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Recipe: Simply Luscious – Sitaphal Kheer

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We would clamber up the sitaphal tree, pluck one right off the branches, and in our greedy delight not even check whether the fruit was ripe enough to eat before we tore it open with our hands and devoured the sweet white pulp. Then, we would spit out the shiny black seeds and collect them, for they were perfect for playing pallanguzhi, a traditional Tamil mancala game! Whenever I think of sitaphal, I think of these moments from my childhood. They were filled with joy, and I taste it again each time I taste the fruit.

 

Recently, I visited our organic farm a few hours’ drive from Chennai – and the sight of the abundant green harvest of the sitaphal trees brought back those childhood memories.

I will tell you more about our organic farm soon, where we grow paddy, varieties of gourd, numerous other vegetables, fruits – and a thoughtful selection of gorgeous native flowers that are fading from public memory. Hardly anyone wears or sells them anymore, but I take heart from the fact that there is one lady who sits by the Kapaleeshwarar Temple in Mylapore, with a colourful array of blossoms for purchase. Among them are the shenbagha and the manoranjitha. When I was a little girl, the teachers would wear beautiful manoranjitha flowers in their hair, and the classroom would be filled with their fragrance. And I would often think to myself: one day, when I am grown, I will have a house of my own with a tree that bears those flowers.

With the sweetness of all these memories in mind, and with the fruit in season in the serene landscape I dreamed of as a child, I remembered and craved a recipe that I had introduced into our family repertoire. When I got married and moved into my new home, I had enjoyed learning certain dishes from my mother-in-law that I found unusual. Among these was a fresh orange kheer. If you remember from this rose-coconut recipe, kheer is a kind of Indian pudding, with milk as the primary ingredient.

My mother-in-law’s citrusy dessert inspired my own variation. Perhaps I had wanted to bring the sitaphal I had plucked and gorged on in my childhood into my matrimonial home. And that’s how this sitaphal kheer was created. Even decades on, it remains a favourite of mine.

Sitaphal (Custard Apple) Kheer

(Yield – 8-10 cups)

Ingredients
1 ½ litres whole milk
2 large custard apples
1 ½ tablespoons corn flour or custard powder
½ cup sugar

You may know the sitaphal as the custard apple. I cannot recall seeing sitaphal sold abroad, which made me think it must be an indigenous Indian fruit, but it seems it’s actually native to the West Indies and Central America. Nonetheless, it thrives on our farm, and is popular throughout India. I wonder why it is not as well-known elsewhere as the mango. If you ask me, sitaphal is under-rated, and deserves renown.

One of the English names of sitaphal is sugar apple, attesting to its sweetness. Another is sweetsop. That tells you a lot about the taste of this fruit, if you haven’t had it. While it is not at all cloying, and in fact is quite subtle given its names, it is slightly higher in calories than other fruits too. Which means that I won’t sugar-coat it (pun intended): this recipe is a treat, and a bit of an indulgence! Still, sitaphal is also rich in potassium and magnesium, which protect the heart from disease, and Vitamin A and C. Fruit of any kind can never be truly bad for us, and sitaphal is no different.

Open up the soft, patterned green skin of this beautiful fruit, and begin to remove the seeds patiently using a spoon and clean hands. Keep the pulp in the refrigerator, covered.

In the meantime, boil the milk until it reduces partially. Vegans, you may want to try either coconut or almond milk. Keep stirring it on a low flame, making certain it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pot.

Put the corn flour or custard powder into a small cup, and add 2-3 tablespoons of milk at room temperature. Stir this mixture well, until it is smooth. Now, gently add this mixture to the milk in the pot. You have to be careful now to stir continuously, so that it doesn’t stick to the bottom, which it is very likely to.

I like my kheer not too thick, but you may like yours thicker. In which case, simply add an additional 1 teaspoon of the corn flour or custard powder. Or reduce the quantity, to thin it further. Adjust according to the consistency of your preference.

Add the sugar. The taste of the sitaphal is so gentle and distinctive that I find the addition of cardamom, nuts or saffron – classic elements of most kheer recipes – takes away from this flavour. But you can always add these if you wish.

