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Every time that I had whole wheat halwa while I was growing up, it was mostly made in a jiffy. This was because whenever unexpected guests landed up at home and my mother had to make something sweet to serve them, this was her go-to recipe. Most people of that generation who cooked were extremely versatile. They knew what would work quickly, based on the ingredients they had on hand. It was also a time when those of my generation literally grew up in each others’ homes. So unexpected guests were always aplenty, and the Indian courtesy of feeding them was never forgotten, no matter how much of a surprise they may have been!

The base of this recipe is wheat, jaggery and ghee – items which would invariably be in any Indian kitchen. The additions like saffron and cardamom may not always be available, but the essential ingredient list is one that was quite reliably in every home while I was growing up, and most likely still is today. These are inexpensive ingredients. Not many could afford refined sugar back then, so the accessible and healthier jaggery was used, along with affordable staples like wheat and ghee.

Wheat-ghee-jaggery is an age-old combo, as can be seen in the auspicious sukhudi, which uses the same base. Sweets that utilise this combo are offered to the gods in many Indian homes, and it’s easy to see how the accessibility of the ingredients make them a logical choice for many.

The simplicity of such offerings is part of their beauty. In fact, aside from them being offered in worship, they were also the key feature of birthdays. Back when I was a kid, a birthday cake was not always guaranteed. What we would offer to the gods on that day, and then consume for ourselves, was the big question. “Birthday? Big deal. Get up and go to school!” was a refrain many of us heard! Still, our mothers would usually prepare our favourite Indian sweets that day. My brother liked rava kesari, so that’s what he would receive. As for me, it was this whole wheat halwa that was usually my birthday treat.

I loved birthday parties, and had been to a few of my friends’. There was one year when I decided to throw myself a surprise party – meaning, it was a surprise for my mum! I went back home after school with my whole class, with absolutely no advance notice, and announced that they had all come to celebrate with me. I knew that if I had asked her earlier, she would just have said No. But with all my friends already there, she obliged so very sweetly. Looking back, it could not possibly have been easy to muster up a party immediately. But the feast contained this whole wheat halwa, some standards like toasted sandwiches – and even some McRennett’s cake which she somehow managed to organise last minute. You may recall that I’ve never quite been a fan of what I call that smelly vanilla cake, but it is cherished by my generation. It was a hit at my party too, of course. But that whole wheat halwa was what shone in my mind, and still does, all these years later.

Whole Wheat Halwa

(Yield: 5)

¾ cup whole wheat flour

¼ cup jowar flour

½ cup ghee

½ cup jaggery

A pinch of saffron

1 tablespoon milk

A pinch of cardamom powder

1½ cups hot water

½ cup jaggery

 

Soak the saffron in the milk and set aside.

Heat a kadai and add the ghee. Once it has melted, add the flours. You will notice that I use jowar, or sorghum. This is my addition to the recipe, and another way for me to bring healthy millets into my desserts.

Stir on a medium flame. Stir continuously, else the flour will stick to the bottom. This will take approximately 12-15 minutes.  Stir until the mixture turns a dark golden colour. You never want a dull-looking halwa! Even if you skip the saffron or cardamom, you absolutely cannot skip the continuous stirring when it comes to this dish. The secret to it rests entirely in doing that well.

Then, add the jaggery and keep stirring until the jaggery melts.

Lower the flame and add the hot water slowly, continuing to stir continuously. Be careful as the mixture will splutter. Stand away from the kadai at this point. Once the water mixes well with the flour, then bring it back back to a medium flame – while mixing non-stop.

The mixture will thicken and the ghee will separate. Add the cardamom powder and saffron. Mix well again. Serve.

When I think back about my mother stirring constantly over the stove while a gaggle of hungry schoolgirls waited, I am filled with love. That love continues to be passed on in this recipe. I hope you’ll enjoy it too, and please do check out the various Indian sweets I’ve shared earlier on this blog as well.

This multi-grain flatbread, also known as chilla, is a kind of crepe that has made an appearance on this blog before in a chickpea avatar. This version, which uses a selection of different flours, is very similar to the thaali peeth from Maharashtra or the sathu maavu that is popular in South India. This is a rustic flatbread that is best consumed in monsoons as it takes longer to digest and gives an energy boost, but it is also perfect for me right now as I take a break from rice and wheat. It is a great way to enjoy my dals and veggies. It does contain a very small quantity of wheat as a binding agent, but this can be eliminated if you ensure that you roll out each piece very gently and delicately.

While I am cutting down on this ingredient, I do want to say that I think it’s sad and perhaps unfair that wheat has become a culinary culprit at late. Newer health concerns like celiac disease and gluten sensitivity, which were unheard of when I was growing up, are now much more widespread. On this note, I want to add that with the health and nutritional requirements of my customers in mind, I do offer a selection of gluten-free cakes. Vegan and sugar-free cakes are also on the re:store menu. Please explore our options and see what calls to you, and give me a call. I get a lot of enquiries about cakes that use artificial sweeteners, but I am still wary of those, so I haven’t accepted such orders. I would rather use a natural sweetener in small quantities, or eliminate it altogether.

