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Recipe: A Side Of Scrumptious Sourness – Kadhi

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I dropped references to kadhi not once but twice on this blog recently, during the grains-based Gujarati recipe series I was sharing. I’m delighted to feature the recipe for this wonderful accompaniment today, and I hope it gives a superb flavouring to all your khichdis, khichdos and much more.

Kadhi was traditionally made from soured buttermilk. Here in South India, even today, many households make our dairy products at home. I still prepare my daily yoghurt and let it set overnight. While I was growing up, my mother and most of our neighbours also made butter, cream and ghee regularly. As long as milk and a fridge were available, these resourceful homemakers ensured that their families had a steady, homemade supply of these essential ingredients.

So my mother would often collect cream in a pot, store it in the fridge, and then make white butter from it. We absolutely loved this as kids, and ate it with everything, including rotis. There would always be quite a lot of white butter prepared, and from it she would also make ghee. The residue of that white butter would be soured buttermilk, and from this she would make kadhi. It’s truly amazing how far she could stretch a vessel of milk!

So on the days when she made butter, we would almost invariably have kadhi, because she would never let that soured buttermilk go to waste. My father loved this kadhi, and never ate that great Gujarati mainstay, dal (the rest of my family are ardent dal enthusiasts, and you can check out my recipes for horse gram dal, mixed dal and classic Gujarati dal). I prefer lentils and legumes myself, but always prepare some kadhi for my father when he visits.

As I’ve said before in the posts in the Second Helpings series, culinary innovations are truly the forte of ordinary people over so many generations, who would dream up ways and means to make every bit of food go an extra mile. I too have learned that another good way to make kadhi, rather than to prepare butter and use its residue, is with yoghurt that’s been in the fridge for a few days.

If you’ve never tried a kadhi before, I would describe it as being an equivalent to the South Indian mor-kulambu. A kadhi is thinner in consistency, but it has a similarly spicy, slightly sour flavour. There are also mango kadhis, in which chunks of the fruit are added to the mixture when they are in season. These may be similar to the Tamil manga pulissery. Dumpling kadhis are another interesting variant. The recipe I will be sharing with you today is the base on which these variations are built.

Gujarati kadhi is sweetened with sugar, as with many of our dishes. This is a culinary twist that’s a signature of the cuisine, and you may prefer to make yours without it. We also do not add turmeric, and prefer to keep the kadhi white in colour. It is always tempered with ghee and just a few spices, so that just a subtle hint of their flavours are infused.

There’s one way in which my kadhi differs from my mother’s, and that is in my addition of curry leaves, which she never used. I have a sense that curry leaves as an ingredient are a South Indian element, which is why they seem to be absent in Gujarati cuisine. I’ve never come across any dish that uses curry leaves in any form in Gujarat, whereas here in Tamil Nadu we prolifically use powders, chutneys and the fresh leaves too. I’ve noticed in my travels there, especially to agricultural areas, that curry leaf trees aren’t abundant either. But like I said, this is just a sense of things. I would absolutely love to hear any insights you may have into curry leaves and their role or lack thereof in Gujarati culture or cuisine. Please do shed some light if there’s anything you may know about this topic.

I’d love to hear those insights over a tummy-filling thaali, but in these socially-distanced times, here’s the next best thing: my recipe, and a request to share what you know in return!

Kadhi

(Serves: 2 people)

½ cup yoghurt

1¼ cups water

1 tablespoon chickpea flour

½ teaspoon green chilli/ginger paste

Salt to taste

1 teaspoon sugar (optional)

1 tablespoon ghee

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

¼ teaspoon methi seeds (fenugreek)

A pinch of asafoetida

2 dry red chillis

2 cloves

1 stick cinnamon

1 cardamom

1 sprig curry leaves

In a pot, add the yoghurt, water, chickpea flour, ginger and chili pastes as well as the salt. Beat well until the mixture is fully incorporated.

Allow this to cook for approximately 7-8 minutes on a medium flame. Stir constantly so as to prevent the yoghurt from splitting.

Add the fenugreek seeds. Boil some more. Once this has cooked, set aside.

Prepare the tempering. For this, use a small pan. Add ghee and then add the cumin seeds, cardamom, cloves and dry red chillis. Once the cumin seeds splutter, add the curry leaves and the asafoetida, and immediately pour the tempering into the kadhi.