Once the milk thickens to the consistency you prefer (this will take approximately 15-20 minutes), turn off the flame and cover the pot with a lid. Allow this to cool, then refrigerate for a few hours.

Add the seeded sitaphal pulp into the refrigerated mixture and blend well. Serve this chilled dessert in small bowls.

Just as I substituted my mother-in-law’s fresh oranges for sitaphal, the lovely thing about this recipe is that you can use any fruit of your choice, based on your own tastes and seasonal availability. It is a luscious dessert, and it’s equally perfect for summers (when it has a cooling effect) and for the year-end festivities (when it’s also in season). I’d love to know what you think of it – and what variations you’ll spin up in your kitchen.

 

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Recipe: Rolling Out The Rotis

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The very first recipe I learnt from my mother was the foundation of all Gujarati meals: the humble yet hard-to-perfect roti. Or as we call it, rotli. The ideal Gujarati rotli has to be as thin as muslin, and it took me years of practice to expertly knead the dough and roll it into perfect circles. My mother insisted that a good Gujarati girl’s rotis had to be dainty and delicate. My early ones often turned out like Punjabi parathas, large and thick – and by the norms of the Gujarati kitchen, totally wrong! Curious about this cultural difference, I asked a Punjabi neighbour why their standard for the perfect flatbread was so unlike ours, and she gave me a beautiful answer: the big Punjabi paratha reflects generosity, large-heartedness and the desire to share what you eat with the world!

Rotis, known by many names and variations, originated in the Indus Valley civilisation, where grain grinding is said to have been invented. Indian breads are different from other loaves in that they do not contain yeast. This soft form of unleavened bread comes in various forms, shapes, sizes and flavours typical of the region it is prepared, with flour made of millets, wheat, rice and other grains.

All over India, the basics of a good roti are flour, fat and flavour. The fat comes from oil, butter, cream or ghee. There are so many kinds of flavourings and stuffings – from green chilli paste to potato to cauliflower to the quintessentially Bengali renditions made with fish.

I’d like to tell you more about a few Gujarati variants: the herbed thepla, the crispy bhakri, the sweet puran poli, the seasonal juwar and bajri, and the simple rotli. Of these, I’ll share two recipes – both are meant to be eaten hot, and bear in mind that an average person can easily eat several at a time! Some notes for kitchens outside India: while binding the dough, I work with my hands. However, if you’re used to the food processor, please do utilise it. You can use a standard rolling pin.

 

Rotli

Lunch during our summer holidays as children was a competitive affair: who could eat the most rotlis? These rotlis were the simple, everyday variety, washed down with aam raas, a seasonal mango purée. A blissful siesta would ensue, the heavy lunch and the heat lulling us to sleep to the sound of old Hindi songs on the radio…

The rotlis we had then were made from balls of dough joined together, then roasted and peeled from each other. They were as fine as skin. We also ate a sweetened “children’s” version, made with jaggery water. Another way to sweeten a rotli, if you want to, is to eat it with a strained yoghurt dessert known as shrikand. I’ll be sharing a recipe for that soon, and if you subscribe to this blog, you’ll be the first to know.

 

Thepla

 

(Yields: 12)

 

1 cup methi (fenugreek) leaves, picked and washed

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon turmeric powder

2 teaspoons cumin powder

1 teaspoon white sesame seeds

1 teaspoon crushed green chili (adjust to your taste)

½ teaspoon ginger paste

1 tablespoon yoghurt

1 tablespoon sunflower oil + oil for sautéing

100 ml water or less

 

Traditionally, theplas are often made with leftover rice or khichdi, so as not to waste food, but you can make them fresh too. In a mixing bowl, add all the dry ingredients and blend them gently. Now add the 1 tablespoon of oil and the yoghurt. Slowly add water and continue mixing, until you feel the mixture is slightly tougher to the touch than bread dough. You do not need to use the entire 100ml.

Dust both sides of the ball with flour. Make small lemon sized balls and allow them to sit for at least half hour. Now, dusting more flour as you do, roll out the dough into discs. Make them as thin as you can.

On a heated iron pan, place the thepla on a medium flame for 30-40 seconds. Then turn it to the other side. In another 30-40 seconds, add a few drops of oil. Make sure the oil is spread to the edges too, as the thepla may dry out. Press down with a spatula to help it cook. Flip the thepla a couple of times until it is golden on both sides. Remove from the pan and fry the next disc, and so on.

