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As a Gujarati who was born and brought up in Tamil Nadu, I am lucky to have the advantage of knowing and being a part of both cultures. Naturally, this extends to the cuisines as well. Although what is served for lunch nearly every day at home is a standard Gujarati thaali, which consists of rotis, a sabzi or vegetable and some dal, you can see the influence of my multicultural upbringing in the style of of some of the dishes. For instance, the sabzi of the day may be something cooked in a South Indian preparation. This ridge gourd stir-fry, or peerkanga pirratal as we know it in Tamil, is one such recipe in my eclectic repertoire.

I grow ridge gourd on my rooftop, and terrace gardening has also shown me firsthand the beautiful logic of Nature, which has designed things so that the produce that is most nourishing for those who live in the local climate is what grows best in that land too. Take the ridge gourd: high in water content, rich with fibre and minerals, and therefore just perfect for the weather of Chennai wherein our energy is easily depleted by the heat. If you live here, loading up your lunch bowl with this ingredient gives you exactly the boost you need for the rest of the day.

Of course, rounding out the standard meal would be some form of carbs, also known as the bane of my life. So here’s the trick: the Buddha bowl trompe l’oeil. Serving style and visual presentation always impact our perception of what we’re consuming. By putting just two tablespoons of white rice into a bowl and filling the rest with this ridge gourd stir-fry, I don’t have that miserable feeling of holding myself back by skimping on the main part of the meal. Instead, the vegetables themselves become the main part of the meal. This dish is very much in the category of comfort food, and I sometimes literally eat bowlfuls of it!

This South Indian ridge gourd stir-fry is very simple, very unassuming and very wholesome. Just salt and turmeric are quite enough to enhance the natural flavour of the chief ingredient. In addition to the ridge gourd on my rooftop, there are coconut trees in my backyard that yield fruit all year around. I use my own homemade coconut oil and add freshly grated coconut to this dish too, so almost everything in this dish is homegrown and pure. Even a little kitchen garden can make such a difference to our cooking. There really is something special about cultivating and consuming our own ingredients.

Doing so is also a link to a traditional way of living and a traditional way of eating, and these are subjects I think about a lot, given how we need both of these for the sustainability of our planet. M husband and I love time-honoured dishes, but our adult children feel they require much more novelty and diversity in their diets. Being in sync with Nature and seasonal rhythms is important for our vitality too, and I wonder if this is something one becomes more aware of as we age and our palates change. Growing bodies and younger bodies with dynamic lifestyles do need more carbs and sugars, certainly. As discussed in my previous post, it’s quite interesting how kids and senior citizens have very similar tastes. I have been listening more and more to what my body, somewhere between those two extremes of life, needs. In my case, vegetables are what it often craves. If you’re the same, you’ll find much for your repertoire in this blog’s archives. While re:store is all about baked indulgences, the recipes here are more often than not about bringing pleasure and nutrition into everyday meals.

South Indian Ridge Gourd Stir-Fry

(Yield: Serves 2-3)

 

4 cups peeled and chopped ridge gourd

A few curry leaves

¼ cup grated coconut (optional)

2 tablespoons coconut oil

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

¼ teaspoon urad dal

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon turmeric

½ cup water

1-2 green chillies

3 tablespoons soaked mung/yellow dal

 

In a pressure cooker, add the mung dal and the cut gourd. Add salt, turmeric and ½ cup of water. Allow to cook until tender (this should be about 2 whistles).

In another kadai, add the coconut oil. Once it has heated, add the mustard seeds, cumin seeds and ural dal. When they start to splutter, add the curry leaves.

Immediately after, add the vegetables from the pressure cooker and stir well. Once the concoction starts boiling, turn off the flame and add the grated coconut. You can skip this ingredient if you aren’t a fan, or if it isn’t available. Mix well. Garnish with coriander leaves and serve hot. This is usually an accompaniment to rice or rotis.

This South Indian-style ridge gourd stir-fry is a recipe I picked up along the way, and prefer to the Gujarati version that my mother used to make, which required chili and coriander powders. That said, sometimes it feels a bit painful when I’m confronted with very deeply-rooted authentic Gujarati dishes and find myself at a loss about how to prepare them. Fortunately, my sister who has had much more exposure to that cuisine is within reach, as well as friends and fellow bloggers, and I usually find what I’m looking for and learn through trial and error.

In fact, this gives me an opportunity to ask you: is it true that ridge gourd peel can be used in a chutney? Have you prepared this, and if so, would you care to share the recipe?

We can’t get enough of food inspired by Mexican cuisine at home, and after last week’s Mexican-style pineapple salad, I thought it would be perfect to share another delicious recipe in the same vein. This green quesadilla, truthfully speaking, is re:store style – a cross between Indian and Mexican, but leaning towards being an Indian dish with a Mexican name. For the culinary purists out there, no, this is not authentic. For the rest of us who love our fusion food and things that taste good under any moniker, I can assure you that this green quesadilla is quite amazing just the same. If you don’t believe me, ask my mother-in-law, who at 85 relishes it to the point of requesting it specifically when it’s been missing from our menu for even a week!

I can’t recall exactly how it came into being, but can make a vague guess that I must have had an excess of broccoli in my kitchen one day. I must have decided to pack it all into a quesadilla, to use up my stock while also ensuring that my family got a good load of greens that day. I do know that when I began serving it to them, my grown kids didn’t blink twice, distracted by the yummy cheese that holds the “tortilla” together (you’ll see why I use the quote marks when you read the method). I realised then that this dish is ideal for my readers with kids, especially younger ones who detest vegetables and need to be tricked into having them. In fact, calling it a quesadilla – even when you’re using ingredients that are so basic to an Indian kitchen – will also help with this, as children are always curious about trying new things and are likely to enjoy the novelty.

