Mahanandi

Veena Parrikar is a dear friend of Mahanandi and me and an occasional guest author on Mahanandi. Her first article was on Iceland. This is her second article, an insightful and engaging cookbook review. I thank Veena for this wonderful contribution!
~ Indira

There are perhaps as many misconceptions about Indian cuisine as there are restaurants named “Bombay Garden”.

Indian food is tandoori chicken, aloo-matar, saag-paneer, and naan.
It is hot and spicy.
Vegetables are cooked to death.
It starts with frying onions and tomatoes to pulp and ends with a garnish of coriander leaves

One can hardly blame the Western and even some of the Eastern world for harboring these notions. Most Indian restaurants outside India serve the same tired old fare under various guises. The exceptions to these are the upscale “fusion-Indian” restaurants; after all, Indian food cannot be admitted into the Michelin club without a French or “contemporary” accent (pun intended). Over the past few years, South Indian restaurants have slowly gained ground and it is not uncommon to see a Chinese eating masala dosa with her bare hands or a middle-aged white guy slurping rasam at the neighborhood Madras Cafe or Udupi Palace in the USA. The silly notions about Indian food, however, are far from being a thing of the past. For example, the threat of homogenization, albeit of a different kind, hangs heavy like the odor of yesterday’s takeout. The complexity and variation among and within the cuisines of the four states of Southern India (Karnataka, Kerala, Tamilnadu, and Andhra Pradesh) could never be guessed if one were to go by the menus of these South Indian restaurants. Most of them do not stray far from the familiar idli, vada, masala dosa, uttappam, sambar and rasam, with an indifferent nod to some rice varieties, such as curd rice, lemon rice and tamarind rice. Desserts are still “balls in sugar syrup” (gulab jamun), “ricotta cheese in evaporated milk” (rasmalai), or the occasional rava kesari, leaving in the cold a rich repertoire of jaggery-based sweets that is one of the hallmarks of the cuisines of Southern (and some other states of) India.

To be sure, even within India, availability of the authentic, traditional fare is limited to small niche restaurants, special festivals at star hotels, or if you are lucky, at the homes of neighbors and friends from other communities. Your best bet then, is to recreate many of these dishes in your kitchen, with the help of such cookbooks as Meenakshi Ammal’s Cook and See, Chandra Padmanabhan’s Dakshin, Saranya Hegde’s Mangalorean Cuisine, Saraswat Mahila Samaj’s Rasachandrika, and Jigyasa-Pratibha’s Cooking at Home with Pedatha.

A new addition to this stellar lineup of traditional Indian cookbooks is Ammini Ramachandran’s Grains, Greens, and Grated Coconuts: Recipes and Remembrances of a Vegetarian Legacy.

Grains, Greens and Grated Coconuts ~ Cookbook by Ammini Ramachandran

Ammini’s book fills a lacuna in the Indian cookbook landscape. Books on the cuisine of Kerala abound; however, most of them have a predominance of seafood dishes. Small wonder then that Kerala food, like most other coastal cuisines, is perceived to be primarily non-vegetarian. One food writer and journalist in India even declared that most Malayali vegetarian dishes are terrible! One knows, of course, not to take such statements without the proverbial pinch of salt, and a large one at that. Having encountered the delectable and varied vegetarian fare of the coastal cuisines of Goa and Karnataka, I had always suspected a similar treasure existed in Kerala. Eating and learning it, was another matter altogether, what with the lack of Kerala-food restaurants, close friends from the state, or opportunities to set forth on a voyage of discovery to its shores. With Grains, Greens, and Grated Coconuts, some of the vegetarian food of Kerala is now just a coconut (or two) away.

The present state of Kerala was formed by the merger of Kochi (Cochin), Tiruvithamcore (Travancore), and Malabar. Each of these regions, originally Hindu, was subject to varying degrees of Muslim and Christian influences. Accordingly, Kerala cuisine represents the confluence of Hindu, Muslim, and Christian traditions. Grains, Greens, and Grated Coconuts presents the traditional vegetarian cuisine of central Kerala including some from the Kochi royalty. It is one of the first cookbooks to focus on a Hindu culinary tradition of Kerala.

Grains, Greens, and Grated Coconuts is one of the finest Indian cookbooks to have been written in recent times. Here’s why:

1. Traditional food, when presented for a worldwide (read Western) audience, undergoes a simplification, motivated largely by the authors’ and publishers’ goal to widen the book’s market reach. Recipes are modified to exclude exotic or not-easily-available ingredients; difficult processes might be eliminated or substituted with commercial alternatives; and dishes that do not conform to the health fad of the day might be passed over. Except for a few dishes, food from Kerala is obscure even to many Indians, leave alone the non-Indian readers. Ammini has barely made any changes to her family recipes, yet her presentation makes them seem extremely do-able. She does not hesitate to include preparations with such exotic vegetables as breadfruit, jackfruit, and suran. Ammini has pulled off a seemingly impossible feat in Grains, Greens, and Grated Coconuts: she has preserved the originality of her traditional family recipes, and made them accessible to those outside the tradition, without overwhelming the reader with tedious detail. Novice cooks might miss having pictures of the finished dishes; the clarity of instructions, however, make up for this to a very large extent.