I’ve used five different flours to prepare this dish. Feel free to use whatever is available in your home. In mine, since I prepare this quite frequently, I gathered together all the grains and had them milled together. In that sense, my flour mix is a homemade one. This is more convenient than reaching out for half a dozen jars each time I want to prepare a multi-grain flatbread. You can just store one jar instead, and use it for your regular consumption. Growing up, my mother made bajra rotlo  quite a lot, but this is my own go-to. You can also prepare this in a thinner consistency, make it in an uthappam style and so on. Use the dough in your preferred way to create a flatbread.

I accompany this multi-grain flatbread with a simple vegetable sabzi or a dal, or sometimes just a pickle and some yoghurt, or even a chutney. There are multiple recipes for these accompaniments on these blog over the years, so I invite you to spend some time exploring the archives, following tags that interest you.

Multi-Grain Flatbread

(Yield: 6)

¼ cup besan flour

¼ cup rice flour

¼ cup ragi flour

¼ cup bajra flour

¼ cup wheat flour

½ teaspoon ajwain (carom seeds)

A handful of coriander leaves (finely chopped)

Salt to taste

½ teaspoon sesame seeds

A pinch of turmeric

1 tablespoon oil

2 tablespoons curd

13 cup finely chopped onions

Water as required

In a bowl. add all the flours, as well as salt and turmeric. Mix with your hand. Now, add the onions, coriander leaves, oil, curd, sesame seeds and ajwain. Mix lightly and add enough water to bind into a dough. You will not require more than 1 cup, and the quantity ultimately depends on the flours you use.

Once you have made a dough that doesn’t stick to your fingers easily, divide it into 6 equally-sized balls.

Using a rolling pin and stand, dip the balls into some flour again. Then, roll them out gently. Pat occasionally with your fingers. Form a circular shape.

Heat a pan and place a rolled out roti onto it. Allow to cook on one side then flip over. Once it has cooked, add a few drops of oil on both sides and flip so that it turns golden evenly. Make the rest of your multi-grain flatbread pieces this way too.

You can enjoy this the way you would any flatbread, as I said earlier. What are your preferred accompaniments? I’d love to know. If you’re a fan of Indian flatbreads in general, you may also enjoy this post of mine on a variety of Gujarati rotis.

If you’ve been using my recipes for awhile, you may already be quite experienced with kheer, having tried out sitaphal kheer, rose-coconut kheer and even kheer poori. So this orange kheer should be a nice, fresh twist on a milky Indian dessert that I hope you’ve been loving.

When I first heard of orange kheer and then tasted it for myself, I was a bit surprised. I had always assumed that citrus would separate the milk and ruin the dish, so when my mother-in-law brought it out for her meal once in the early days of my marriage, I was incredulous at first, and then very impressed. The trick is to have two distinct cooling periods, thus ensuring that the milk has already set before the orange is introduced and combined. When you make it this way, you can quite confidently add quite a lot of orange, which I do – fruit segments, fruit juice and even a fruit cup.

The fruit cups – using hollowed-out orange peels to serve the dessert – were my innovation on my mother-in-law’s recipe. I suggested this idea to her after first eating her orange kheer. We found that it further enhances the experience as this style of serving makes it all the more fragrant. Of course, you also save on clean-up time afterwards. Neither do you waste water doing the dishes, making it a creative and eco-friendly choice as well.

I recently made this orange kheer after several years, much to my mother-in-law’s delight. She asked for a second helping, and she reminded me that it had been my father-in-law’s favourite. A flood of memories came back to her, and she appreciated the sentimental value of the dish very much. Watching her delight made me think yet again of how food truly is emotional, and has such a nostalgic quality. This isn’t something that we food bloggers say just for fun – when something beautiful like this is evoked in a person as they eat, the evidence is clearly seen.

My late father-in-law was diabetic, so we ensured that the sugar quantity in this dessert was always low, so that he could enjoy more of it. I generally avoid using too much artificial sweetening or sugar in my cooking anyway, so this low-sugar version fit nicely into my overall culinary approach, and I retained the recipe. The natural sweetness of the fruit also comes through. Oranges are currently in season, and I used the Nagpur variety which is especially flavourful at this time.

It’s so fitting that a sweet dessert like this inspires such sweet memories. I hope you’ll enjoy it just as much as my family does.

 

Orange Kheer

(Yield: 4-5 servings)

 

1 litre milk

Segments of 2 oranges

Juice of 1 orange

12 cup sugar

3 oranges (for cups)

Boil the milk on a medium-low flame, for roughly an hour, until it has reduced to 13. Stir frequently, making sure it does not stick to the bottom. The milk will be thick.

Once it has reduced, add the sugar and stir well. Take off the flame, cover and set aside to cool. Then, refrigerate for 2 hours.

Once it has cooled, remove from the fridge and add the orange segments and orange juice. The juice is optional, but elevates the overall flavour quite a bit. If you have some orange blossom extract on hand, go ahead and add a few drops too. Stir and put back into the refrigerator until cooled again.

When you are ready to serve this dish, you can either do so with your regular bowls, or else try my method of using the orange peel. To create the orange peel cups, cut each orange into half. Scoop out the flesh, being careful not to damage the peel. Set the segments aside for later. Pour the cooled kheer inside. Garnish if you’d like to (toasted pistachio can be a nice touch) and enjoy!