It has since become a staple at home, and I usually accompany it with a soup of some sort. Depending on your personal preferences, I can recommend several of my recipes for this pairing too. From the richly indulgent to the comfortingly simple, I have shared quite a range on this blog. Do check out my minestrone, zucchini soup, vegan whole corn and lemongrass soup, broccoli and almond soup or watermelon gazpacho at leisure.

Long before I encountered real quesadillas, and long before those of us who grew up in Chennai had the slightest clue what Mexican cuisine was all about, I enjoyed another dish based on the same concept at my friend Sharmila’s home. Whenever a small group of us would land up there after school, surprising her mother who would be unprepared to serve lunch for unexpected guests, she would take some rotis and whip up a simple, but extremely satisfying, treat for us. She would put some jaggery between two rotis and flip them on a pan with ghee. The jaggery would melt, bind the bread together, and would ooze out so appetisingly the moment you took a bite. Looking back, I can imagine how this clever innovation came into being. I’m sure you can too. Do you have a dish like this, one you put together in a rush one day that then became a regular?

The category of so-called quesadillas is, as proved by Sharmila’s mother, a highly diverse one. Sprinkle some idli podi on it and make it a South Indian version. Change up the veggies so they fulfill a specific dietary restriction, or to make a colourful version. Add textures or ingredients that you like. Just remember that the cheese is the main factor. Without it, the whole thing will literally fall apart!

This green quesadilla makes for a filling dinner, or even a healthy snack. I flatten and slice it like a pizza, but you can also roll it up like a kati roll. Serving it in different ways will also keep your kids (or their grandmothers!) happy and enthusiastic. Isn’t it so interesting how our tastes when we are very young often have much in common with our tastes when we are very old? With that in mind, I’m delighted to share with you my recipe for a green quesadilla that is sure to satisfy several generations of your family!

Green Quesadilla

(Yield: 3 quesadillas)

 

Dough

¼ cup all purpose flour

¼ cup whole wheat flour

¼ cup water (or enough to make a tight dough)

Salt to taste

1 teaspoon oil

 

Filling

½ cup broccoli

¼ cup green bell pepper

¼ cup spring onions

2 teaspoons olive oil

Salt to taste

1 pinch pepper

½ cup grated cheese

 

Butter to cook

 

Make a tight and smooth dough using all of the dough ingredients and set aside. When it’s ready to be worked with, make six small balls of dough. Roll them out with the help of some flour. The method in my roti post may be useful here if you want to know how to do this.

Cook all six rolled-out rotis on both sides partially. Set them aside.

In a pan, add the oil. Once it has heated, add the vegetables. On a medium to high flame, stir the vegetables and cook them al dente. Add salt and pepper and mix well.

To assemble the quesadilla, place three rotis flat. Then, scoop the vegetables on top of them, making sure that most parts of the roti are covered. Now, sprinkle the grated cheese. Cover each of these prepared rotis with a plain one, sandwiching the veggies. Press down with your hands.

Add butter or oil on both sides of each quesadilla and cook on a hot griddle. Flip carefully. The cheese will hold the vegetables together, but be gentle anyway, else they will open up.

Cut them in half and serve. You may add jalapeños to the vegetable mix, or serve some alongside. As I said earlier, a soup makes a great accompaniment if you want to round it out into a full meal. A salsa or dip of your liking will also make it more delicious as a snack. You may want to adapt my peach salsa recipe, using complementary ingredients.

There you have it – a cheesy, nourishing dish that somehow blends the comfortingly familiar with the intriguingly foreign. Do you also make your own quesadilla-ish recipe, using the simple Indian roti, and how do you do it? I would love to know!

I literally grew up under a star gooseberry tree – the very same tree that you may know as amla or nellika. I loved the fruit of that tree so much that I braved its hairy inhabitants, known in Tamil as kambili poochis (blanket worms, a type of caterpillar that becomes a moth). These small creatures have a self-protection mechanism of dropping their spiky, needle-like hairs onto the skin of predators or threats – such a little girl greedy for some ripe fruit! How many times would I have run crying to my mother with one hand full of green star gooseberries and the other one holding the sore spot lanced by caterpillar hairs? She would painstakingly have to remove each one, and this was a pretty frequent occurrence. Even caterpillars could not keep me away from the fruit that I craved!

Although a long time has passed since then, I still have a star gooseberry tree in my home now. Like all native trees that seemed to be everywhere in Chennai when I was growing up, they are scarcer now, and I cultivate those in my backyard with care. I repeatedly tell my children stories about my misadventures with the caterpillars that lived on the one in my childhood home, mostly because I don’t see them any longer. I wonder if this has something to do with urban pollution, and with how we are misusing our planet. We as human beings are responsible for the disappearing bees, and the extinction of so many other species. Even though the caterpillars can literally hurt me, they are proof of the health of this planet, and I hope to see them crawling in my garden again some day.

The variant of the gooseberry tree I have at home is the same as the one I grew up with. It is the ribbed or ridged star gooseberry (nellika), not the softer, more rounded amla. They are closely related fruits and you can use either one in this recipe. I prefer the star gooseberry for its sour taste, whereas the amla has a hint of bitterness. I enjoy this fruit so very much that I don’t just eat it plain, but incorporate it into my cooking as well. This star gooseberry rice is a wonderful way to bring its unique flavour into your meals. Pickling is another great idea, given the fruit’s naturally intense taste.

