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Here in India, with Diwali having just gone by, we are now officially post-festive. Having eaten all the yummy goodies we can – which included, I hope, some of the recipes I have shared here, alongside your own family specialties – it is now time for a bit of detoxing. Leaning towards lighter meals after the festivities, as well as fasting beforehand, are parts of our culinary traditions too. A simple bajra khichdi is exactly the kind of dish that tends to be preferred at this time, soothing the body after all the feasting, and it is what I’m sharing today.

It is necessary after festivities to streamline one’s diet so as to give one’s digestive system a rest. In general too, eating mindfully is a sensible choice. I want to emphasize here that detoxing is not about shedding weight. To me, that is not important. What is important is listening to one’s body, removing from one’s consumption habits what doesn’t suit it, and maintaining one’s health. Season-based eating habits are obviously a part of this.

Even up to my mother’s generation, the cycle of fasting first so that the body is prepared for feasting, feasting during the celebrations, followed by eating very simple food, was just a part of the rituals and traditions. They didn’t give it much thought, even though to us today it seems to be highly intentional. Perhaps it will help to remember that the concept of detoxing is nothing new. The only difference is that so much is available to us 24/7 nowadays that restraint becomes a choice, and moderation was not a way of life as it was earlier. That said, one definite improvement is that more and more of us are learning how to use the right bins when disposing of kitchen and other waste, aware that our consumption doesn’t end with eating or tossing.

I want to linger on the subject of detoxing, not only in terms of food but taking a more holistic perspective. It is something I think about a lot myself, and try to inculcate in various aspects of my life. Now that I am older and more conscious of the surroundings – and here I mean especially about pollution and the planet, a topic that I’ve written about before – the necessity for curbing excess and being mindful feels stronger than ever. I believe I speak for many of us, for I know from conversations I’ve been having that a desire for more simplicity and less consumption is something that we have been feeling collectively.

I’m thinking therefore of detoxing as a sort of umbrella term, encompassing one’s body, one’s home, one’s relationships, one’s schedule – life itself, really. Let me use a small and practical example here: I have been detoxing my wardrobe. This means removing items I don’t require, and learning how to purchase wisely so that fewer pieces that have more longevity and can be valued over time are selected over quantity. I want to buy less and hoard less. I tell my family, some of whom have big shopping habits, “You must enjoy and appreciate beauty, but that does not mean you should own all the beauty you enjoy.”

This thought applies equally to nature, and how we operate as travellers. When we visit a place, we must remember that preserving it is more important than simply taking it in for our own pleasure.

Then there is shedding negativity, both within ourselves and in terms of whom we choose to have in our circles. This can be quite complicated, but it is also an essential part of well-being, for we do absorb others’ energies.

There are so many aspects of our lives that could do with occasional detoxification, and food just happens to be one of the more obvious ones. Coming back to this simple bajra khichdi, it is a satisfying dish that is full of goodness and nutrients. It contains bajra or pearl millet, which is a preferred grain in Indian winters as it takes longer to metabolize and therefore helps keep us warm. It is also high in iron. I have spoken about these facts before, and encourage you to explore more bajra and millet recipes on this blog. For now, this one is just right for this time of year, both in terms of season and in terms of our social calendars!

 

Simple Bajra Khichdi

(Serves: 2-4)

1 cup broken bajra grains (pearl millet)
½ cup yellow mung dal
3 cups water
2 tablespoons ghee
½ teaspoon turmeric powder
Salt to taste
1 teaspoon cumin seeds
¼ teaspoon asafoetida
1 green chilli

If you’re unable to find broken bajra, just blend coarsely or even hand pound the grain. Rinse and soak the bajra along with the yellow mung dal for at least 4-6 hours.

Change the soaking water, then pressure cook, adding the salt and turmeric, along with 3 cups of water. Use less if required. Cook until the grains are tender and the consistency is soft.

Heat a kadai. Add ghee, cumin seeds and asafoetida. Once the cumin seeds splutter, add the green chilli and the cooked bajra. Stir until the ghee is well mixed.

Your khichdi is now ready to be served hot. I would pair it with kadhi. This will make for a very filling lunch or dinner, and it definitely in the comfort food category in every way!

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seven-Grain Khichdo

(Yield: 2-3 persons)

25 grams whole wheat (chaffed)

15 grams broken bajra

50 grams rice

15 grams green whole mung

15 grams yellow split mung dal

¼ cup green peas

¼ cup fresh green pigeon peas

Water to cook

2 tablespoons ghee

½ teaspoon ajwain (carom seeds)

¼ teaspoon asafoetida

1 crushed tomato

¼ teaspoon turmeric

Salt to taste

1 – 2 cups hot water

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

 

Makkai Khichdi

(Yield: 1 bowl)

3 cups grated fresh corn

1 cup milk (coconut milk optional)

1 tablespoon oil

½ teaspoon cumin seeds

1 green chilli

A handful of curry leaves

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

Salt to taste

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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