Indulge at Restore | Restore by Nandi
Tag

Travel

Browsing
Recipes

Recipe: Diverse & Wonderful – Walnut Dip

By

A recent visit to Kashmir reiterated for me how rich my country, India, is. Perhaps for that reason, we have been plundered many times, yet have held strong despite it. I have travelled the world, but to me there is nothing like home. In Kashmir, I experienced the beauty of nature and the hospitality of people in a way that reminded me of this fact. Returning to Chennai, I wanted to recreate something that would remind me of that holiday, and this wonderful walnut dip fulfilled that wish.

While travelling there, I was most thrilled when I saw walnut and almond trees, among many others, including nuts that I may not even be able to name. There was such a variety of fruit trees as well: apricots, peaches, plums and apples among them. Amidst the bounty of nature, there was also a sense of kinship and love. The experience of sitting beneath an almond tree and enjoying a live musical performance in someone’s home that they graciously opened up to us was more than just a treat or a pleasure, but really touched me.

That same welcoming gesture was also experienced when I visited a friend’s home, where she laid out an entire traditional Kashmiri feast for us. I got very excited even just seeing it. Needless to say, tasting it was sheer joy. There was one thing that wasn’t on the menu that day, but which she brought up in conversation: a walnut dip. This made me very curious, so I asked for her authentic recipe and also spent some time looking up other versions later. As I’ve shared often before on this blog, I think cooking is about adapting and innovating, and I wanted to create a version that would work well for me back home. The recipe I am sharing today is exactly that.

I was able to source the walnuts easily, and I think you should be able to as well. For some reason, while walnuts may be the healthiest option, I find that many seem to favour almonds or pistachios. I enjoy them all. I prefer buying whole walnuts, cracking them open myself, as I think the chances of them getting rancid sooner reduce by doing so.

I use this walnut dip as a spread on sourdough bread, and I think it will go nicely on a cheese platter too. Or else with sliced fruits, such as peaches, or rice or other kinds of crisps. I think it could also work as a meal condiment. I’m excited about trying out these variations. How will you use it? I’d love to know.

 

Walnut Dip

(Yield: 1 cup)

1 cup soaked walnuts

1 green chili

1 tablespoon grated red radish (optional)

Salt to taste

A pinch of pepper

2 tablespoons yoghurt

In a blender, add the soaked walnuts along with the green chilli. If you prefer, add some grated radish, along with salt and pepper to taste.

Blend well into a paste. Finally, add the yoghurt and whir gently.

Your walnut dip is now ready. You may wish to garnish it with a tablespoon of olive oil. Enjoy it as you please.

I certainly have been enjoying it, along with my memories of a special trip. If you can, I encourage you to visit Kashmir to explore its beauty and diversity. In the meanwhile, I hope this walnut dip gets you dreaming too, as I do of my own next visit!

View Post
By
Recipes

Recipe: The Spice-It-Up Soup – Vegan Whole Corn & Lemongrass Soup

By

Indians don’t have soups per se in our traditional cuisines, as far as I know. Instead, we have broths such as the thin South Indian rasam and the thick, sweet Gujarati raab. The rasam subsequently became known as mulligatawny soup in the West, but here it is eaten as a side dish, not an appetizer. In fact, that reminds me of how our staple dals are repackaged abroad and even in high-end restaurants here as “lentil soup”! In India, we have no such category as “soup”, but it goes to show how it’s all a matter of perspective. The soup, by any name, is really a universal dish, made with different, seasonal ingredients in cultures around the world.