The best-known benefit of all Indian gooseberries is that they have a very high Vitamin C quotient. They are also very good for fighting sinus-related issues, boosting immunity, beautifying skin and hair and improving digestion. The leaves and roots of the tree also have a long list of uses in traditional medicines, in anti-viral, anti-venom, analgesic and other capacities.

This post came together between a friend mentioning eating star gooseberry rice one day, a trip down memory lane about those hairy caterpillars, and more recent memories from journeys around India.

On some of my travels, I have noticed gooseberry-shaped artistic motifs in borders and jalis at different monuments and temples across India – including even at the Taj Mahal – and this made me think about how India has always been a land of plenty. I understood that these motifs of so many common culinary and botanical elements that we take for granted – including not just star gooseberries but pomegranates, mangoes and a great variety of flora and fauna as well – are ways to celebrate that bounty, depicting the amazing harvests that grow here. Among all our many exotic mysteries and riches, the natural wealth of India attracted so many to our shores, and still does. We have so much to be proud about.

Star Gooseberry Rice

(Serves 2)

2 tablespoons sesame oil

2 tablespoons groundnuts

¼ teaspoon methi seeds

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

½ teaspoon channa dal

½ teaspoon urad dal

1 green chilli

2 cups cooked rice

Salt to taste

A pinch turmeric

A few curry leaves

4 grated star gooseberries

1 grated tablespoon coconut

Finely chopped coriander leaves (garnishing)

In a kadai, add oil. Once it has heated, add the groundnuts and allow them to splutter. Next, add the mustard seeds, cumin seeds, channa dal, urad dal, methi, green chilli, grated coconut and curry leaves. Mix well. Now, add the grated Indian gooseberries – whichever variant you have on hand or prefer.

Once the mixture turns lightly golden, add the rice, salt and turmeric. Stir well.

Garnish with the coriander leaves and serve.

I hope you’ll enjoy that unique flavour of this star gooseberry rice. If you’re a fan of rice dishes in general and are always looking to spice up your plain steamed rice, you may want to explore the many recipes I’ve shared earlier that do exactly this. Raw mango rice, dill rice or spinach rice make for exciting daily staples. Vegetable biryani is perfect for a small celebration. If you want something a little more exotic, this glutinous black sticky rice with mango is quite a delight. Do try them out and let me know what you think!

Dairy is a huge part of the pan-Indian diet, and among its many forms, buttermilk is consumed across the length and breadth of the country during the summer. It is mentioned in Ayurvedic texts as a coolant, and provably has this effect on the body. In lore, it was among the delicious goods that Krishna often stole from the cowherds, with his mother Yashoda usually discovering his theft quickly and reprimanding him for it. It has been in our history and mythology for millennia, and in our kitchens as well. A few years ago, I shared a recipe for spiced buttermilk, and today I am sharing one for a flavoured variant: banana stem buttermilk.

As I mentioned in a recent recipe, my mother made butter at home while we were growing up, and its sour residual buttermilk was used in kadhi and other dishes. As a beverage, I prefer my buttermilk less sour and make it with fresh homemade yoghurt, which you can also get into a daily routine of preparing yourself.

How the straightforward buttermilk that I regularly consume came to be pepped up with banana stem is really a photographer’s story. Some time ago, I had been preparing banana stem poriyal, a Tamil stir-fry side dish, when something caught my eye as I was slicing the ingredient. A beautiful geometric pattern (designed by Nature) along the edges of the stem captivated me. I was moved to pause my cooking and pick up my camera. Somehow, as I worked, the thought of adding the ingredient to our regular post-lunch buttermilk occurred to me. From stir-fry to shoot subject to summer heat-buster, the humble banana stem had quite a journey in my hands that day.

Though it is humble indeed, and sometimes neglected for this reason, banana stem is a much-loved ingredient in Tamil cuisine due to its powerful health benefits. It is most famous for being able to dissolve kidney stones, and also has anti-diabetic and detoxification properties. It is rich in iron, fibre, potassium and Vitamin B. It can be eaten raw, but not everyone’s constitution reacts well to this, so you can lightly steam it before consumption without losing much of its nutritious qualities too. Although I was inspired that day to put my photographic muse into my afternoon drink, it was not a brainwave that simply came out of nowhere. Somewhere in my growing years, at some friend’s house or another, I certainly drank banana stem buttermilk. As a local, accessible and inexpensive ingredient, it has always been put to good use by cooks over the centuries.

As mentioned, we have buttermilk with our summer lunches daily, or else a banana. Either a drink to cool the body down, or else the fruit of the same plant to assist with digestion. This was the case when I was a child as well, when my mother would prepare plain buttermilk that was seasoned with nothing but salt and cumin powder. During the summers, our school holiday time, we would play with our neighbourhood friends in the afternoon, climbing trees and tiring ourselves out in a happy way, then have a glass of this and go off for a siesta. The drink was especially vital because it would also be mango season. Mangoes in high quantities increase body heat. Of course, we would have gorged on them, so something had to be consumed to counter this.

Buttermilk really is a summer beverage for so many reasons, and I always find it interesting and awe-inspiring how Nature laid everything out for us in such a way that there is always a seasonal logic. Isn’t it marvellous that yoghurt just takes 3-4 hours to set at this time of year, when it is a more necessary part of our diets, as opposed to needing to set overnight in winter? To this natural design, we also add our common sense: we consume cooling buttermilk during the day, when the sun is high, and not at dinner time.

As a Gujarati born and brought up in Tamil Nadu, bringing the local banana stem into my traditional buttermilk was an intuitive choice. You can make it with other flavours too. The sweetened version of this drink, the lassi, is similarly versatile, and you may remember a fruity version from my recent mango series.