This is a cheerful dessert, as orange simply has that quality of boosting the mood. The aroma and the taste come together beautifully. I wouldn’t be surprised if, like my mother-in-law did today, you’ll be reaching out for a second helping too.

I don’t know whether sabudana wada, a savoury snack made of mashed potatoes with a coating of tapioca pearls, is a typically Maharashtrian dish or a typically Gujarati dish – but that to me is the beauty of India. Cultures blend and co-exist, respectfully. That is who we as a country really are, and we should not forget this.

I grew up in that kind of India, and while I was growing up I knew sabudana wada as not just a Gujarati dish but one specific to the Vaishnav community. This was because it was among the items that my mother, who observed fasts called Farali in which grains were not permitted, prepared during those times. What to my mother was a religious observance was an opportunity for tasty delights to me, as a child. As a fried dish, sabudana wada was logically delicious.  Other things that we ate during Farali were yam, potato and sweet potato preparations, some of which I will share with you soon.

While the dishes themselves were something I always appreciated and looked forward to, it is only with maturity and hindsight that I am able to see just how important those traditions were to my mother culturally. But more than that, I am able to appreciate how broad-minded she was in the way she raised us. She had come from a conservative family, and we lived in a joint family with our grandfather (who was with us up to the age of 89). He fasted devoutly, and so did she – but never did she impose the various fasts they both kept through the calendar on my siblings and I. Despite not having a formal education, she understood intrinsically that it was wrong to force her beliefs on us.

Interestingly, her leniency meant that by seeing and admiring her example, the traditions she held dear actually became imbued in us. I can see them live on in my daily life now, in the rituals I observe and the food I consume. The next generation, my children, who were raised quite liberally, similarly learn about culture from my example. They see how it is a part of who I am, and it becomes a part of them too.

When I think about my upbringing and that of my peer group, I feel as though we were all raised in a much more harmonious and open way, even though what was common in our generation was that parents and families tended to make all the big choices on their children’s behalf. From education to career to marriage and more, these decisions were not usually in our own hands (I rebelled on a few counts to chart my own path, but the norm was always to respect one’s parents’ wishes). But our so-called conservative parents had such a natural affinity for cross-cultural exchange.

My sister and I were sent to a convent school as it had the best curriculum in the city, and I remember well how I would pray at the chapel with all my heart – and then go home to eat authentic Vaishnav Gujarati meals and pray in my family’s altar too. I had a burqa-wearing friend at that same convent school too, and she is but one example of the mix of communities, languages and backgrounds that we grew up with. At school, it didn’t matter to anyone at all whether you wore a bindi or a hijab, as long as your shoes were polished and your uniform was pressed and your nails were tidily cut.

We had so many perspectives to open our minds. We played together, studied together and broke bread together without thinking of the differences between us – because where it really mattered, there were none.

That was the India I grew up in, one in which diversity was celebrated and not considered unusual in the least. If you are of my generation, I have little doubt that that was the India you grew up in too. Let’s not forget where we came from. Personally, I see food as going a long way in restoring that harmony.

On that note, let us return to the topic of sabudana wada – a lovely Indian snack for everyone to enjoy, background no bar. Just bring your appetite and a warm, open heart.

Sabudana Wada

(Yield: Approximately 10)

 

½ cup raw tapioca pearls (will become 1 cup)

2 tablespoons crushed peanuts

1 cup boiled and mashed potato

1 teaspoon ginger green chilli paste

Salt to taste

2 tablespoons coriander leaves (finely chopped)

1 teaspoon sugar

3-5 drops lemon juice

Oil for frying

Clean and wash the tapioca pearls and then soak them for 4-5 hours. Strain the water. Make sure it is strained well. The pearls need to be dry to the touch. If needed, you can spread them over a thin cloth and allow them to dry a little.

Next, boil the potatoes until tender. Peel and mash the potatoes well while they are hot and set aside.

Now, add all the remaining ingredients together and mix well. Massage with the palms of your hands until you form a dough. Divide the dough into small discs. Sabudana wadas are ideally dainty, small and pretty, although you are welcome to make bigger-sized ones if you prefer.

In a pan on a medium flame, add oil. Heat the oil and drop the wadas and fry until they are golden and crisp on both sides.

They are now ready to be served. Enjoy with green chutney or ketchup.

Sabudana wada goes perfectly with a cup of chai. These lovely little snacks are ideal for a rainy day evening. We enjoy them very much at home, and I hope you will too.

 

I’m the inquisitive type, and I love to know about everything that I eat. Recently, an ice cream recipe I was trying out called for guar gum, which made me wonder about its relationship to guar or cluster beans. With a little insight from Wikipedia, I learned this fun fact: guar gum, widely used internationally, comes from the guar seed and is exported from India. Guar gum is a thickening agent, and used in food industries around the world. Unfortunately, the processing the raw seed undergoes renders the final product rather unhealthy. Still, that takes away nothing from the goodness of guar itself. This wonderfully healthy vegetable hasn’t made an appearance on my blog so far, probably because it is not enjoyed by most of my family. But I know from experience that it is an acquired taste. I’ve been making it in a typical Gujarati style recently, in the form of guar dhokli. You may remember my dal dhokli recipe from years ago, and will be familiar with the stew-like concept behind it. This is similar: parcels of dough, known as dhokli, are cooked in a gravy – this one, full of nourishing guar.