For many of my generation, we were introduced to soups at clubs and restaurants. My own first memory of any soup was not Western at all, but Chinese (or rather, Indo-Chinese). While growing up, my friends and I would head to a restaurant called Nanking whenever we had something to celebrate. All of our birthdays would find us there, straight from classes in our school uniforms and pigtails, delighted to be spending our pocket money on a shared meal. The meal would invariably begin with an order of the delicious sweet corn soup for everyone at the table

The Nanking sweet corn soup was thickened with cornflour, loaded with MSG and had no more than a couple of kernels of corn floating in the white liquid but regardless it was always a special treat. It tasted fantastic to us, and till today reminds me of some of our fondest times growing up. When I think of it, I’m reminded of how much my kids say they miss their school canteen’s food! Perhaps the meals we share with our friends as we grow up simply create such vivid impressions on us that we associate them with the dishes themselves. What I would give to go back to Nanking, which has since closed down, and enjoy those memories all over again!

Nostalgia for Nanking drove me to the kitchen, to whip up my own version of sweet corn soup, or rather, a vegan whole corn and lemongrass soup. This recipe avoids the cornflour and the MSG and has some of those re:store twists in the form of aromatic lemongrass and spicy green chilli.

.

I enjoy the flavour of lemongrass and I think it livens up this soup very much. If you prefer not to use it, some good substitutes are coriander or a hint of mint. Corn has a strong flavour in itself, and my version of the soup is generous with it, so it needs to be balanced well. If you’re a fan of corn , you may also enjoy this makkai khichdi recipe that I shared recently. I use green chilli here for its spiciness, but you can try it with jalapeños too (they are also fast becoming a favourite of mine, and may find themselves in future recipes I’ll share).

Another way in which I’ve tried to recreate this nostalgic dish is with coconut milk. This not only gives it that distinctively South Indian essence, but also evokes many South East Asian delicacies. All in all, this corn and lemongrass soup is a satisfying, filling meal-in-a-bowl that reminds me of my teenage years and of some of my travels, thanks to the blend of flavours.

Speaking of traveling, I just returned from beautiful Colombia, where I heard about the 9-day fast observed by Catholics known as the ‘novena’. It reminded me so much of the 9-day Navaratri followed by Hindus and the 9-day Paryushan followed by the Jains, and got me thinking once again about how we are all so deeply connected. I wish we understood this instead of thinking along the lines of “This is mine, this is yours, my land, my country”, and other such divisions. The oneness and wholeness of humanity is a concept that cannot be lost; whether it be our festivals, our food or our sense of family, ultimately we are all the same and the more I travel, the more this concept is solidified.

Another thought that’s been on my mind a great deal is the famous Native American proverb that goes as follows: “When the last tree has been cut down, the last fish caught, the last river poisoned, only then will we realize that one cannot eat money.” It resonates so much right now. We should all be more aware of what we are doing and thinking. We should look not only at what we are creating, but also at what we are destroying in the process. These are some reflections that I’ve been having as we enter 2020. But first – how about a bowl of warm, crunchy, savoury soup?

 

Vegan Whole Corn & Lemongrass Soup

(Yield: 6-8 cups)

2 cobs of corn

½ teaspoon grated ginger

2-3 lemongrass stems

2 tablespoons olive oil/ butter

2 cups vegetable stock

2 tablespoons spring onion

1 green chilli/jalapeño

1 cup coconut milk

Salt to taste

 

Garnish:

2 tablespoons peanuts

Finely chopped spring onion

Finely chopped coriander leaves

Red chili flakes

1 teaspoon olive oil

 

Grate the corn from the cobs and keep aside.

In a blender, process the lemongrass, ginger and green chilli using 2 tablespoons of water, until coarse.

In a separate pan, add the olive oil and sauté the onions for a few minutes until they are tender. Now, add the grated corn along with its juices. I like to bite into pieces of corn, so in addition to the grated kernels I kept aside a ½ cup of whole kernels, which I add at this point as well. You may do so if you enjoy the texture of corn like I do. Once the mixture turns soft and tender, add the warm vegetable stock and then add the strained juices from the blender.

Gently simmer until the flavours all become one. Add salt to taste. Finally, add the coconut milk. Once heated, remove the pan from the flame.

For the garnish, warm the olive oil gently and stir the remaining ingredients in it.