Banana Stem Buttermilk

(Yield: 2 cups)

1 cup chopped banana stem

2 cups yoghurt

1 piece ginger

¼ teaspoon asafoetida

A few curry leaves

A handful of chopped coriander leaves

1 green chilli

½ teaspoon roasted cumin powder

Salt to taste

2 -3 cups water

Juice of half a lime/lemon

Chop the banana stem and soak the pieces in water. Set aside while you prepare the other ingredients. If you tend to find consuming raw banana stem difficult on your digestion, lightly steam it beforehand.

In a bowl, prepare the yoghurt by adding salt and cumin powder. Add 2 ½ cups water and beat well. Keep aside.

Discard the water that the chopped banana stem was soaking in. Put the chopped stem pieces into a blender. Add the green chili, coriander leaves, asafoetida, ginger and curry leaves. Add the remaining ½ cup water and blend well. The quantity of water you use depends on how thick you want your beverage. Then, strain the thick purée into the prepared buttermilk. Add a dash of lime/lemon juice, for a bit of a sour tang.  Beat well. Consume immediately, before it starts to change colour.

I hope you’ll enjoy this nutritious banana stem buttermilk! I’ve shared quite a few summery beverages over the years, and here are some more recipes for your enjoyment too, shared with good wishes for your health and well-being: strawberry-rose smoothie, barley lime drink, rose sherbet and curry leaf and raw mango cooler.

When I shared this recipe for a dhokla made of green moong a couple of years ago, I had mentioned that Gujaratis are so famous for this item of food that it’s what we are stereotypically called. “Hey, dhokla!” – there is hardly a Gujarati who hasn’t heard this phrase, just as there is hardly a Gujarati who doesn’t, as stereotyped, love this dish. Dhoklas are a kind of savoury cake, spongy in texture. There are numerous varieties of dhoklas, and the khaman dhokla (yellow in colour, and made with channa dal) is the most popular one, and the one you may be acquainted with from restaurants. But the one that Gujaratis mostly consume at home is the white dhokla, which I am sharing the recipe for today.

There are two kinds of white dhoklas: a version that is more tedious to prepare, which entails washing rice, drying it in the sun and then powdering it. My mother would make these traditional rice flour dhoklas often, but for a quick go-to it was always the rava dhokla. The rava dhokla is the other version of white dhokla, and the recipe that I’ll share today. It tastes quite similar to the rice flour dhokla, and has a quick and easy process. It makes for a light dinner, or as a tasty snack when you have company, and is often had with garlic chutney or a sweet mango pickle.

As you may know from some of my photography, I love antique kitchen objects. They are not only subjects or props to me, but are functional too. I have an old dhokla maker, one that feels like it has always been with me. I cannot remember when it entered my kitchen. Similar to an idly cooker, except flat, it has a set of plates stacked on top of each other. The dhoklas are steamed on these, then cut and served.

To be honest, I don’t use my dhokla maker very often because I don’t make dhoklas at home frequently, even though we all enjoy this dish very much. I think this is because, for me, the perfect dhokla was always my mother’s. Even when she became really old and would rarely cook, and I would send her all her meals, I would ask her to prepare just dhoklas for me. With great love, she and I had a recurrent jesting conversation in which I would make fun of her – “What’s this, why are you sitting around? Time to start training for a marathon! Or how about getting started on the cooking, and make me some dhoklas?” I would say, and she would laugh, or offer one of her famous smiles – to be followed shortly by a mouthwatering beautiful treat. My sister’s dhoklas are a close second, but as for me, I am still learning – and as always, eager to share what I know.

That reminds me also of how, not so long ago when we were all still zipping up and down the country and around the world with ease, I would pack dhoklas for short flights of under three or four hours. They travel well as they don’t need accompaniments, and the best part is that they don’t have a strong smell. The whole plane doesn’t find out that you’re eating dhoklas when you open your lunchbox. So I’d fly off to Mumbai, eating my own dhoklas in the air, and when I arrived, my sister would be ready to serve me a fresh batch of her own.  I guess it’s true what they say: no matter where we are, Gujaratis can’t get enough of a good dhokla.

White Dhokla

(Yield: Serves 2)

 

1 cup rava

½ cup yoghurt

1 cup + ½ cup water

Salt to taste

1 tablespoon oil

½ teaspoon ENO fruit salt

½ teaspoon green chili-ginger paste

 

Tempering:

2-3 tablespoons oil

¼ teaspoon mustard seeds

¼ teaspoon cumin seeds

A few curry leaves

 

In a bowl, add rava, yoghurt, 1 cup of water, salt, green chili-ginger paste and oil. Mix well. You will get a thick batter. Set this aside for at least half an hour.

Now, the batter would have thickened further. It needs to be of the consistency of idly batter, so add the remaining half cup of water if required.

Add the ENO fruit salt and gently mix the batter. At this point, it will be frothing.

Prepare the dhokla cooker / plates by greasing them. Then, pour the batter into the plates and steam for about 20-25 minutes with the lid on.

Remove the plates from the cooker once the batter has cooked. Allow to cool.

Finally, temper the dhokla. For this, heat the oil and add the mustard seeds and cumin seeds. Allow them to splutter, then add the curry leaves. Immediately, pour this hot mixture over the dhokla.

Cut and serve plain or with accompaniments of your choice. Once again, I would recommend trying out one or all of the three dips in my recent Indian condiments series. The raw mango thovayal, the lasun ki chutney or the ginger chutney will beautifully elevate the soft, spongy dhokla. I hope you’ll enjoy this delicious white dhokla – and that it will make you clearly understand why we Gujaratis love it so much! If you do, don’t forget to try out the green moong dhokla variant too. Let me know which one you prefer!