As you make each thepla, either store it in a hot case, so it remains soft and warm, or pile them up on a plate. Serve hot, with a curry of your choice or a sweet mango or kumquat pickle, or simply enjoy them as some Gujaratis do – with a lovely cup of chai.

 

Bhakri

 

(Yields: 15)

 

2 cups whole wheat flour

¼ cup semolina

¼ cup oil

100 ml warm water

¼ teaspoon salt

 

A bhakri is really a type of biscuit, made with a greater quantity of oil than water. A version with jaggery water was my standard after-school snack while growing up. You can make this in the sweetened (what I call “children’s”) version too, by substituting plain water for jaggery water.

Assemble all the ingredients in a large bowl. Add water slowly as required and bind the dough together. Continue pressing firmly, until it all comes together and does not stick to the bowl or your fingers. The dough should appear as a smooth, firm ball. There’s no need to dust this ball of dough with flour, as it is quite tough and will not stick while rolling. If it does stick, you have probably added more water than required, and only in this case should you dust a little flour. Now, divide the dough into 15 smaller balls and keep aside.

Heat an iron pan. Roll out the dough into discs of about 1 cm thickness – this is where the thin-as-muslin standard doesn’t apply! Place the discs onto the hot pan and reduce the flame. Since bhakris are thicker they need to cook on the inside too, so it will take longer to cook. The flame needs to be maintained between medium and slow. Flip over each bhakri a couple of times until golden. If you’d like to, use a pair of tongs and roast the bhakri directly over the flame towards the end of its cooking time. This is the traditional way – dough to flame, directly, just like in this video!

Once they are crisp and golden, remove from the pan and let a trickle of ghee melt onto the bhakri. Serve with tea. They also travel well, so consider packing them for journeys. As my mum would say, a well-made bhakri will be like an easily chewable cookie – it can be eaten comfortably both by the elderly and by children alike.

Puran Poli

Sweet, stuffed and festive, the puran poli is enjoyed not just in Gujarati cuisine but throughout India. Made of toor dal (pigeon pea) and jaggery, it is a stuffed and folded variant that is half-roti, half-dessert.

Juwar & Bajra

It’s only after years of practice with the other rotis that one comes to seasonal variants like juwar and bajra, which are even more difficult to make, let alone master. Gluten-free, the juwar roti is made of sorghum flour while the bajra roti is made of pearl millet. These thick flatbreads were traditionally eaten during winters, roasted on a charcoal flame and thus imbued with a different flavour. They were most often relished with a thick layer of white home-churned butter and sugar or jaggery. Leftover juwar and bajra make delightful, healthy cereal when crushed and eaten with milk.

*

Many Gujarati rotis were created to satisfy two specific purposes: to suit the extremely dry summers and cold winters, or to be travel-friendly, a fact proven all the way from the traders of yore to families like mine who took cross-country train rides. Whether unpacked during a picnic or a road trip, or eaten fresh and piping hot from the stove, the roti satisfies.

Throughout the subcontinent, we eat with our hands. According to Indian philosophy, the 5 senses are at our fingertips, and the act of eating activates all of them. Eating is truly a multi-sensory experience: presentation, ambience, mood and texture (even the texture of the thaali or plate – is it silver, terracotta, bell-metal or steel?), who serves us, who we eat with, the memories we recall or create through the meal – all of these matter as much as the taste itself.

 

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Recipe: Rose-Coconut Kheer, As Sweet As Memories

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When I was a girl, the full moon known as Sharad Purnima, marking the end of the monsoon, was a special occasion among a group of close family friends, who would enjoy the evening by the beach. The parents would chat as the kids played in the sand on Marina Beach, which was then pristine and beautiful! These outings were special as they created a special bond within the Gujarati community in Chennai.