Garnish with coriander leaves, stir then serve hot. As mentioned earlier, kadhi goes beautifully with several kinds of khichdis (or you could have it with white rice, in which case it becomes the meal known as “kadhi-bhat”). It’s wonderful as part of a simple, traditional meal. I’d love to know what you think of it!

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Recipe: Second Helpings – Khichdi Thepla

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When the grain-based series concluded last weekend (you can catch up here, here and here, I promised a recipe that would make use of leftover khichdi in a unique way that transforms it into an entirely new dish. Years ago, I had mentioned in this post on rotis that khichdi is sometimes used to make theplas. That’s exactly what we’re going to do today.

Theplas are really a category, not a dish. They are a flatbread staple in Gujarati cuisine, and the diverse range includes methi thepla (made with fenugreek leaves), dudhi thepla (made with bottlegourd), bajra ke thepla (made with pearl millet) and more. The main ingredients change, but the seasonings and masalas tend to remain the same. The simplest form of theplas are the plain ones, made without any vegetables or other ingredients that spoil quickly. They are often made especially for travel, as they store well. I believe I’ve mentioned in previous posts how theplas were a part of all our train journeys, to Bombay and to other places. As kids, we ate every two hours, and so our mother would pack a large quantity of plain theplas, which would keep us well-fed for the two or three days that it took us to arrive at our destination. They were healthy, clean and home-made, and we would enjoy them with mango pickles as our train criss-crossed the country.

Mango pickles, specifically chhundo, which I’ve shared the recipe for before, are the chief accompaniment to most theplas. A dollop of yoghurt is also enjoyed alongside, and a dry vegetable like roasted potatoes can round out the meal. Theplas can be a light meal of just the flatbread and a pinch of pickle, or a full meal with the works. They are often a taken-for-granted dish too – “chalo (‘come/okay’), let’s have thepla” is a standard refrain when planning dinner in many a Gujarati household.

This style of thepla, which incorporates leftover khichdi into the dough and which is deliciously flavoured with ginger and green chilli (you may add garlic too, if you wish), is a perfect dinner dish to prepare with the unused portion of a simple khichdi made for lunch. Every family that uses this resourceful technique will have their version of what goes into the recipe.

Growing up, I was always impressed by the way my mother had a knack for turning over leftovers. It is a skill I’ve observed time and again in so many intelligent homemakers, who innovate ways to make a large meal go further, while appeasing picky children who demand fresh and interesting food. So this is especially for those of you who have fussy mouths to feed. Unless they are right there in the kitchen with you as you transform old khichdi into new theplas, they’ll never guess your little magic trick!

Khichdi Thepla

(Yield: 10 theplas)

½ cup khichdi

¾ cup + 2 tablespoons wheat flour

½ cup wheat flour (for rolling the theplas)

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon dhania-jeera (coriander-cumin) powder

1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon oil

¼ teaspoon ajwain (carom seeds)

1 teaspoon green chilli and ginger paste

1 teaspoon oil + 3 tablespoons to cook

 

Keep aside the oil.

Assemble all the remaining ingredients in a wide bowl. Make a dough by mixing them together with your hands, until the mixture is smooth. Towards the end, once it begins to turn sticky, add 1 teaspoon of oil and spread it around the bowl. Knead the dough completely.

I have used a soft and wet khichdi, and thus did not need to add any water. If your khichdi is dry, then you may need to add water too.

Once the dough is prepared, either make the theplas right away or refrigerate the dough as it will release water and turn soft again. Remember that as you are already working with leftover khichdi, it is best to make and consume these theplas on the same day. If you’ve kept the dough in the fridge for a while, do not wait for it to thaw. You can roll out your theplas right away.

Heat a roti pan. Make small discs of the dough, and dip them in the wheat flour. Roll out each thepla into a thin disc.

Place each thepla on the pan. Allow it to cook on one side, then flip over after 5 seconds. Once it has slightly cooked on the second side, add a few drops of oil and spread them. Flip the thepla and repeat until large dark spots appear on both sides. This indicates that it has been cooked well.

Set aside. Fry all the discs the same way. I usually intermittently lower the flame so that they are cooked evenly, but also do not end up dry and crisp.