For many years, a lovely lady named Hamsa has visited a few times a week, to conduct a chanting class for me. She teaches me Sanskrit scriptures like the Vishnu Sahasranamam and the Lalitha Sahasranamam. I’ve been chanting for the last fifteen years and it’s a source of immense solace for me. Hamsa is from Andhra Pradesh, a region known for its spicy cuisine, and it so happens that one of my favourite condiments comes from there. It’s a ginger chutney sweetened with a hint of jaggery, and I’m delighted to share the recipe for it with you today.

Before the pandemic, I was a frequent customer at a wonderful South Indian restaurant where an array of chutneys would be served. No matter how diverse the spread, I would always reach instantly for the ginger chutney, so much so that I’d even ask to have any leftovers of it packed to take back home and enjoy with the next meal. One day, as we were chatting after class, I asked Hamsa if she knew how to make that fabulous dish. I was thrilled to hear her say, casually, that she made it daily! Of course, she then kindly brought me some a couple of times, after which I asked that she teach me the recipe. I’m a hands-on learner and I wanted to watch her preparing the dish. So one day when she visited, she prepared it in my kitchen as I eagerly watched the process, and I’ve been making it happily ever since.

I believe that we all experience learnings from any person. It doesn’t matter who they are, or in what form the learning comes, but it enriches us just the same. This is something that’s so crucial for us to keep in mind at this difficult time for India. If we keep our eyes and our minds open, we will perceive that all of life itself is a learning, and that we are amidst so many ongoing lessons given what is happening is the country and the world. We are learning about what works and what doesn’t, and what has to change for a better future. In our personal lives and relationships, we are learning something every day about how to get through this crisis – seeing which relationships can withstand it and how, seeing sometimes that the problem isn’t the other person but us, and so much more. These are valuable learnings that we must carry forward.

I’m grateful to have learnt this recipe from Hamsa, to add to all the knowledge she has given me over the years spiritually. She doesn’t just teach me chants, but also talks about culture and ritual, deepening my understanding of the same. When I’m feeling down, she will often suggest a mantra that I can say to strengthen myself. This is advice that has kept me in good stead through my adversities.

I’m sharing the recipe for ginger chutney with you today along with a slice of my life. After I have completed my baking, cooking and exercise schedule in the morning, I always sit down to chant. I genuinely believe in prayer, and in the power of hope. I believe that as a human race we will come out of this darkness, and when I am in prayer, my conviction in this is at its strongest.

With the current lockdown in Chennai, I now take virtual classes from Hamsa daily. I can read Sanskrit, and one of the things I appreciate about her teaching style is that she is very particular about pronunciation. This takes me back to when I was a little girl in a convent school full of wonderful Irish nuns, who insisted on precision in handwriting and enunciation. The lovely Mrs. Martanda, my English teacher, would teach us the difference between the spoken words “vow” and “wow”, for example. She used the Wren and Martin grammar book and various dictionaries as teaching tools. That I am able to recall these details decades on is a testament to the influence a good teacher can have, in any aspect of life. As I said earlier: we learn something from someone, every day. We are all students, and we are all teachers.

And so – I learnt this from Hamsa and I am now teaching it to you. It’s a brilliant ginger chutney made in the Andhra style. My version is drier than Hamsa’s, and I make it this way so that it lasts longer. It has a perfect combination of flavours – sweet jaggery, spicy red chilli and piquantly aromatic ginger, the last one being a particular favourite of mine. It’s so Indian, yet so doable in any part of the world, consisting of simple ingredients and a quick and easy process. In case you cannot source jaggery, try brown sugar or coconut sugar as a substitute. This ginger chutney lifts up the flavours of my Buddha bowls, my dhoklas, my dosas… it adds such a sumptuous taste to anything I pair it with.

Ginger Chutney

(Yield: 1 cup)

2 small cups washed, finely cut ginger

1 small (lime-sized) ball tamarind

8 dry red Kashmiri chillies

2 tablespoons urad dal

Salt to taste

2 teaspoons cumin seeds

2 tablespoons jaggery powder

2 tablespoons sesame oil

 

Add the oil to a pan. Dry roast all the ingredients – except the jaggery – until they all turn golden, on a medium flame. Finally, add the jaggery.

Allow to cool. Blend well together without adding any water. You can store this in the refrigerator for 10-15 days. As a dry chutney, it is inherently more long-lasting.

I’d love to know how you’ve been pairing the various dips I’ve been sharing. The previous two in this Indian condiments series were the Tamil-style raw mango thovayal and the Gujarati-style dry garlic chutney. In the past, I’ve also shared several fusion and Indian dips and condiments, all of which can be used creatively, and I hope you’ll be curious about exploring those too. Here they are: curry leaf and green chilli hummus, plum chutney, wood-apple chutney, coriander chutney and date chutney. Enjoy!

What did you think of the raw mango thovayal that I shared in my previous post? I hope it added a tangy kick to your meals, and if you used it in any offbeat ways (such as as a marinade, or in a fusion dish), I’d love to know. The next dish I’m sharing in this dip series is another recipe that could lend itself to versatile use too. It also has an interesting dry-to-wet storage solution built into its preparation, which you’ll learn about below. This lasun ki chutney (dry garlic chutney) is a Gujarati condiment, one that always existed in my childhood food experiences, and I know it is also made Maharashtra, which borders Gujarat.

