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In my recent recipe for a barley lime drink, I mentioned how my sister and I were anaemic while growing up, and how we were subjected to a range of homemade remedies to improve our condition. When she and I reminisce about the good old days now, we often laugh about all those horrible tonics and preparations, and very fondly remember one we actually loved. In fact, many children would, because of its delicious sweetness. The “medicine” in question was the raisin kalkand (crystal sugar) syrup, a simple health-boosting tonic our mother often prepared for us.

We would be given this first thing in the morning during the summers because it’s a highly cooling drink, in addition to its strengthening properties. Dehydration is something we’ve all become mindful of given this heat. But it’s also important to consume foods and beverages which have a cooling effect on the body. The science of Ayurveda has helped us identify many of these. As I’ve said before, I don’t know how much of it was science and how much of it was intuition, but my mother had an amazing skill when it came to knowing the heating and cooling properties of various ingredients. So she made sure that the raisin kalkand syrup was a summertime drink for us. It’s cooling both in terms of what’s in it and how it’s made.

Life was so different back then, when we were growing up. We were all so dependent on natural remedies, avoiding pills, and were no less healthy for it. These are ways of life which are being forgotten. Do you remember growing up in that time, in which mothers and grandmothers always seemed to know what to reach for in the kitchen to not just treat but even cure all kinds of common ailments?

In retrospect, I appreciate those kinds of healing methodologies and natural sciences all the more. They followed traditional customs, had seasonal logic, and maintained health in the family and community. I have become a big believer in these remedies, and many trips down memory lane have helped me bring some of them back into my life. This health-boosting turmeric shot and this herbal tonic for sniffles are but two examples of how a handful of common ingredients can make you feel all better.

Still, I must admit that I struggle sometimes to maintain and share the old ways of healing, especially when it comes to my children and how fast-paced their lifestyles now are. But that’s partly why I feel it’s so important to revive and invest in these methods. They counter the demands of the world through their time-honoured and proven usage. They were not passed down through so many generations for nothing. For small complaints, they often work like a charm.

And as far as charms go, this raisin kalkand syrup is a particularly sweet one. Literally! You’d be hard-pressed to find a child who will reject a shot of it.

Like so many old recipes, the secret to this one lies in its simplicity. Fennel seeds are a source of iron, histidine and folic acid, zinc, magnesium, potassium, Vitamins C and K and essential minerals. Black raisins too are full of iron, thus increasing haemoglobin levels, and are also good for bone strength, immunity and a host of other needs of growing children.

Furthermore, there is a process of soaking which brings out the nutrients in the raisins and the fennel. This takes place in a terracotta pot, an ancient cooling method that continues to be a part of Indian kitchens. This amazing, energy-efficient refrigeration technique is also great for curd, water and so many items which are best served cooled in the hot summers. Adapted for both adults and children as a sort of raisin and fennel juice, this syrup that I liked to gulp in a shot from my childhood is an ideal drink to cool down in the heat.

You may be wondering how sugar, which so many nutrition-conscious people regard as a big no-no, could be such a major part of a home remedy. Its presence in this recipe is neither for reducing bitterness nor for making it more palatable for children, especially since delicious raisins don’t need to be (literally) sugar-coated like certain other nourishing ingredients. The use of kalkand here is only for a cooling effect, just like the terracotta pot. A substitute like jaggery would have a heating effect, and is better avoided.

This raisin kalkand syrup is best taken in the summer months, and joins an ever-growing list of heat-fighting drinks on this blog, including rose sherbet and spiced buttermilk.

Raisin Kalkand Syrup

(Yield: 1 cup)

¼ cup black raisins

1 lump crystal sugar (optional)

2 tablespoons fennel seeds

1 cup water

 

A terracotta pot was always considered a must by my mother when making this cooling syrup, so it’s still a part of my own method. Put all the ingredients in a small terracotta pot, including the water. Soak overnight or for a minimum of 6-8 hours.

Please note that the sugar quantity is really a question of personal preference. If you have been advised to cut down on it, you may use less or omit it from the recipe.

Once the soaking process is complete, blend the soaked ingredients with more water.

The beauty of how this drink was made was that it was lovingly crushed by our mother’s hands, because we didn’t have a blender around yet. Now of course, I blend it but then strain it with a muslin cloth just as she did. She would use an old saree of hers which had been worn to tatters. Ever resourceful, she would cut pieces from used clothing and keep it for such purposes.

Using a fine muslin cloth, strain the blended mixture well. Squeeze the liquid into a glass. As children, we loved drinking it like a shot, although you may prefer to sip it. Enjoy at room temperature and preferably fresh. This recipe serves one. Increase quantities as desired to serve more.

With all the bitter remedies that we were forced to spoon down growing up, this raisin kalkand syrup was not only a tasty respite, but also a beautiful metaphor on balance. It served to teach us something important about life itself, and finding ways to make it sweeter. And that’s the lesson that comes to mind as I share it with you today.

I want to begin with a word of thanks to all my readers around the world. Many of you have stayed with this blog for a whole year! I hope you’ve loved peeking into my kitchen, and I’m so glad to have you here as re:store grows. As the festive season is in full swing here in India, I thought this would be the perfect time to share my mother’s recipe for sweet ghugras, which was promised many posts ago when I gave you my mother-in-law’s recipe for pea-pomegranate kachoris.

Whether you know them as samosas, kachoris or ghugras, these fried stuffed pastries are a timeless favourite. It’s the fillings that make the difference, and the one I’m sharing today fills my heart with so many beautiful memories of childhood. It was one of the food items that my mother reserved exclusively for Diwali. In the same way that most people make modaks only on Ganesha Chathurti, she made these sweet, nutty ghugras only on Diwali.