Cluster beans are a bitter vegetable. The dhokli part of the dish balances this flavour out. Guar dhokli on the whole is a dish with several textures and flavours, and healthy too. As someone who enjoys a wide variety of vegetables, including unpopular ones like this one, I can safely say that a nice preparation, along with awareness of the benefits of an ingredient, can change one’s mind about it. This one contains: glyconutrients and a low glycemic index (making them good for diabetic diets) and folic acid (good for pregnancy diets). More generally, it is good for blood circulation, lowers bad cholesterol, and is rich in minerals, iron and Vitamins A, B and K.

As I mentioned, my family members aren’t fans, but I am. However, I too detested guar when I was growing up. My mother would make guar dhokli often and I would pick the guar out of the gravy and just eat the dhoklis, much to her fury! Funnily enough, once I got married and moved away, whenever I visited her I would request guar dhokli. It had a nostalgic quotient, and it truly began to grow on me. At this point, I would even go as far as to call guar one of my favourite vegetables. Some day, when my kids find themselves having a strange craving for it, they can look up this recipe. I am certain they will also have a change of palate as they get older.

The typical thaali that we eat at my house daily consists of a dal bhaat (dal and rice), rotli and a shaak, which is some kind of vegetable curry. This is the most basic Gujarati meal, and will be found at most households at lunch-time. Some may make it more elaborate by having one dry vegetable and a gravy one, or a savoury item and a sweet. But the core three elements remain. What happens in my home is that I often end up cooking some guar or some ridge gourd (which I I enjoy in a South Indian stir-fry, and have shared the recipe before) or some other vegetable that the others don’t like. So this just-for-me preparation becomes one extra dish, in addition to the core three.

When it comes to my kitchen, there are certain items that only I make. This guar dhokli happens to be one of them. Another one of my specialties is this Gujarati potato and brinjal curry. These recipes were transferred from my mother’s hands to mine, and somehow they just don’t taste the same unless I make them myself.

While preparing this guar dhokli, I pondered about how this authentic recipe has been preserved through the generations. My mother was only 19 when she moved to Chennai, and my siblings and I were born and raised here, just as my own children were. Still, we speak pure and perfect Gujarati at home, and the majority of the dishes we ate growing up were authentic ones. Even as I enjoy fusion food and amalgamating cuisines, I still find a way to maintain cultural and language traditions, even while integrating elements and influences. Food, of course, is the most beautiful way to do this – it’s amazing how we can enjoy diversity and also enjoy authenticity at the dining table.

Guar Dhokli

(Yield: 3-4)

 

Gravy

¼ kilogram cluster beans

2 tablespoons oil

1 teaspoon ajwain (carom seeds)

Salt to taste

A pinch of turmeric

1 tbsp dhaniya jeera powder (coriander and cumin powder)

½ teaspoon sugar

2 cups water

 

Dhokli

¼ cup whole wheat flour

¼ cup chickpea flour

Salt to taste

A pinch of turmeric

A pinch of chilli powder

1 teaspoon oil

¼ cup (or less) water

 

First, prepare the dhoklis. Make a tight dough with the above ingredients, adjusting the water accordingly. Now, make small discs with the palm of your hand. Set aside.

Then, prepare the gravy. First, wash and cut the guar into the desired size.

In a pressure cooker, add the oil. Once it has heated, add the ajwain. Next, add the chopped guar. Add 1 cup of water and allow the vegetable to cook until it is tender. This takes no more than 1 whistle.

Once cooled, open the lid and add another cup of hot water and then add the dhoklis that were set aside earlier.

Add the remaining spices and stir gently.

Once cooked, allow to cool for about 5-8 minutes. Your guar dhokli is now ready.

This dish is best served with rotis or rice, since it has a gravy component.

There you have it – guar dhokli, a dish that can turn a rather unpopular vegetable into a hit. Try it yourself and tell me what you think. I hope this recipe inspires you to bring the cluster bean into your repertoire, on repeat!

Peas are in abundance right now – they are in season, cheap to purchase, good for health, and I for one am glad they are flooding the local market. It feels like I am making something with them every day. Recipes I’ve shared with you in the past, like this harra bhara kebab, pea-pomegranate festive kachori and chura matar are being relished at my dining table. I’ve even begun using peas as substitutes for staples. For instance, I usually send my family members off to their offices with some aloo paratha in their tiffin carriers, but the potatoes have been swapped out for – you guessed it – peas. I would like for you to experience the lovely pea-stuffed parathas that they are enjoying at the moment too, so that’s exactly the recipe that I’ve decided to share this week.

Since I am now preparing as well as eating these pea parathas daily, I’ve observed that they are healthier and lighter than aloo parathas, which makes them more suitable for the mid-day meal when one’s work has to be resumed after. The best accompaniment for them is yoghurt and a cup of simple salad – add these two elements and you’re all set with a nice lunch. Traditionally, parathas are meant to be generous in size, but I prefer to make them small. They look pretty and dainty, fit more easily into your Tupperware or tiffin carrier, and the overall presentation just looks and feels nicer. That’s quite important for any meal, not just a special one. When a loved one opens their lunchbox at the office, the dishes within would have been prepared hours earlier and may no longer be warm or as fresh, so making them look attractive makes a difference.