It is a dry garlic chutney with a fiery colour, and is made in a ball form that is supposed to last two or three days without refrigeration. This means it travels well, so it is often paired with the equally durable thepla on train journeys and so on. While I was growing up, my mother kept her lasun ki chutney in the fridge, which extended its shelf life a little further too. The concept is like this: it’s a dry chutney, made with minimal water, that is rolled into a ball and stored. Whenever one wants to consume it, one simply pinches some off, adds warm water, makes a paste and enjoys it as an accompaniment. Once water is added, it needs to be consumed immediately.

Aside from theplas, it is typically an accompaniment for bajra ki rotla, dhokla or handvo. Although we now enjoy it year-round, in concept it is the ideal winter condiment for more frugal meals. I am told that farmers in Gujarat typically consume it with bajra ka rotla, a flatbread made with pearl millet flour, in winters. Being very flavourful, it uplifts the thepla or other main staple without the need for other side dishes, especially when the harvest is scarce.

When I first started making lasun ki chutney, I began by making the soft version directly rather than the storable dry balls. I learnt the recipe for my grandfather, who came to live with us when he was 93 and absolutely had to have some of this lovely condiment at every meal. And at every meal, without fail, he would always say, “Garlic is very good for you.” He would sit on the floor and have a full Gujarati main course served to him, and he relished dipping his chapati into a bowl of ghee and eating it with lasun ki chutney. Perhaps because he reminded us every day that this is a nutritious dish, it grew on the rest of us too, and soon we began to have a side of spicy garlic chutney with most of our meals as well.

Garlic is indeed very good for us, and is well-known as an immune system booster, and as an ingredient that keeps blood pressure and cholesterol under control. It’s rich in antioxidants, manganese and fibre, among other nutritious elements. Plus – it’s delicious. Aromatic and pungent, it’s a pleasure for the senses.

That said, I would be remiss not to mention that there are communities that avoid garlic entirely as some believe that it affects the hormones in such a way as to charge us up and make us express our anger. If you do not eat garlic for this reason or any other, I’m afraid this recipe won’t suit you – and I hope you’ll explore the archives and find another one that does.

 

Lasun Ki Chutney

(Yield: 1 small cup)

 

10-12 cloves garlic

1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds

4 Kashmiri red chillies (fried)

½ cup shredded coconut

1 tablespoon sesame oil

Salt to taste

 

Set aside all the ingredients, except the oil, in a food processor. In a flat pan, add the oil and once it has heated, pour the oil into the food processor along with the other ingredients. Make sure that you grind the mixture well. Your dry, coarse garlic chutney is now ready.

Now, make small balls and store them in the refrigerator. When you’re sitting down to a meal over the next few days, pinch off as much as you need, add warm water to make a paste, and enjoy. Have it with dhoklas or theplas, or even add it to Asian stir fries to spice them up, like I do. I’d love to know how you use it!

I’ll end this post by giving you a visual glimpse of the recipe that will round out this dip trilogy. In the photo below, you can see the raw mango thovayal and the lasun ki chutney – along with the forthcoming dish. Any guesses about what it is, or what its chief ingredient is?

 

This year’s mango series on my blog comes to a conclusion with a recipe that seamlessly leads into my next series: Indian dips and condiments. Call them chutneys, thovayals, sambals, pickles, relishes or by any name. They serve the purpose of enhancing a meal, and there are a huge range eaten across the subcontinent, often particular to certain communities. They tend to be heavy in spices and masalas so as to lend their strong flavours to otherwise mildly flavourful main dishes. It’s important to choose the right condiment, to complement rather than clash with the rest of the meal. Over the next few weeks, I’ll be sharing a selection of particularly tasty ones, which I hope you’ll enjoy pairing with mains of your choice. Today, I will be sharing the recipe for raw mango thovayal (or thogayal), a Tamil-style condiment that will elevate a variety of traditional and fusion meals.

I was born and brought up in Chennai, and I learnt Gujarati culinary traditions from my mother, who was also born and brought up in South India. She learnt her repertoire from her mother, who was raised in Gujarat but migrated, and who had replicated a menu that was as close to authentic as possible. However, it was also limited in terms of ingredient availability, as well as adapted to suit the climate here. This meant that certain winter vegetables consumed seasonally in Gujarat were not something my siblings and I, or indeed my mother and her own siblings, could have eaten growing up. There were certain recipes that I had no exposure to, and I am continuing to expand what I know about this cuisine. Many other food bloggers have provided inspiration, as has my sister, who lives in Mumbai and who learnt a multitude of dishes in the Gujarati Jain style from her mother-in-law. As you may know if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, I’ve also gained so much knowledge from my friends, who generously give their recipes not only to me, but encourage me to share them with my readers too.

Adaptability, resourcefulness and innovation are the traits of all good cooks everywhere, and a sense of culinary curiosity is what makes preparing everyday meals exciting. My own personal style is a medley of Gujarati cuisine, South Indian cuisines, Macrobiotics training, enthusiasm for veganism, travels aboard and growing up in a multi-cultural setting. As kids, while we ate Gujarati food at home, we also spent lots of time at the homes of our Tamil and Malayali neighbours (like Girija, whose mother made a brilliant ishtew) on practically a daily basis, thus enjoying a wonderful diversity of snacks and meals. My own children are now a third generation of Gujaratis who were raised in South India (I often jokingly say that their Tamil skills are better than their fluency in their mother tongue). If my own upbringing was multi-cultural, my children’s was even more so, and they have travelled and been exposed to even more of the world than I had by their age. Today’s generation and the generations to follow enjoy a blend of influences and experiences, and their food preferences reflect the same.