Let me paint you a picture of just what these ghugras evoke in me. It’s amazing to recall now just how consistent the scene was: coming home from school year after year the day or so before Diwali to my mother standing in the kitchen, preparing the sweets. The anticipation, and the enjoyment. How does it feel like it was the exact same sight every year, even though both she and I grew older? The scents of that kitchen, the sheer delight of it all!

In those days, all the sweets and savouries were made at home. Each family would make 3 or 4 variants, depending on their status. The preparations began a couple of days before Diwali, and the treats would last for a week – and therefore, in a sense, the celebrations too. It was customary to visit one another’s homes, where we would eat versions of the same sweets. Back home, those who cooked in the families – usually our moms and aunts – would trade notes. Did that person’s cardamom twist suit the sweet? Was her own ghee-rich version of a treat the tastier one?

I grew up in a middle-class home where everything was rationed. Two sweets per child, and the rest for guests – but first, if you remember from my jaggery-whole wheat prasad recipe, to God. Those two sweets each were so relished, and to this day I believe that fulfilment and gluttony are two different things when it comes to dining.

The day after Diwali is the Gujarati New Year, and these two festivities are indelibly linked in my mind. Growing up in Chennai, the latter was not a public holiday, so school remained open. I remember the mix of restlessness and excitement I’d feel through classes all day, waiting for 3pm when our parents would come to pick us up. For that one day of the year, we did not have to take the school bus home – and just having our parents come to collect us to take us for our New Year prayers was such a thrill!

There is a beautiful old haveli, a traditional mansion, in Chennai’s Kilpauk neighbourhood that I still go to every year, and this was where we would drive to – still in our school uniforms, so happy to be celebrating this special day with our extended family and community. Dedicated to Lord Srinathji, the haveli observes an annakut darshan – an unlimited offering – made to the deity on New Year. In the spirit of abundance, it is forbidden to count the number of food items given as prashad. In order to achieve this, the cooking tasks are divided amongst several people. Each person makes a different kind of sweet or savoury, and the total collection is presented to the deity at once. It was always such a wonderful experience, a time when so many families came together and enjoyed ourselves – praying, playing and eating together, keeping our traditions alive through simply being joyous.

Diwali is in fact only one day in a string of special occasions. For us Gujaratis, the season began with Dhanteras (in which goddess Lakshmi is worshipped for prosperity), followed by Kali Chaudas (where a fried vada, a lentil doughnut, is thrown over one’s shoulder at a crossroads; my modern version of this custom is to serve thayir vada, curd-soaked vada, at home on this day), then Diwali (the festival of lights, which invariably falls on a new moon – on this day I make a broken wheat and jaggery dish for good luck). Diwali is followed by the Gujarati New Year (on which I make specialties like kesari or lapsi), and subsequently by Bhaibeej (the day when brothers visit their sisters’ homes to feast, the reverse of which happens on a day in August known as Raksha Bandhan). As you can see, feasting is an integral part of our festivals!

And to your own feasts, this year and for all time, I hope you’ll add this heirloom recipe of mine…

Sweet Ghugras

(Yield – 15-20 pieces)

Ingredients:

Filling

½ cup white raw almonds (with skin)

½ cup shelled pistachio

½ cup powdered sugar

2 tablespoons ghee

1 – 2 pinches of saffron

½ teaspoon cardamom powder

 

Pastry

See here.

 

If you tried your hand at my sweet-savoury pea-pomegranate kachori recipe, you’ve already had practice at making the pastry for these ghugras too. The ingredients and technique can be found by clicking through to that post.

Here, let me share the recipe only for the filling of the sweet ghugras. It is the filling that makes each samosa, ghugra or kachori different.

Roast the nuts until they turn into a light golden colour (you may replace the pistachio with cashew nuts if you wish). Allow to cool. Once cool, blend them to a coarse powder.

Now, add the powdered sugar and ghee. The ghee binds all the flavours together. Next, add the cardamom and saffron. Using your hands, gently blend the ingredients together.

The filling is as simple as that. Most Gujarati households will have a similar recipe for sweet ghugras. Many will use mava (known in Tamil as palkova), which is a sugary milk reduction. The mava version was my brother’s  favourite, and my mother made it for him for over five decades of Diwali celebrations – even the one in the hospital. But if you don’t like extreme sweetness in your desserts, you will prefer this nutty variation I’ve shared.

If you made the pea-pomegranate kachori recipe given earlier, making, rolling out and delicately folding the dough into a pretty shape should be very easy for you.

If this is your first attempt, do watch the video below to see how to stuff and fold the pastry casings. You will be able to make between 15-20 ghugras using this recipe, depending on the size. I like mine small and dainty, so that you’re both satisfied in a bite and have a slight craving for one more.

Once the pastries have been filled with the sweet, nutty stuffing, they must be fried.

I prefer the traditional method of deep-frying them in ghee over a low flame, but you can use oil if you wish. After a couple of minutes, increase the flame for about 15 seconds then lower it again for a minute. Continue alternating high and low flames. The ghugras will take 12-14 minutes to turn to a light golden colour. And then they are ready to serve.

These sweet ghugras have travelled a long way with me, from childhood. Isn’t it funny how we take our mothers’ food for granted? I’m so glad I made the effort to absorb her culinary wisdom. Now, during special occasions, my kitchen smells just like hers did when I was growing up – and I am filled with all the love she raised us with.

Heartfelt festive wishes from re:store to you and your family!