Here are a few more tips that will help ensure that your theplas are soft, which is their ideal texture:

  • The dough needs to be pliable and smooth.
  • When adding the oil as you cook each thepla, make sure that the edges are oiled. They tend to dry up otherwise.
  • Once done, take each thepla off the pan immediately and pile it on top of the other ones. Somehow, this results in them all staying soft without becoming moist.

If you’ve enjoyed this, I hope you’ll take a look back at my original Second Helpings series, which featured Gujarati masala curd rice, dal dhokli and rotli na ladoo for a sweet finish. Do let me know in the comments about how you innovate new dishes using your leftovers too! As always, I love to learn more about recipes and the stories behind them.

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Recipe: Brass Tacks Comfort – Simple Khichdi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Simple Khichdi

(Yield: 2 persons)

 

75 grams rice

25 grams split mung beans

3 cups water to soak

2 cups water to cook

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

2 tablespoons ghee

 

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

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

Allow the pressure to decrease, then open the cooker.

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

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

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Recipe: A Good Breakfast – Bajra Ghensh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bajra Ghensh

(Yield: 2 persons)

 

½ cup broken bajra (pearl millet)

1½ – 2 cups water

½ cup thick yoghurt

Salt to taste

20 grams kharek (dried dates)

10 grams dried coconut slices

10 grams cashew nuts

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seven-Grain Khichdo

(Yield: 2-3 persons)

25 grams whole wheat (chaffed)

15 grams broken bajra

50 grams rice

15 grams green whole mung

15 grams yellow split mung dal

¼ cup green peas

¼ cup fresh green pigeon peas

Water to cook

2 tablespoons ghee

½ teaspoon ajwain (carom seeds)

¼ teaspoon asafoetida

1 crushed tomato

¼ teaspoon turmeric

Salt to taste

1 – 2 cups hot water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Recipe: The Perfect Alternative – Vegan Millet “Thayirsadam”

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Thayirsadam is a typically Tamil dish, and translates literally to “curd rice”. It is exquisitely simple and accessible food, which is why it is eaten here on practically a daily basis at households of every background. Even though we are Gujaratis, as lifelong Chennaiites, it is also a go-to in our home. It’s among the comfort foods we reach for whenever we feel down, or when we come back tired from a long trip. It’s also ideal for the day after late night parties, when not much has been prepped for the day’s meals, other than the homemade yoghurt that we ensure is made nightly without fail.

I’ve spoken many times of my deep love for yoghurt ever since childhood, and of how I used to consume it even by mixing it into upma and in other unconventional combinations. My love for it is something I brought into my new home when I got married, and I made it a staple in this household too. It truly is the ingredient that I find most difficult to give up even as we as a family make further inroads into a vegan lifestyle. For a variety of reasons, ranging from wanting to eating healthier to having doubts about the quality and purity of store-bought milk to being moved by the plight of mistreated dairy cows, we have all been veering towards the vegan way. My struggle to at least consume less yoghurt, even if I can’t quite give it up, has made me explore healthy and conscious alternatives. It’s such an integral part of Indian cuisine that it’s not a matter of finding a simple substitute for one or two recipes. I have to match each replacement to the dish, and see how it fares in that unique combination.

I have also been trying to make vegan yoghurt at home. Many of my experiments have failed, but a few attempts have brought me some degree of success. However, as I have yet to perfect a recipe that I feel I can confidently share with you, I won’t do so for now. My fingers are crossed that a vegan homemade yoghurt recipe will one day be featured on this blog.

So for now, we will stick to store-bought vegan yoghurt. Coconut yoghurt is my preferred one for this dish. I love the flavour: simple, versatile and a little sweet. Coconut also takes on the flavour of whatever you add it to, while retaining its own standalone taste. I add a dash of lemon to it so as to evoke the slight sourness of dairy yoghurt.

In addition to trying to eat vegan more often, I am also going through a phase where I am cutting down carbs, which means white rice is something I avoid. This leads me back to a food category that I’m passionate about: millets. Millets have made many appearances on this blog due to my belief in their importance in terms of good health and eco-sustainability. If you haven’t already enjoyed the following recipes, I hope you’ll check out: my vegan chilli bowl starring kodo millet, Indian vegetable salad starring foxtail millet or some authentic local dishes that showcase how millets have always been eaten in this region, such as chakkara pongal and ragi kanji.