I’ve been using peas grown in my region, but I must admit a preference for those harvested in Jaipur or Delhi at this time of year. The weather there is more conducive to this vegetable, and the yield is smaller in size and so sweet that it can be eaten raw (and even used in desserts, like in peas halwa). I have friends who grow peas on farms there, and visits from or to them during this season would always include some fresh produce. Sadly, no one is able to travel much at the moment, but the local variants are still much enjoyed in my home.

As I was preparing the peas for my photo shoot, I smiled as I recalled helping out in the kitchen when I was growing up. When we were kids, my siblings and I would have a competition about who would peel and shell the most peas. These were a chore that our mother often assigned to us, and this is how we would make it more interesting. The winner had no reward and the loser had no punishment, but this game was just a way for us to pep up a boring activity. Once again, as I did while sharing the previous recipe, I reminisce about how kids of my generation always found ways to keep ourselves entertained. We were innovative and creative in the absence of technology. What sorts of games did you play to make chores go by faster?

Peas Paratha

(Yield: 4-6)

 

Peas stuffing

1 full cup crushed green peas

1 teaspoon aamchur powder

1 teaspoon roasted cumin powder

1 teaspoon ginger/green chilli paste

Salt to taste

1 teaspoon oil (to roast the peas)

 

Paratha dough

1½ cups whole-wheat flour

Salt to taste

1 teaspoon oil

+ Oil for shallow frying

 

Divide the dough and the stuffing separately into equally-sized small balls (lime/lemon-sized).

Roll one dough ball out, and place a spoonful of the peas stuffing in the centre. Gather the dough around the peas and make a smooth round ball, using gentle pressure.

Dust some flour onto the ball and roll out again delicately, making sure the peas do not come out of the dough.

The method of stuffing the paratha with peas is similar to the method for making puran poli, which you can refer to in this post here.

Heat the tava over a medium flame. Once it is hot, place the rolled paratha on it and cook. Flip and spread a ½ teaspoon of oil evenly around the edges and shallow fry both sides until light golden brown spots appear. Repeat with the remaining parathas. Serve.

As I said earlier, some yoghurt and a bit of salad are great accompaniments, but even eaten on its own this peas paratha is flavourful. It is a perfect light meal, and it is lunchbox-friendly, cost-friendly and health-friendly too!

 

 

Here in Tamil Nadu, the harvest festival of Pongal has begun, and all over the state families are celebrating the occasion. Delicious, piping hot chakkara pongal is customarily consumed, but alongside it ven pongal (white pongal, made with freshly harvested rice) is also made. Oh, and let’s not forget certain creative yet authentic pongal renditions that are out there, such as this red rice and jaggery pongal. As you can see, there are many kinds of pongal, and this year, I thought I’d share with you a lovely savoury one.

Ven pongal is a traditional breakfast, one of my own favourites. It is a part of regular temple offerings too. This ven pongal is similar to a khichdi, which is a basic mixture of dal and rice. Unlike khichdi, it’s to be eaten with chutney or sambar. While khichdi is normally eaten for lunch or dinner but seldom for breakfast, with pongal it’s the reverse. As I mentioned, it’s a breakfast dish, and is rarely seen at other times of the day or night – except when it’s eaten for tiffin, which is what we call a late afternoon meal in this region.

Whenever I have breakfast while out and about in Chennai or elsewhere in Tamil Nadu, I always reach for the ven pongal. To me, it takes pride of place on the restaurant menu alongside its more famous counterparts, idli and dosa. The latter two are the “safe choices” that most people usually stick to, but I love ven pongal for breakfast and find it just as reliably made across the state. It’s very refreshing, filling, satisfying and healthy – and sees me through the day up until a hearty lunch.

The rice that I use in the pongal made on Pongal comes from our farm, and I observe a local tradition on this day. As is custom, this is when I store rice for the household for the whole year. The older it gets, the better it tastes. It is preserved well through a natural method: the raw rice is dampened with castor oil, and neem leaves are layered on it as I fill the storage barrels. This ensures that bugs stay away, given the humidity and the climate of this region. This raw rice is eaten throughout the year. When it is rinsed before use, the castor oil goes way, and any residue left is healthy for the body in any case. You can see a part of the process in the photograph below.

My love for this dish started in childhood. We had many Tamilian friends in our neighbourhood, so my familiarity with South Indian flavours and cooking began early. The house beside ours had girls of my age, and so we used to hang out together all the time. In those days, there were no TVs, computers or other electronic devices to keep us distracted indoors, so our hobbies were to run around, climb trees (eating fruits from them and being bitten by hairy caterpillars, as I’ve recounted on this blog before), play fun games that kids no longer seem to do and generally make a racket.

With these particular neighbours, we often spent the late afternoon together. I would go to their house at around 3.30pm, right in time for tiffin. We would sit on their front porch, enjoying leisure time together. My friends’ grandmother would oil, comb and braid their long hair and decorate it with jasmine. As she did, she would tell stories. I would watch their grooming ritual, listen to their Paati’s tales and enjoy the snack of the day. Very often, it was vada (savoury fried dough) or ven pongal, like the recipe I’m sharing with you today.