Spoon the soup into bowls and add the garnish, topping with a spoonful just before serving.

What I do quite frequently nowadays is to make a large quantity of the soup during the day, and whoever wants some just warms up a portion for themselves at any time, just as I do when I find myself hungry for dinner by 6pm or 7pm. I’ve found that it keeps well for up to a couple of days.

In these photos, you may notice the beautiful bowls I’ve used to serve my soup in. I’m always looking for props for my photo and utensils for my kitchen, and when I discovered that blackened earthenware is made in Colombia, I just had to pick some up. I wish I could have carried an entire dinner set back with me from across the continents, but perhaps having to bring these treasures item by item will just mean more visits to that amazing place…

You may also be wondering whether starting the year off on a soup, when so many of us would have set health-related resolutions, was intentional. Actually, it was not. I feel we should eat mindfully all year round, and that we should see nutritious dishes as being a natural part of our diets, not an obligation. This beautiful vegan whole corn and lemongrass soup is exactly the kind of dish that fits into such a repertoire. It’s loaded with healthy ingredients, from corn to nuts and more, and tastes so very delicious. I’d love to know what you think of it if you give this recipe a try!

View Post
By
Recipes

Recipe: Memories Of A Special Sponge Cake – Spanish Madeleines

By

I’ve spoken often of how, just a few years ago, my daughter baked a chocolate cake for the family which was a turning point in my life. It was the best cake I had ever eaten, and I remember watching her as she made it. She was in good spirits, and hummed and sang while she was gathering the ingredients and lining them up in front of her. Then, she happily pulled out a recipe and began with such lightness and joy. Watching her, I thought to myself: “I’ve tried baking for so many years. I must try again with the same spirit my daughter has.” The first bite of the cake that came out of the oven was the last push of encouragement I needed. I set my mind to it: I would learn to bake with joy. I spent the next month baking the exact same cake every single day, tweaking the method and learning with each effort, until I too fell into a happy, humming rhythm. And the rest, as they say, was history…

My daughter is a big part of the recipe I am sharing today, but it’s not just because of that life-changing chocolate cake (which you can order right here if you are in Chennai). Rather, it’s because of one of the many dishes she introduced me to when she was studying for her Bachelor’s in Boston. Whenever I would visit her, she would always take me to interesting new places to try out delicious cuisines and treats that never failed to inspire me. It was in one such café that I tasted madeleines for the first time. They were pistachio ones, and you know I love pistachio (of course, a pistachio cake also sits prettily on the re:store product list).

Madeleines are a kind of basic sponge cake which are made in a shell-like shape (you can find trays for this in most baking stores). They are widely regarded as being of French origin, and an English version with jam, desiccated coconut and cherries is also popular. But to me, it’s the Spanish madeleine that captured my heart. You see, some time before being introduced to the sweet treat in Boston, we had gone to Spain, where I first heard of the little sponge cake. It was the loveliness of the trip itself which gave its local version a sentimental value for me, even though it wasn’t until later that I got a chance to eat it.

It was an experience of a lifetime to be in Santiago de Compostela, in Spain’s Galician region, on the holy day of Palm Sunday. We had been delayed and had missed our connecting flight, so we were surprised to find we had made it in time for the services. And even better, we had somehow wound up in the front row. Here, we had a wonderful view of a special ritual that only takes place on special occasions. Enormous incense holders known as botafumeiro are swung across the expanse of the church and back, filling the environment with scent, smoke and a feeling of divine grace.  The effect of the smoke in that beautiful cathedral, amidst the chants and prayers, was surreal.

Heading back to the exquisite Hostal dos Reis Católicos, which dates back to 1486 and is thought to be the most beautiful hotel in Europe, I gathered these new memories together. Somewhere on this trip was where I learned how the humble madeleine is related to the grandeur of a Spanish cathedral, and that’s how I think of it, no matter where I eat it. You see, Santiago de Compostela is the culminating point of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route. In the Spanish origin story of the recipe I am sharing today, a medieval chef named Madeleine used to make these little shell-shaped delights to feed the pilgrims there. The treats took on her name.