In this dish, I have used kodo millet, also known as “varugu” in Tamil. Millets are fibre-rich, which makes them more filling, as well as good for your digestive system. Kodo millet is a gluten-free alternative to rice that I enjoy as much for its taste as for its benefits in regulating blood sugar and cholesterol levels, and the boost in antioxidants that it gives too. For me, veganism is about healthy eating, and that remains the impetus behind many of my food choices.

I’ve always seen food as a vital component of living in alignment with nature. Many of you know that I also maintain a home garden with various daily ingredients, from lemongrass to coconuts to tomatoes. Green chillies are among them, and as I stepped out of my kitchen to pluck a fresh one for this vegan millet “thayirsadam”, some pretty white flowers on the plant caught my eye. I paused to admire them, and I loved being able to include them in the styling for my photoshoot. How special and gratifying it was, to have my abiding love for all things culinary, my intensifying passion for photography, and my reverent love for nature come together…

Vegan Millet “Thayirsadam”

(Yield: 3-5 cups)

50 grams kodo millet

160 grams coconut yoghurt

¼ cup water

2-3 tablespoons raw mango

1 tablespoon coriander leaves

1 tablespoon chopped cucumber

Salt to taste

A dash of lemon

 

Tempering:

1 tablespoon oil

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

1 green chilli finely chopped (optional)

A few curry leaves

Rinse and cook the kodo millet in 3-4 cups of water. This will take about 15 minutes. Allow to cool.

Once cooled, transfer the millet into a bowl. Add the coconut yoghurt, salt and water. Mix thoroughly. Next, add the cucumber, raw mango and coriander leaves. You may include your choice of crunchy ingredients to add more texture and taste to the dish. Sometimes I use pomegranates or grated carrots, either as a substitute for cucumber or along with it.

Now, add the dash of lemon.  Set aside.

For the tempering, heat the oil and then add the mustard and cumin seeds. Once they splutter, add the green chilli and curry leaves and immediately pour over the millet-yoghurt that was set aside.

Stir gently and refrigerate. Serve once slightly cooled again.

And there you have it: thayirsadam with neither thayir (curd) nor sadam (rice)! This vegan curd millet dish truly becomes a filling meal-in-a-bowl once you scoop in a spoonful of pickle on the side, and add a handful of some delicious, crispy banana chips to add more variety to your meal.

By the way, if you are a fan of curd rice in general, may I suggest that you also try my recipe for Gujarati masala curd rice? And if you’re a vegan who is looking for dairy-like but dairy-free desserts, my take on another Gujarati speciality, in the form of this vegan passion fruit shrikand, may be right up your alley!

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horse Gram Dal

(Yield: Serves 3-4 people)

½ cup horse gram dal

3 cups water

2 tablespoons oil (+ 2 tablespoons)

¼ tsp cumin seeds

1 finely chopped onion

3 blended tomatoes

1 teaspoon garlic-ginger paste

1 teaspoon dhaniya-jeera (coriander-cumin) powder

¼ teaspoon turmeric powder

1 teaspoon rajma masala

1 teaspoon Kashmiri chili powder

1 pinch asafoetida

1½ heaped teaspoon besan (chickpea flour)

Salt to taste

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Recipe: Traditionally Dal-icious – Gujarati Dal

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gujarati Dal

(Yield: Serves 4-5 persons)

 

½ cup raw toor dal

2 cups + 2 cups water

2 tablespoons ghee

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

1 dry red chilli

A pinch of methi seeds

A few curry leaves

A pinch of asafoetida

½ cup finely chopped tomato

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon turmeric powder

½ teaspoon red chili powder

2 tablespoons unsalted peanuts

3 tablespoons jaggery

4-6 stems of kokum flowers

¼ cup chopped coriander leaves

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Recipe: Cherished and Relished – Coconut Stew

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

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

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

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

 

Coconut Stew

(Serves 2-4 people)

50 grams onion

125 grams potato

20 grams ginger

A few curry leaves

2 teaspoons coconut oil

½ cup water

Salt to taste

One coconut

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Recipe: A Coconut Condiment – Coconut Podi

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I’ve spoken often about how I love growing many of my own ingredients, whether at home or on our farm. I’m excited about sharing this new series about one that is a staple in so many dishes here, and which I’m fortunate to have a lovely homegrown supply of. That hero ingredient is the coconut, and over the next few weeks I’ll be sharing several recipes that star it. We have our own coconut trees in the backyard, and I am always looking for ways to put the yield to use. The coconut climber came by recently, to harvest the trees, and from this abundance of crop I’m making as many things as I can. For any recipe at all that calls for coconut, I use a fresh one. Even coconut milk is squeezed at home.