Coming back to thovayal, my recipe today is really a culmination rather than a combination of my own varied influences and experiences. It’s a raw mango thovayal made up of the memories of hundreds of meals at friends’ homes, prepared with simple ingredients that I happened to have in my garden and kitchen. In my home, this side dish is usually eaten with white dhokla (I’ll share a recipe for that soon). Dhokla is usually eaten with green chutney, but I prefer it with this thovayal, as the raw mango is a wonderful coolant for Chennai summers. Can you think of a more perfect example of a Gujarati-Tamil cultural melange?

Raw Mango Thovayal

(Yield: 1 cup)

1 cup cut, peeled raw mango

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

2 teaspoons urad dal

2 green chillies

2 dry red chillies

6-10 curry leaves

3 tablespoons fresh coriander leaves

½ cup coconut

2 tablespoons roasted gram (optional/alternative: peanuts)

2 teaspoons groundnut oil or sesame oil

Salt to taste

 

You can make thovayal with a variety of bases, simply replacing the raw mango. Coconut is popularly used as a base, for example. I use green chillies in mine so that the thovayal retains a refreshing green colour, but you could use garlic for the spice quotient instead.

To prepare this recipe, simply add all the ingredients together in a mixer jar and blend coarsely. Add no more than 3-4 tablespoons of water when you do so.

The thovayal will be of a thick consistency, comparable to a chutney. It can be stored in the refrigerator for 4-5 days.

Enjoy it as a condiment with any meal of your choice (do let me know in the comments how you pair it, please!). I think it could also work as an excellent marinade for chicken, or if added to roasted potatoes to enhance their flavour. It all comes down to your creativity.

I hope you’ve been making the most of the mango season through the wide range of recipes I’ve shared here that celebrate the fruit in both raw and ripe forms. In case you want to catch up, this is the big list of the delicious mango dishes I’ve posted over the years: vegan raw mango dal, raw mango rice, mango twist, mango osaman, mango lassi, mango salad, sweet and spicy mango pickles, ripe mango rasam and curry leaf and raw mango cooler. Here’s to many more seasons of culinary plenitude!

We have mango trees in the back garden, and every summer I seek out new ways and means to utilise their bounty. This season, I’ve made aamchur – dry mango powder prepared by washing the fruit slices, drying them, then powdering them. It works in cooking as a lime substitute, and is just as healthy and as rich in Vitamic C. I’ve made pickles, and if you’re keen to do the same, you can take your pick of either sweet or spicy kinds from the recipes I shared in this post. I’ve made desserts, like the easy and very satisfying mango twist that I shared last week. Then, I thought – why not make a rice dish with some mangoes, too?

Coconut rice was one of the components of the South Indian Buddha bowl recipe, and this raw mango rice has a similar concept. It’s also like spinach rice, curry leaf rice or any other rice preparation that infuses the flavours of a particular ingredient. It’s interesting how we efficiently and creatively play up staples like rice as well as rotis through simple ways to elevate the basics. Seasonal flavourings are especially popular, just as it is with the recipe I am sharing today.

What I have growing at home are killimooku mangoes, known for their distinctive parrot-beak shape, as described in this raw mango cooler recipe. To my friends and readers around the world – did you know that every single kind of mango has its own flavour? My mother taught me how to select mangoes when I was very young, so I’m adept at differentiating between many of the popular variants on the market at the moment (although India has so many types of mangoes that to tell them all apart would truly be a kind of expertise!). My personal favourites are sweet, juicy ones – specifically the Ratnagiri Alphonso grown in Maharashtra (the state shares a common border with Telangana, where the slightly different Andhra Alphonsos are grown) and the Banagapalli grown in Andhra Pradesh’s Kurnool district, which can come in such large sizes that a single mango can sometimes suffice as an entire meal. Today, however, I’m reaching for what is literally in my backyard. The killimooku is not very sour, but neither is it sweet. It carries a lovely tang that truly uplifts the taste of rice.

This raw mango rice is both easy to prepare and highly adaptable. It travels well, so it’s perfect to pack for a day trip. It can be eaten plain, so you won’t even have to worry about any spills from the accompaniments. It can also work quite well in a Buddha bowl. I presume, based on the flavour palate, that it can be matched exquisitely with a fish curry, and I’d love to hear from those of you who enjoy seafood about how this recipe works in such a meal.

I made a large pot of this over the weekend and it was consumed quite quickly at home, with my family eating it plain, with rasam, with a potato roast and so on. The idea came to me because I saw a few raw mango rice posts on Instagram recently, and realised that I hadn’t made this dish in years. I did recall that it was something we ate now and then while we were growing up, so I knew that my sister would almost certainly have our mother’s preparation in her repertoire. She lives in Bombay, whereas I am based in Chennai, and we often do recipe exchanges, wherein I share Tamil styles like kootu and poriyal with her and she pulls out authentic Gujarati dishes for me. Together, we create quite an eclectic menu. Then again, I’ve also eaten raw mango rice as part of the sumptuous banana leaf service at South Indian weddings too, so perhaps – just like the mango – we can consider this a quintessentially Indian dish!

Raw Mango Rice

(Yield: Serves 2)

½ tablespoon oil

½ teaspoon channa dal

½ teaspoon urad dal

½ teaspoon mustard seeds

1 green chilli (sliced)

A few curry leaves

½ teaspoon turmeric powder

2 cups cooked rice

1 cup raw mango (grated)

Salt to taste

A pinch of asafoetida

Coriander leaves (to garnish)

 

Heat a kadai and add the oil. Once it has heated, add the channa dal and the urad dal. Allow them to turn golden, and then add the mustard seeds. Once they begin to splutter, add the asafoetida, curry leaves and green chilli.