Short or long, pilgrimages are all metaphors for our own life as we pursue our dreams and life’s mission. To me, my own pilgrimage is a journey of delighting people through food which appeals to every sense. From the tastebuds to the memory centres, and everything in between. These sweet madeleines are a perfect example – and yes, they are made with joy!

Madeleines

(Yield: 12 madeleines)

90 grams flour

¾ teaspoon baking powder

100 grams unsalted butter

65 grams sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon lavender seeds

2 teaspoons maple syrup

2 teaspoons milk

Powdered sugar for dusting

The basic madeleine recipe is simple and elegant and I have done little to change it but sweeten it further using maple syrup. I also added a little re:store flourish in the form of one of my favourite ingredients – lavender, the subtle hint of which always lightens up my mood.

Prepare a madeleine pan by buttering and dusting it.

Whisk all the dry ingredients together. Carefully melt the butter in a pan, on a medium flame, until it turns brown.

Place the sugar in a bowl and mix it. Add the eggs one at a time and beat well.

Now, add the vanilla extract, the lavender seeds and the maple syrup. Whisk well until the mixture is perfectly blended.

Now, add the remaining dry ingredients. Once all the ingredients are well incorporated, add the butter in slowly, using just a small quantity at a time. Then, stir in the milk.

Now that you have made the batter, divide it into the moulds of the madeleine tray and allow it to cool in the refrigerator for 15 minutes. In the meantime, preheat the oven at 160 °C.

Remove the tray from the refrigerator and place it directly into the oven. Depending on what kind of oven you use, bake for 10-15 minutes.

Once the baking is done, remove the tray from the oven. Upturn it and watch as the beautiful madeleines fall out. Dust them with powdered sugar and store in a dry container. That is, if you don’t serve them immediately. Chances are, you won’t be able to resist.

These delicious madeleines are a perfect tea-time snack, so brew yourself a pot of your favourite as you enjoy the scent of baking still lingering in your kitchen.

I love ruminating over tea, as I sit with Max and enjoy a little me-time. It was on one such day that I dreamt up this post as well. And I especially like having a little sweet treat to go with my beverage. How about you? Please be sure to let me know what tasting these madeleines inspires in you!

View Post
By
Musings

Portugal Diary: Discovering Olive Country

By

When a very dear friend invited us to Portugal to attend a wedding, I was thrilled to learn that the incredible hosts of the young bride had proud family connections to the landscape of olive trees. On the very first evening of the celebration, a meet-and-greet was held at an olive orchard. As the long summer day grew to dusk and sunset fell over the grove criss-crossed by fairy lights, we dipped wonderful country bread into olive oil and feasted. That was my first experience of the importance of olive oil in Portugal. I was determined to learn more about it, and I got my chance when we returned to Lisbon and I encountered a lovely little store named Oli-Stori.

Do you remember my adventure in Italian coffee some time ago? In the same way that a little curiosity had sparked a beautiful long conversation, this European trip too gave me memories and knowledge to cherish. This was our second trip to Portugal, and we had been keen to do offbeat things and make a holiday of it after the wedding. Tourist guides and books mentioned only a little about olive oil, but I wanted to learn more. Back in Lisbon, it was a hotel concierge who told us about OliStori. We had an itinerary for the day ahead, but I insisted that we begin at that store. “I just want to pop in quickly and pick up a bottle,” I said. That’s exactly what would have happened if the co-owner, Isabelle Carreira, hadn’t been so sweet and gracious. We wound up spending almost the entire day in her lovely space.