Kicking off this series is a condiment, coconut podi. Condiments are popular across Indian cuisines, and South India has a fair share. Dry podis (“podi” means “powder” in Tamil) and wet chutneys, as well as semi-wet, semi-dry variations are made using a variety of spices, dals and ingredients like curry leaves, raw mangoes and more. The idli podi, for instance, is made to last long. Coconut is not an ingredient that can be be kept for that long, so this one has a shorter shelf life. But I can almost guarantee that you’ll reach out so often for it that your stock won’t expire. If made correctly, this coconut podi remains fresh for around 3-4 weeks, stored at room temperature.

One of the reasons why I was especially keen to make a coconut condiment is that I personally love the Sri Lankan sambol, and wanted to see if I could make a vegetarian version of sorts. While sambol uses seafood, I feel this recipe is similar. Like sambol, this podi is not a finely-ground one, and has many tiny coconut pieces. My friend Akila also encouraged me to try this experiment out, and she was happy to share her own basic coconut podi recipe. I’m always aware that different communities and families have their own ways of making the same recipe.

With Akila’s recipe as a base, layered with things I learnt from other recipes I’ve tastes over the years, and finally through speaking with various families to retain some kind of local authenticity, I added my own touches: tamarind and curry leaves.

While I was growing up, we often ate some kind of podi mixed with ghee and rice. It was the perfect impromptu go-to in case the day was too busy to prepare a curry or a dal, and I still reach out for this for the same reason. This podi is also delicious with a bit of ghee and a dosa, or to add flavour to yoghurt. One of the great things about any podi is that it tends to be easy to carry to work, since it won’t cause a mess or have a strong smell in one’s lunch carrier, whereas a curry might.

It smells divine as it roasts, however. The morning that I made this coconut podi, using those freshly-harvested coconuts, my whole home was filled with the most beautiful aroma as it was being prepared. Everyone wanted to have it for breakfast, immediately, lured by that fragrance. I wonder if the same thing will happen in your home!

Coconut Podi

(Yield: 2 cups)

1 cup fresh coconut (shredded)

2 tablespoons urad dal

2 teaspoons sesame oil

¼ teaspoon asafoetida

2 -3 dry red chillies

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

Salt to taste

6-8 curry leaves

1 marble-sized ball of tamarind

 

Add oil to a pan. Once it has heated, add the asafoetida, urad dal, mustard seeds, tamarind, red chillies and curry leaves.  Roast until the urad dal turns golden. Set aside.

In the same pan, dry-roast the coconut on a low flame, using just a few drops of oil, until it turns reddish in colour. Set aside.

Use a spoon to remove only the urad dal from the earlier mixture. Coarsely blend the remaining ingredients together, adding salt. Use a blender, and keep it at room temperature. Once a coarse blend is achieved, add the urad dal and blend everything again. The reason for adding the dal only at the end is so that there is a bit of crunch in the podi. You’ll see what I mean when you taste it!

You may also want to add just a pinch of jaggery to this recipe, if you’d like to enhance the flavour with some sweetness. That was an element I used in some trials of mine, and ultimately eliminated from my final version. If you’d like to, you can eliminate the curry leaves too. It all depends on what combination of spice, sweetness and tang (which comes in this case from tamarind) you most enjoy.

Store at room temperature, and enjoy with dosa, idly, rice, roti or any combination you prefer.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing more coconut-ty goodies, from anytime staples to festive specials. Please do subscribe to this blog, so that you’ll know as soon as a new post goes up! Don’t forget to let me know in the comments what you think of the recipes, too. As always, I love hearing from you about how you’ve translated my recipes to suit your own tastes!

 

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