Next, add the rice and the turmeric, along with salt to taste. Mix gently. Once it has all come together, turn off the flame. Finally, add the grated mango and mix once again. If you only have access to sour mangoes, rather than the delicately sweet-sour killimooku variant that I have used, use a smaller quantity than listed above.

Garnish with coriander leaves and serve hot with the accompaniments of your choice, or plain and simple. As I said earlier, I’m very curious to know how you’ll pair this rice, and I would simply love to hear about it from you in the comments!

The summer is here, and so are the sweet potatoes – and the mangoes! I couldn’t resist slicing some of these wonderful seasonal harvests up and putting them to delicious use in my kitchen. As you may know, we eat a lot of salads at home, and I’m always on a quest to add more variety and novelty to mine. The secret is in hitting on the right balance of flavours or textures, and pairing the dish with a dressing that uplifts it. I think I have a star in this one, and it’s delightful to me that it features one of the vegetables I have always enjoyed, alongside a fruit you just can’t go wrong with during an Indian summer.

I’ve spoken about mangoes plenty of times on this blog, so let me share my love for sweet potatoes as well.

The first way in which I enjoyed sweet potatoes was in a thick kheer or payasam that I used to have as a child. When they were in season and therefore plentiful, my mother would boil them, mash them and add milk. This would make for a very healthy dessert that required no further sweetening. She was an expert at such exquisitely simple milk-based desserts, and inspired me to create some of my own.

Certain memories come up when one contemplates any kind of familiar food. For me, the other important personal and cultural association that sweet potatoes evoke is that they are one of the ingredients that are permissible during the Faraali fasting that takes place in the month of Shravan, observed by Vaishnav Gujaratis. My mother maintained these fasts while we were growing up, and during those times she ate sweet potatoes frequently, and so did we.

Faraali is a relatively lenient type of fasting: it is not that consumption is not allowed, but that certain types of harvest are not permissible. Grains are taboo during this time, whereas tubers like sweet potatoes and yams form the bulk of the fasting menu.

Years later, through my Macrobiotics studies and my constant inquisitiveness about culinary science, I am able to understand and admire the beautiful logic of all fasting traditions, from Lent to Ramadan to Paryushan. I realise that Faraali must originally have been all about honouring the cycles of nature, avoiding certain types of harvest so as to allow the soil and the plants to replenish themselves during the rainy month of Shravan. It would also be the right time for the human body to purify itself with vegetables and fruits, as the weather would mean that people stepped out less and would also not be able to work in the fields. Fewer carbohydrates would be required, as less energy was required, so grains need not to be a part of the diet during that time. This is my perspective on the reasons behind this religious practice, and I often feel that when we think deeply about rituals, many of them will have a practical function behind them. Our ancestors were far more in sync with nature than we are, and had the wisdom to develop daily and seasonal routines that respected and kept this balance.

So for us today, as modern human beings with eclectic palates, one way to stay in sync is to accept that heavy lunches in the summer time make us more lethargic, and can diminish our productivity over the rest of the day. Salads cut out the heavy carb load of rice and grains, while also being filling, delicious, nourishing – and visually vibrant, which improves the mood and whets the appetite. If you’re a fan of this food category, be sure to explore my archives, where I’ve shared many of the tried-and-true salads that are super hits at home: this one where the passion fruit dressing is the star, another season-suitable mango salad, a nutritious millet salad, and a few dishes you may not have thought of as salads but really are, like peach salsa, sundal and green moong bhel. Another health-boosting eating habit is to regard a salad not as an appetiser or an accompaniment, but as a meal-in-a-bowl. It’s really just about portions.

Coming specifically to this summery sweet potato and mango salad, I am often a bit suspicious of the unusual sweetness of the sweet potato chips that many restaurants serve, and I prefer making them myself. The technique is very easy, as you’ll see below. You can substitute the sweet potatoes for yams, and use the same thin-sliced technique to fry them. These crispy sweet potatoes are what I use in this salad. If you prefer not to fry them at all, you can have them steamed and sliced. It all depends on the textures you’re building the salad with, and any health or taste preferences that you may have.

 

Seasonal Sweet Potato And Mango Salad

(Yield: 1 bowl)

 

½ cup sliced sweet potato

½ cup sliced ripe sweet mango

2 cups lettuce

½ onion

2 tablespoons coriander leaves

1 teaspoon olive oil

1 tablespoon sunflower seeds

 

Dressing:

Salt to taste

1 tablespoon honey

2 tablespoons lemon juice

4 tablespoons pomegranate juice

A pinch of black pepper

1 tablespoon olive oil

 

In a bowl, add all the dressing ingredients together. Store this in the fridge.

Heat a pan and add the oil. Once the oil has heated, add the sliced sweet potato. Make sure the sweet potato is sliced thin so that it can cook faster. Cover with a lid and allow to cook for a few minutes on a low flame.

Then, remove the lid and increase the flame to medium. Allow the slices to turn crisp. Flip them to ensure that both sides are well done. Once they are fried, set them aside.

Prepare the salad by putting the sliced onion and torn lettuce into a bowl. Add the fried sweet potato crisps and the fresh mango slices on top. Add the dressing, garnish with coriander leaves, and mix gently. Allow to cool for some time, and serve.

I hope you’ll enjoy the mix of crispiness and sweetness in this simple yet satisfying sweet potato and mango salad. It’s just perfect for this hot weather, and keeps you light on your feet after the meal. Speaking of the summer, since we are in mango season here in South India, you can expect next weekend’s post to celebrate the fruit. In the meanwhile, maybe you’ll want to check out the many ways the mango has starred in my recipes over the years?