As we walked up to the store, we saw that the door was only partially open. “Can we come in?” we enquired. Isabelle wasn’t ready for customers yet, but she asked us to sit down and be comfortable. She just wanted to head to the nearby bakery to buy some bread so we could enjoy a tasting. I was really taken by this – imagine leaving your entire store open to a couple of strangers! Charmed, I got excited and decided on the spot that I had to feature her on my blog.

Isabelle was born in France to Portuguese parents, and opened Oli-Stori together with her Portuguese-speaking French partner Thierry after 30 years in the restaurant business, when they realised that Lisbon did not have any shop that was specifically for olive oil. Theirs is a treasure trove of different varieties and brands sourced from all over the country. Portugal is not as famous for olive oil as Italy because they do not focus on the export market at all. However, the quality of their produce is just as spectacular.

OliStori is a smallish but beautifully done up space. I looked around cheerfully as we waited for her to open the store. The décor touches, I later learnt, tried to replicate elements from different farms that the oils are sourced from. There were horses and sheep, or a little doll, in every corner. These added to the warmth of the ambience. I took some impromptu photos as I looked around.

 

When Isabel returned with the bread, what began was part tasting, part storytelling and part educational session. She was so generous with her knowledge, and eager to share with us her wide experience.

Portugal is a small country, but has a diverse landscape, with different regions producing varying kinds of olive oil. Every oil sold in Isabelle and Thierry’s shop was sourced through their travels around the country, visiting olive farms, understanding the process of growing and what effects the weather conditions and soil types have on the produce. As she spoke, she had us sample a diverse range – it was almost like a wine tasting. And it’s true, the flavours differ!

Olive trees take 3-5 years of growth to be ready for the first harvest, and have a lifespan of up to 200 years. The fruits are sensitive to the soil and to climactic conditions. The Trás-os-Montes province in the North is especially famous. This province’s name means “behind the mountains”, and the olive trees here grow on terraced land. It is cold in winter, and hot in summer. The soil here is rich, and there doesn’t need to be much watering. These conditions are very interesting for the tree, and the olive oil here is intense and green, and has a fresh fragrance. It smells a little like tomatoes, in fact!

An olive oil I particularly enjoyed was from the brand Terras Dazibo, from the region Tras-o-Montes. It had a long flavour, starting sweet, then turning bitter behind the tongue and spicy as it goes down the throat. This extra virgin olive oil is created by a blend of different olives.

In Noura in the South, the trees are spaced far apart on the farm so that the roots can be more widespread. They don’t require much water, and produce black olives with a complex and light flavour. These black olives don’t grow in the north, where it is too cold. All kinds of geographic elements have an impact on the agriculture. In the Rio Maior region, for instance, the olives are saltier due to the river water that irrigates the crops. Verdeal olive oil is green and fresh, Cobrançosa is fruity and spicy, Picual is piquant (as per its name!), Madura is smooth,  These are but a few examples. We were spoilt for choice at OliStori!

The Portuguese government, despite having no interest in the export market, takes this produce seriously and offers a certification known as DOP (Denominação de Origem Protegida) to mark the best quality olive oils. Despite not having DOP certification, the regions of Duoro and Algarve also produce excellent ones. Duoro is better known for its porto wine, whereas Algarve is believed to focus more on about their production than on seeking certification.

If you’ve ever wondered what the differences are between virgin olive oil, extra virgin olive oil and cold-pressed olive oil… I finally learned them in Portugal, thanks to Isabelle. Extra virgin olive oil is from the very first fruit that is sent to the press, and has the lowest acidity (0%-0.8%). Virgin olive oil is pressed later, and cold-pressed olive oil is treated at a temperature under 25°C and is best for flavour fusions and guarantees the preservation of aromas. The brand Olival de Risca from the Alentejo region in the South is known for these. The additional fruit or vegetable is cut and added alongside the olives during the cold-pressing procedure. Some of these fusions include classic Mediterranean herbs, mandarin, garlic, basil, lemon and chili. Alentejo is very hot, which makes it suitable for black olives, which give oils with a complex and light taste. The trees here are spaced far apart, so the roots can be more extensive, and dry farming is the usual method so as to produce more concentrated oils.