While I was growing up, my mother would sometimes make this too. This was because I would bring recipes back and forth between the different homes in our neighbourhood. Pre-blog and even pre-Internet, I already loved the exchange of kitchen techniques and secrets! South Indian families we grew up with also ate quite a bit of Gujarati food as a result. Of course, festivals meant gathering together and sharing meals too. It’s funny how connected we all were in that time before cellphones. I had such a lovely, inter-cultural upbringing – it contained food, heritage, granny tales and so much more from my family and well beyond. I feel like my children missed out on those simpler times, since technology began to dominate when they were little. I wonder how the generation of today fares, with even more at their disposal, and perhaps with even more disconnection in the world. What are your thoughts on all this?

Ven Pongal

(Yield: serves 3-4)

 

½ cup split mung dal

½ cup raw rice

3½ cups water to cook

2 tablespoons ghee

1 tablespoon cumin seeds

1 teaspoon whole black pepper

3 tablespoon split cashews

2 teaspoons finely minced ginger

Salt to taste

A handful of curry leaves

 

Mix the dal and rice together and rinse well. Heat a pan and add the mixed rice and dal to it. Sauté until they release an aroma. Do not allow the grains to turn colour.

Now, add the water, salt and 1 tablespoon of ghee. Pressure cook until tender. This will take approximately 20-25 minutes.

In another pan, add the remaining ghee. Once it has heated, add the cumin seeds and pepper. Next, add the curry leaves and ginger. Finally, add the cashews. Once this tempering has turned golden, add it to the steaming hot rice mixture.

Mix well and serve warm. It can be eaten on its own, or with sambar or chutney.

Whether you’re having this as a festive dish, or just snacking on it at tiffin or breakfast, I hope that you find it as delicious as I do. If you happen to enjoy it while sitting on your porch or balcony with dear friends, as I used to as a child, I’d especially love it if you could paint me a picture of those special moments in the comments! Food is such an intrinsic part of bonding, is it not?

Still on the theme of post-festive millet-based goodness, after the previous post’s millet upma, I’m glad to share another recipe that I’ve been turning to frequently. This is another breakfast dish, and what’s even better is that it makes use of the previous day’s leftovers, maximizing resources and minimizing time. There’s a long tradition of innovative dishes that do this, as we’ve seen in my second helpings series from a few years back, and this bajra rotlo cereal fits beautifully into that category too.

Bajra, or pearl millet, is a long-fingered crop with hundreds of grains on the cob. It has been cultivated on the Indian subcontinent for thousands of years, and is a staple across different cuisines in this region. As a darker coloured millet, which indicates that it is heavier on the digestive system, it is perfect for monsoons and Indian winters. It keeps the body warm, since the digestive system is active for longer, working on those slow-release carbs, and thus reduces hunger between meal-times. I have noticed that it is one of the key ingredients consumed by farmers, such as the people I’ve met on my travels to the Rann of Kutch, where the salt-harvesting community eats bajra with chutney daily.  It has a high iron quotient, is gluten-free and is rich in amino acids, fibre and antioxidants.

Bajra rotlo is a flatbread, one of many varieties enjoyed by the Gujarati community. It is most often accompanied by a garlic chutney, but while I was growing up my mother would usually serve it to us with jaggery and ghee or else with homemade white butter. In those days, the milk quality of brands that are still around today was pure and excellent, which meant we could extract our own buttermilk from the curd, and from this the butter. I remember watching my mother churning the buttermilk, which would make the butter float on top. She would often ask me for my help. We would collect the white butter and set it aside. Having it with some bajra rotlo over dinner was one of my favourite meals.

Of course, the homemade butter no longer exists and the store-bought ones just don’t compare when it comes to this purpose. Which brings me to my second-favourite way of eating bajra rotlo: as cereal.

It’s funny how things come full circle. As a child, this was a dish that I scorned at the breakfast table. My mother would always prepare a few extra bajra rotlos, to be kept overnight for my father and her to have in the morning. She would crumble these with her hands, turning them into a cereal consistency, and my parents would eat this cereal with milk. It looked like cornflakes to us kids, which was interesting in theory, but we did not like the taste back then. I grew to love it, however. In fact, I now enjoy this deconstructed version more than I enjoy the previous night’s freshly-made, unbroken bajra rotlos themselves!

Now, when I prepare bajra rotlo cereal, the memory of my mother’s hands and the way she would crumble the rotlos always comes to me. The dish is all the more special because of this.

For the time being, no one else in my family likes bajra rotlo cereal. But they watch me eat it, just as I once watched my parents eat it. I’ve never forced it on my kids, but maybe somewhere later down the line, they’ll reach out for this comfort food on some mornings too. Fond memories really are what make food palatable, above all else. Besides, as parents we always set an example. The next generation, be they little or a little older, will make similar choices to ours. So the more healthily we eat, the better a model we set for them.

Bajra Rotlo Cereal

(Yield: 4 servings)

1 cup bajra flour

½ cup water

A pinch of salt

½ cup flour for rolling

 

Optional (non-cereal version)

1 tablespoon finely chopped onion

1 tablespoon finely coriander leaves

 

Put the flour in a bowl, add the pinch of salt and stir. If you plan on having the bajra rotlo as a bread, not a cereal, then make the savoury version and add the onion and coriander now. Skip these optional ingredients if you plan on having the cereal version.

