined sugar, allows me to have well-rounded meals while I am off carbs, makes the most of the earth’s seasonal bounty, and is practically effortless to prepare.

Really, it’s so easy that anyone can make it. Which brings me to another reason that I thought this fruity dessert would be perfect to share right now. It’s that making it is just the kind of activity to keep your younger kids happy, and that’s something I can imagine many of you doing with the little ones being at home all the time now. Putting this dessert together is a simple way to get them to explore the vast world of cooking. The sense of achievement they’ll enjoy will taste almost as good as the dish itself. This is a beautiful way impart the value of a home-made treat or meal, and it shouldn’t surprise you if they graduate to wanting to try out more culinary experiments too. As I’ve said before on this blog, I consider my recipes my heirlooms. There’s no reason to wait till they are older to share an elaborate traditional method when you can instill the love of cooking in them from a very young age through simple dishes like this one.

Here’s yet another amazing tick on that check-list: this mango twist is vegan! Of late, I have noticed that cutting down on my dairy consumption really does make me feel better overall. While I am not a hardcore vegan, as much as I would like to be, I do love the coconut milk I use in this dish and enjoy consuming it in this delicious way. You can use dairy, if that’s what you have on hand. Or you can substitute the coconut milk with almond milk, which will result in a thinner dessert that you can plump up with nutritious chia seeds.

Variety is certainly one of the elements that keeps a dish like this interesting. When mango season ends, simply use any other fruit that you have on hand.

I think of this Mango Twist as one of those recipes that is so common that it hardly warrants a recipe. Surely, everyone already knows it, I pondered to myself when the idea of this post occurred to me. Then, I realised how in any hectic time, we often get so carried away that we neglect to notice what is right before our eyes. So this recipe is really more of a reminder, something that tells you to open your fridge and see for yourself – you probably already have everything you need to whip up something wonderful right away.

As a refrigerated dessert, you can also make it in advance so that it’s right there and ready for you when you desperately need something to cool off in this sweltering heat, or could use a pick-me-up. Some time in the hopefully not-far future, when we are back to entertaining guests as always, it’s also an ideal dessert to prepare earlier in the day so that you won’t have to take time putting a snack together after they arrive. Just take it out of the fridge and it’s ready to be served on a tray. It’s a visually attractive dessert, so presentation is key – what colours do you want to have pop inside the glass, and how will you layer the ingredients? You can go decadent, or you can keep it nutritious but still appealing by using fruits of different colours to create a tempting look.

Mango Twist

(Yield: 2 glasses)

1 cup coconut cream

½ cup mango pulp

Pecans or any topping of your choice

½ teaspoon maple syrup or honey (optional)

 

In each glass, add 2 teaspoons of coconut cream. I like to use small eatery glasses as they look very pretty. Layer this with the mango pulp. Freeze for sometime, then remove from the freezer. Now, top the pulp again with the coconut cream gently. Finally, add the pecans or any other toppings of your choice, and drizzle with some maple syrup or honey, as healthier sweetening substitutes. I only use these if I find the mango a little tart. Otherwise, the dessert doesn’t need it.

In lieu of coconut cream, you can also use pudding, fresh cream or other substitutes. Some other great toppings include caramelised nuts, maple syrup, honey, orange rind and seeds. Any kind of brittle, crumbled cake or re:store’s popular muesli will also add more taste and texture. Don’t forget that no matter what time of year you make this, you can use any seasonal fruit of your choice. When preparing it with your kids, indulge them with colourful jellies or cute chocolates that will make the smiles on their faces even bigger.

Given that this is a summer during which the simple pleasures are more important than ever, as we continue to collectively fight the pandemic, I intend to fully take all the joy I can get from the mango season. Do subscribe or connect over Instagram so that you’ll know as soon as my next few recipes go up – dishes that range from sweet to sour to savoury are coming, all thanks to this wonderful fruit!

As I said earlier, I think of this mango twist as a “reminder recipe” – is there anything similar that you’d like to share in the comments? I am sure we would all love to know more about each others’ summer go-to dishes and desserts!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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!

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!