Despite spending hours at OliStori, there was no way in which to taste every single kind of olive oil they had to offer. But I loved learning a little bit about several, and the packaging often told a story by itself. For instance, the Angelica brand features a picture of the current owner’s grandmother when she was young. I carefully selected a small number of beautiful bottles to bring back home. These can be stored for up to 20 months, provided the bottle is kept closed (I plan to refrigerate, thanks to my climate). Open bottles create oxidization, which breaks down the flavour and affects the quality of the oil.

As you probably know, olive oil is quite versatile and can be used to top fish, light foods like salads and as a dip for bread. I used some of my Portuguese stock recently in this South Indian fusion hummus recipe.

Bitter tastes, very spicy tastes, complex long tastes, short and sharp tastes, fruity tastes, herbal tastes – for the first time, I understood olive oil to be as varied as wine. There were just so many to try. I’m so grateful to Isabelle for her generosity with her knowledge, time and stock of olive oils. And those hours spent in the charming OliStori are among my loveliest recent memories of Europe. If you’re ever in Lisbon, be sure to take a little walk up a slope on the cobbled street of Rua de Madelena and send Isabel my love. Oh, and OliStori also sells balsamic vinegars – but that would need another day, another trip and another post!

View Post
By
Recipes

Recipe: A Sip Of Warmth – Homemade Masala Chai Powder

By

Standing at that quaint tea shop in Kolkata that early November morning, I realised that the city had been awake for hours. We were on a guided tour, and as we found ourselves there for our first cup of the day, I noticed how around us were people who had taken a pause during their work. All of us – locals and tourists, at leisure or on the job – were treating ourselves to a small terracotta or glass cup of warm chai. In just five minutes, I saw not only a classic street-style chai-making procedure, but faces from everywhere – each of them enjoying a rejuvenating sip of this quintessential beverage.

I couldn’t resist picking up my camera. I was so pleased that these men, for whom this particular stall is a routine, were happy not just to be photographed but also to chat! They say a cup of tea brings people together – and for a few minutes on a morning in Kolkata, that’s exactly what happened.

 

 

It was this man’s mashk – a goat-skin bag – that caught my eye. He sells water from it, at ₹10 a serving. He proudly told us that the neighbourhood we were in is colloquially known as Bheeshti Para, an homage to the traditional occupation of the water-carrier (known as “bheeshti”). He also shared that the etymology of “bheeshti” comes from the Persian word “bihisht”, which means “paradise”). How poetic – the water-bearer from paradise, bringing succour to the thirsty.

 

 

We also met this money-lender whose family is from Afghanistan – one of the many communities who settled in Kolkata, who have carried the trade on for generations. In fact, Afghani money-lenders were popularised in Rabindranath Tagore’s short story “Kabuliwala” (literally, “the man from Kabul”), which was also made into a number of films.

Kolkata is home to many such communities of foreign origin, who have enriched it. For instance, it is the only South Asian city with a Chinatown, thanks to several generations of people originally from China who have made it their home. There are also Anglo-Indians, Parsis and numerous other uniquely Indian cultures. And there I was, a Tamil Nadu-raised Gujarati, sipping from my terracotta cup too.

 

 

It’s always a pleasure for me to watch another culinary expert at work. Look at the precision of this chai-maker’s tea-pouring technique!

 

 

The street was abuzz with life that morning, as the fogginess gave way to bright sunlight. A recycling truck was passing by. Right next door to the tea stall was a food stall selling breakfast: pooris, pickles and savouries. Somewhere nearby, I am sure that the famed Bengali milk sweets were being made and sold too.

And how amazing is it that one morning I was drinking Bengali tea at a street-side stall in Kolkata, and the next morning I was back here in Coffeeland aka Chennai, a land famous for its filter coffee? I love my coffee anywhere in the world, but the moody monsoonal rain and my recent trip inspired me to recreate that hot, spiced tea here at home.