Add the water. Leave a little bit behind in the cup – use just enough to make a malleable dough.

Once the dough is made you, don’t let it sit. You will have to roast the rotlo immediately.

Make four smooth balls with the dough. On a rolling board, sprinkle more flour. Place a ball of dough on it and use your palms to gently pat it out. Use your fingers to press down the edges of the rotlo. If you need the help of the rolling pin, you may use it, but very lightly and gently. Since there is no gluten, the dough will be soft and needs to be handled with care. Add more flour if necessary. Each rotlo needs to be ¼ inch in thickness. Keep dusting with flour at the bottom too. Make all four pieces.

On a hot griddle, place each rotlo individually. Use your fingers to wet the top of the rotlo with water.

Roast on one side and flip over. Cool on a medium flame. As it’s thick, it needs to cook well on the inside. Once it has spots on both sides, place the rotlo directly on the flame to cook further.

Remove from the stove and top with ghee. Allow to cool. You can now serve this bajra rotlo with chutney or dal, if you like.

To make a cereal, once it has cooled, either the same day or the next morning, simply crush or crumble the rotlo with your hands.

You can have this with cold milk, if you prefer that. I usually have mine with warm milk. Specifically, I enjoy it with almond milk, which I’ve been reaching for more and more in my quest to make my diet more vegan. You can also add some sugar, if you wish to sweeten the cereal. All in all, it makes for a complete and healthy breakfast.

The festive season also coincides with the wedding season, which means that there is a general period of celebration until February or so in most Indian communities, peppered with religious occasions as well as personal gatherings. Foods like this dish, which nourish the body and let it recover from the heavy, fried, sugary, buttery, ghee-rich foods that are eaten at special events, are welcome and appreciated after and between feasts. This isn’t to knock indulgent foods at all – in fact, I have noticed how traditional ingredients like gond or gum resin, which are used in laddoos, are a warming agent and boost immunity. There’s a culinary and seasonal logic to indulgence too. But the body really does feel better when some millets are in the mix, balancing out the treats.

I’ve got quite a repertoire of millet-based dishes in my recipe archive, if you are keen to bring this nutritious category into your kitchen more often. Having tried this bajra rotlo cereal, if you find that you’re a fan of pearl millet at breakfast, the traditional Gujarati bajra ghensh is also a fantastic option. Here’s to happy, healthy mornings!

After the abundance of sweets, treats and fried foods of Diwali and Navaratri, hopefully accompanied by equally large helpings of blessings and joy, it’s back to trying to eat clean and healthy. This month is all about giving the body’s systems time to settle down before the culinary excitements of Christmas and the New Year beckon again. In this part of the world, this is also a time of rains, which call for immunity-boosting and warming foods as well. With all of this in mind, and taking a cue only from what I’ve been preparing for my family and myself, I’m delighted to share the recipe for a type of comfort food that is ideal for this time of year: millet upma.

Upma is a kind of porridge that is consumed across South India, in several variations. Its base may be semolina, vermicelli, corn, whole wheat or rice. Here, I have chosen to use a millet as the base, specifically the little millet. Millets and soups are perfect for the current weather. While soups are not really a part of the local cuisine, millets have a very long tradition of usage here. I’m quite an advocate for cutting down on white rice consumption in favour of nutritious millets, and you can explore many more millet-based recipes in my blog archives if you’re interested in doing the same.

As well as being a great place to start if you’re new to millets, this dish is also just the perfect way to start your day. Now, the truth is that millets taste healthy, which you know means that the family will fuss over it and make faces – at first. But as I’ve observed from my own grown kids, a millet upma is most welcome at breakfast after a night of partying or feasting. It’s just the kind of thing that calms body and mind, and boosts energy levels at the same time. So I choose a millet upma at the right moment during other times of the year, but it’s whipped up quite frequently in my kitchen in the post-festive period. We also have it as a light dinner, with more vegetables added to the mix. It’s especially great if you’re like me and have dinner early, as the millet gives you energy for the remaining hours of the evening, while still being easy to digest at night.

When cooking millets, the amount of water you add will depend on the size of the grain. Heavier millets – bigger in size and darker in colour – are traditionally used in monsoons and winters as they take more time to digest, hence warm the body for a longer time. However, I’ve chosen a sort of in-between. The little millet, known in Tamil as samai, is a larger grain but has a lighter colour. Use the millet of your preference, and do remember that depending on the type, you may need to pressure cook it or soak it overnight. You will also need to figure out the water level so that the result is a dish that is tender and crumbly. The consistency of the cooked millet should not be sticky.

Millet Upma

(Yield: 2-4 persons)

¾ cup little millet

¼ cup finely chopped onion

¼ cup chopped beans and carrots

2 tablespoons oil

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

A few curry leaves

1 green chilli

1¼ cups water

A squeeze of lemon juice

Salt to taste

Rinse the millet and set aside. Heat a kadai and add the oil. Once the oil heats up, add the mustard and cumin seeds. Allow them to splutter and then add the remaining vegetables, green chilli and curry leaves.

Cook until the vegetables become tender and then add the water. Once the water has boiled, add the millet. Then add the salt and stir well. Keep the flame low, cover the kadai with a lid, and allow all the water to be cooked. The millet grain should be tender and not sticky.