So my earliest memories of kheer are to do with these nights, when my mother always carried her dudh-poha (beaten rice) variation, soaked soft in milk. Dudh-poha kheer is a customary Sharad Purnima dessert. There was such simplicity in that dish, yet how fantastic it tasted! Even now, it takes me back to those nights. I distinctly remember the almost silver sands and the beautiful moon reflecting upon the sea, and how we kids ran about and were warned not to go into the sea to wet our feet, for the waters were choppy and full moons always cause higher tides. We marvelled at the waves from a distance, all the while waiting to be called to have our cup of kheer. I remember the excitement of waiting the entire week for this outing as my mother called the other aunties to make the plan.

Kheer is basically an Indian rice pudding, with variations across the subcontinent. In South India, it is known as payasam, and is made using a number of different recipes with ingredients as wide-ranging as jaggery, vermicelli, sago, coconut, carrot, ghee and jackfruit. A Hyderabadi version even uses bottle gourd. A sweetened, spiced North Indian version rich with nuts, enhanced with rose water, is known as rabri.

Significantly, the old and infallible combination of milk and rice has traditionally been used as a ritual offering in Hindu customs. The practice is that food both cooked and uncooked is served to the Gods, thereby rendering it holy. It is then distributed to all present as blessed food, and is known as prasad or prasadam.

Kheer is so simple, yet profound, which is why it is so popular both as a prasad and as a regular treat: rice contains life within itself, while cow milk is considered sacred. Sugar, of course, is what turns many a dish into a dessert.

My mother’s kheer was sheer simplicity, but also sheer perfection: poha, milk and sugar with a pinch of cardamom. The one I will pass on to my children, and which I am so delighted to share with you, is almost as simple – but with that signature re:store touch.

Rose-Coconut Kheer

(Yield: 8-10 cups)

½ cup basmati

4 cups whole milk

¾ cups sugar

1 cup freshly squeezed coconut milk

2 tablespoon coconut shavings

½ teaspoon cardamom powder

2 tablespoons rose water


Basmati rice is the long-grained aromatic variety commonly used in biryanis and pulaos. Soak the basmati in water for half an hour. This will help the grain cook faster.

In a heavy-bottomed pan, add the milk. Once it is warm, add the soaked rice. On a low flame, allow the rice to cook thoroughly, stirring frequently to ensure it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan. This will take approximately 45 minutes.

Now add the sugar, then allow it to cook a little more. Let the rice mixture cool slightly, then very gently hand blend it. Cover the saucepan and allow the mixture to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate.

When the kheer has cooled and thickened, add the coconut milk to your desired consistency. Add the shaven coconut, rose water and half the cardamom powder and stir so that the flavours are well-blended. Rose water is a signature ingredient in many of my cakes at re:store, because the scent reminds me of one of my favourite flowers. Known in South India as the paneer roja, the damask rose inspires many of my innovations in the kitchen. The Mughals brought roses to India, as seen in the Shalimar gardens. They were distilled as much for their fragrance as for their usage in culinary delights like syrups and sweetmeats.

Cover and refrigerate until serving. When you are ready to serve this dessert, you may wish to add more coconut milk. Don’t forget to sprinkle the remaining cardamom powder to decorate.

Nostalgia is what makes our food special. Each family recipe is special only to them because it is intertwined with memories. Memories and love: the two main ingredients of any recipe. Today, my best dishes are those that my mother taught me and some that I learnt from my mother-in-law. Some day I will pass these on, too – along with my own innovations. I have made several promises to visit my children when they have their own families to go cook for them. It’s funny how when I cook, my children relish the dishes and claim they are “finger-licking good”. But when our cook makes the same dishes, they are simply edible or enjoyable. So much of taste is through what is evoked emotionally. So whenever you try a new recipe in your kitchen, remember that it is going to become a mnemonic too. Fill it with love.

As I write this, the month of Ramadan is coming to a close. All over the world, sweets are an integral part of the iftar customs when the day’s fast is broken at dusk. In India, iftar meals are almost always accompanied by kheer. At sundown, after the fast-breaking prayers, people step out to enjoy the breeze and socialise, visiting sweetmeat shops to enjoy their favourite Ramadan delights. Street food also becomes very exciting at this time, and the air is thick with the smells of delicious treats and an ambience of love and celebration. I love the idea that kheer is being enjoyed all over the country today – and perhaps in your home too, wherever you are in the world. Don’t forget to drop a line if you enjoy this recipe!

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