 

 

Masala Chai Powder

(Yield – approximately 100 grams)

Ingredients
¾ cup black pepper

½ cup cloves

3 tablespoons peeled cardamom

½ cup cinnamon sticks

1 tablespoon ginger powder

1 tablespoon pipramul powder

 

Tea is so quintessentially Indian that it’s easy to forget that it was actually introduced to India by the British. Originally from China, the tea shrub was found to grow well in hilly regions like Darjeeling and Assam, and closer to my home, in the Nilgiris. In fact, the word “chai” is from the Mandarin word “cha”.

I grew up watching masala chai powder batches being made for a year at a time during the hot summers.  This is what is now known as a Macrobiotic approach, making use of the logic of the seasons, in this case the heat. I have found that sun-drying makes the flavours bloom. But masala chai was originally had in the winters, as the herbs and spices had a warming effect – even roasting in the winter sun was sufficient, provided there was no rain.

If you’re trying this method on a warm day, roast all the ingredients except the ginger and pipramul powders in the sun. If you’re in a rainy or wintry season like I am right now, simply roast the ingredients (except the ginger and pipramul powders) on an iron pan for less than five minutes.

If you’re a fan of spices, the other ingredients will all be familiar to you, but if you’re wondering, pipramul is also known as Indian long pepper or ganthoda, and is a rhizoid similar to ginger. It aids digestion and helps with any kind of gastric trouble.

Once the ingredients have cooled, blend them into a powder. Add the ginger and pipramul powders and mix thoroughly. Store in an air-tight container.

If kept dry, you can use this powder for months at a time. It’s used only for chai and added into the boiling process of tea making, as is the Indian way.

My few minutes at that chai stall in Kolkata that morning made me ponder what a privilege it is to have tea at home, and not on the go while on the job. Tea is said to be a contemplative beverage, and is such a wonderful companion to both conversations with others and moments of musing alone. I’m contemplating the people I met that morning as I savour this cuppa. What’s on your mind today?

View Post
By
Musings

The Salt Of The Earth – A Journey To Marakkanam

By

“Do you know a cure for me?”

“Why yes,” he said, “I know a cure for everything. Salt water.”

“Salt water?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said, “in one way or the other. Sweat, or tears, or the salt sea.”

These words from Seven Gothic Tales, the first book by the Danish writer Isak Dinesen (best known for Out Of Africa), came to mind on that mirage-filled drive to Marakkanam in the South Indian summer heat. Anyone who has ever driven from the metropolitan hub of Chennai to the quaint former French colony of Pondicherry  along Tamil Nadu’s East Coast Road has noticed Marakkanam. Even if you do not know the village’s name, it’s impossible to miss the great heaped mounds of white salt glistening under the sun, lining the highway.

Salt. That condiment so precious to humankind that it has even been a form of wealth, measured at different times as either taxes or wages. The ancient Romans had a “salarium” (“sal” – “salt”), as part of a worker’s remuneration, as people were paid partly in salt. This is where the English language gets both the word “salary” and the idiom “worth his salt”. Closer to home, the monarchs of the Chola dynasty demanded a salt tax, known as “uppayam”. The historian Ramachandran Nagaswamy has spoken of epigraphic evidence showing how the same was paid from Marakkanam, making the salt industry in this village both an ancient and continuous activity. In modern Indian history, Gandhi’s salt march on March 12 1930 was a dramatic turning point in the independence struggle. In protest of the unfairly high British salt tax, he led the march from Dandi, Gujarat, to the Arabian Sea. There, he declared that a symbolic handful of sea salt would bring the end of colonial rule.

That afternoon, unlike so many journeys on that highway, I careened off the beaten path and entered the sprawling salt pans of Marakkanam to find out more….