Add some lemon juice and stir gently. Garnish with coriander leaves and serve hot, and enjoy the taste of a healthy meal that your body will thank you for!

As I said earlier, there is a long history of millet consumption both in India as well as in my household, as shared here on my blog. I hope this millet upma recipe intrigues you into exploring this food category further. I’ve got a whole range, from the traditional – bajra ghensh, seven-grain khichdo, ragi dosa with peanut chutney, chakkara pongal, ragi kanji and little millet rice with green beans poriyal – to the innovative or internationally-inspired – vegan millet thayirsadam, vegan chili and Indian veg millet salad. I’d love to know about your own journey with millets, too!

A while ago, I noticed on Instagram that many people had been making pedas in lovely shapes. These Indian milk sweets are always a mood-lifter, and seeing them online inspired me to put them on my own festive menu this year. I’ve always been a believer that presentation goes a long way when it comes to any dish, and we usually eat with our eyes first. That said, taste is ultimately the most important factor. So, while dreaming up my own pedas, the two elements came together. Firstly, I sought out exquisite little moulds that would beautify my sweets, thinking of Kolkata’s famously attractive sandesh. Secondly, I gave the flavouring quite a lot of thought. Through some trials, I eventually settled on one of my favourite flavours, and indeed one of re:store’s signature ingredients: rose water. These rose water pedas are aromatic, delicious and very sweet, just like I hope your Diwali will be.

Whenever I see something beautiful – either culinary or creative – I must learn to make it immediately. You could call it a flaw of sorts, or maybe a happy curse, but that’s just how I’m wired. From the moment of inspiration onwards, it becomes an obsession for me until I arrive at a rendition that I am happy with. That’s how I learnt how to bake, to photograph and to cook so many beloved items in my repertoire. I experiment, make mistakes and keep going until I succeed. Only sometimes do I concede that it’s time to give up, but even then I don’t consider those experiences failures. Rather, there are lessons in them too. When I succeed, the journey doesn’t just end at having made something. The next step is sharing it, which is why this blog exists, but also why I am an inveterate giver of gifts. In my case, my gifts are mostly edible nowadays.

The reason for this is that people really do receive enough and plenty of other kinds of gifts, and unlike a memento which may not be to one’s taste, food almost invariably will be consumed. Before I visit a friend, I now bake or cook a little gift, or else select organic vegetables and arrange them in a basket. These are items which I know for certain will be used by the recipient, and will never gather dust. Personally as well, there’s nothing more exciting to me than fresh ingredients, and I love getting gifts of the same. You may have noticed that many of my recipes here have been spurred by a present of some kind: such as lavender, cinnamon, saffron or more wonderful pleasures that travelled to me with love. Recipes, too, are fabulous gifts – and it’s my pleasure to keep gifting you these.

I learnt how to make basic pedas from my sister, who is the peda queen in my eyes. Peda-making was truly in my destiny because of a nickname in my extended family. My mother had nine siblings, and each had many children of their own, among whom I was one of the very youngest. As a baby, I seemed to that huge group of cousins to look like a little peda. So that’s what they called me: “pendo”, the Gujarati word for this dish. I remain Pendo to many of them, even to this day!

 

Rose Water Peda

(Yield: 10 pieces)

125 grams paneer

50 grams full fat milk powder

50 grams powdered sugar

2 teaspoons ghee

1 teaspoon rose water

1 teaspoon milk

Grate the paneer and place it onto a plate. Knead it with the palm of your hand until it is soft and even, like dough. Form a ball and set aside.

Heat a non-stick pan and add the ghee. Once it is hot, add the paneer. Keep stirring and pressing the paneer down. The paneer will become soft and smooth. This process should take no more than two minutes.

Add the rose water and the milk powder. Mix well. Then add the sugar and turn off the flame. Mix it all well together once more. Spread onto a plate. Allow to cool.

Once cooled, use the palm of your hand to knead this mixture until it’s smooth. It will feel sticky, but do not worry.

Then, wrap the mixture with cling film. Keep it in the refrigerator for between ½ an hour to five hours.

You will notice that this recipe uses milk powder rather than milk, and this is a common modern innovation on the old method, which involved boiling and boiling milk for hours on end. Milk powder makes the process far simpler and faster, while retaining the classic taste of this deeply cherished Indian sweet.

When you are ready to prepare the peda, take out the cold mixture and knead it once again, making sure there are no lumps. Now, make small balls and reshape them as you desire, or use moulds. Garnish with rose petals and pistachio slivers.

Keep the peda at room temperature, but protected by a netted cover. Allow to sit for a few hours.

Serve, and relish the delicate taste of these lovely rose water pedas. You can store any remainder in the refrigerator, as long as you consume them within three days.

In my home, whenever I make peda, the first offering is always to Balakrishna or Baby Krishna, the god who is very fond of dairy according to all the stories about him. He is our family deity and we have a seva or service for him every day, an elaborate process of waking him, bathing him, treating him lovingly like a child and of course feeding him. So when I’m making pedas, I always make tiny ones to offer at the altar, alongside the regular-sized ones. As with all kinds of prasad, it is never tasted while being cooked, as it must be offered pure.

Do you have rituals like these too, in which food and faith come together? I’m always interested in learning more about world cultures, and would love to hear from you.