Salt. The most quintessential of all ingredients. So quintessential that we take it for granted. So quintessential that its absence alone can strip a dish of all taste. Saltiness is one of the five basic human tastes.

I’ve said before that curiousity is the cornerstone of every interesting kitchen. But it cannot end simply with flavours and ingredients. When I trained in the culinary science of macrobiotics at the Kushi Institute, I honed this need to know and to ask questions, because every single thing you put into a dish carries its own energies and its own properties. So what does salt contain? The scientific answer is that it is a mineral which contains sodium chloride (NaCl). In Marakkanam, I searched for a deeper answer by talking to people whose livelihoods are to harvest it.

That afternoon, I was fortunate to meet P. Nallathamby, a supervisor of a 3500 acreage of salt pans staffed by 2000 workers. I caught them during their second shift of the day: they rise early and work from 6am to 9am, then return at 1pm to continue. Both women and men work the salt pans. Mr. Nallathamby has been in this line of work for 40 years, having joined his father and brother in the same at the age of 18. But things have been difficult in the salt business for around 8 years, owing to various reasons such as rising diesel prices, increased labour costs and neglect from the central government, which leases out the pans to individuals.

The harvest season runs from January to May. In January, the salt pans are like a lake owing to recent rains. It takes about a month to dry out, then the harvest begins. Every three days, the flats are scraped, as you can see in this video, and the photographs below.

The salt is collected in small mounds along the grids of the pans, then in the huge mounds that are visible from the highway. Water from the earth or sea is added to the pans as necessary, such as between April and May. The process is entirely water-dependent, but ironically, no work can take place during times of rain. The mounds of salt wait for the daily lorries that come to purchase and take them away to be traded not just in Tamil Nadu and Pondicherry but in Kerala, Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka too. You may be surprised to know that a whopping 110 kilograms of salt is sold for just 130 rupees (approximately USD$2).

Mr. Nallathamby describes his 40 years in this line of work as uneventful. Even the great tsunami of 2004 did not have a negative effect on this coastal business. For six or seven months every year, the salt pans thrive. After all, come rain or shine, it’s an ingredient the world cannot do without.

In Marakkanam, it is rock salt (which is not to be powdered) that is harvested. As you may remember from this recent summer-friendly recipe, rock salt contains many nutrients and works well as a digestive.

The salt pans of Marakkanam are quite amazing to behold: a contrast between grains so small and a landscape so large.

Every year, from the first harvest of the season, a small salt Ganesha is shaped by hand. He is then allowed to dissolve back into the salt pans. While it was the wrong time of year to witness this, my visit to Marakkanam did end with a quick stop at the 1000 year old Bhoomeeshwarar temple, dating to the Chola dynasty. I had been told that the temple’s inscriptions had mention of the salt trade in this area even a millennium ago. The priest said he didn’t think there was anything of that kind there, but sometimes we don’t know what’s right under our noses. Like salt, I suppose – that ubiquitous condiment we often only think about if it’s missing.

I’m not sure if salt was mentioned on them, but what struck me about the inscriptions all over the temple’s inner compound was this: how much the wear and tear of centuries on stone had made it look as though salt was on them. In between the chiselled spaces. In the air… and everywhere.

I had wondered about salt since childhood, that staple of every meal. My mother had taught me that in the precise quantity, it cooks vegetables faster. For years, on every long weekend drive to Pondicherry, I had watched the white salt mounds pass by and wondered about them too. Now, armed with my camera and my curiousity, I had discovered more. That indispensible ingredient comes from somewhere: the labour of people like Mr. Nallathamby and his staff. From those huge mounds that can be seen on the highway to the small pinch that is baked into our daily bread, how much we take for granted.

View Post
By
Musings

A Tale Of Two Cups

By

Call it a tale of two cities, or a tale of two cups! Like many who love travelling, I form bonds with now-familiar niches all over the world. And between two such niches, I found a particular connection. A connection that smells like heaven and tastes like perfection… Coffee.

View Post
By