2. There is none of the anything-goes attitude to ingredients adopted by many modern Indian cookbooks published in the West. No false assurances are provided about difficult ingredients such as coconut milk. She tells us that coconut milk powder can be used instead, but clearly informs that the taste will not be authentic. We are told right at the onset: “My mother always insisted, “Never skimp on the quality or quantity of ingredients,” and I believe it is the first lesson in good cooking.” This is reflected in the meticulous detail provided in the chapter on ingredients.

3. Ammini’s family recipes create dishes that would go a long way in dispelling some of the popular myths about Indian cuisine. Spices are used in skillful moderation (garam masala powder never makes an apperance in this book), the vegetables and grains hold their shape and retain their flavour, and you will encounter delicate and subtly-flavoured curries that will never be found in a restaurant.

4. There is a detailed chapter on the history and development of ancient spice trade in Kerala, and to those who have not previously enquired into such matters, this chapter offers many surprises. The book also provides a very engaging account of the kitchens, culinary customs, and festivals and celebrations of Ammini’s maiden family. A world that is now almost extinct rises vividly from the pages and for a brief while, you forget the harried and hurried pace of your existence (and the pre-made frozen food in your kitchen). This is a serious yet enjoyable work, not just another cloying food “memoir” that is in fashion these days.

The book has been written for a Western audience, but readers in India will find much of profit. Such ancient traditional recipes do not come by very often. I am no alarmist, but it seems as though our traditional cuisines will soon exist only within the homes of determined souls or in five-star hotels. Even wedding feasts in India – the last stronghold of traditional food – seem to have embraced a global integration philosophy: Mushroom Pasta and Gobi Manchurian now jostle for buffet space with tava vegetables, Spanish rice, and Shahi Paneer.

Our culinary traditions, not unlike our ancient classical music, have been poorly documented for far too long, what with the practitioners jealously guarding their treasures from outsiders for various reasons. With the passing of generations, more and more of this body of knowledge will be lost. We hope there will be many more Amminis, who will not only document their family or community recipes painstakingly and truthfully, but also share it generously with others.

Srimati Ammini Ramachandran ~ Cookbook Author

Clockwise:Toor Dal, Fresh Fenugreek, Tomatoes, Curry Leaves, Green Chillies, Potatoes, Lemons, Cilantro

Wash and clean the toor dal in several changes of water, until the water runs clear. If you are using oily toor dal, the oil must be washed off before starting to cook. Place the toor dal in a saucepan with two and a half cups of water and a half-teaspoon of turmeric powder. Bring it to a boil over medium heat, then turn down the heat, and cook for twenty-five to thirty minutes. (As an alternative, you may use a pressure cooker to cook the dal, following the manufacturer’s directions. It will take about six to eight minutes to cook in a pressure cooker.) As the dal cooks, it should be fairly thick but still liquid; stir in another half-cup of water if it is too thick. Mash the cooked toor dal thoroughly with a spoon, and set it aside.

Combine the potato (or taro), tomatoes, salt, turmeric, and two cups of water in a saucepan over medium heat, and bring it to a boil. Stir in the cilantro, fenugreek, and green chilies. Reduce the heat, and cook until the potatoes are fork tender. Stir in the cooked toor dal, and simmer for four to five minutes. Stir in the lemon juice. Remove it from the heat, and set it aside.

Heat two tablespoons of oil in a small skillet, and add the mustard seeds. When the mustard seeds start sputtering, add the halved red chili, asafetida, and curry leaves. Remove it from the stove, and pour the seasoning over the cooked curry. Cover and set aside for ten minutes, to
allow the flavors to blend. Serve hot with rice and a second curry.

Makes 4 to 6 servings if served with another curry, as is traditional.

Pacha Sambar: Sambar with Fresh Green Spices

~Guest Post by Veena Parrikar

Notes:
Ammini Ramachandran’s website : Peppertrail.com.
For a detailed list of contents and exceprts from the book, see www.peppertrail.com.
Grains, Greens and Grated Coconut is available at Amazon.com, iUniverse.com and Barnes&Nobles
Recommend this cookbook to your local libraries
Author and Book Cover Photo Credits: Ammini Ramachandran, Recipe Photo Credits: Rajan Parrikar
Veena Parrikar’s previous article at Mahanandi: Iceland

Some of my blog readers already know about Veena Parrikar, the incredible and generous lady who sent me gifts in appreciation of ‘Mahanandi’. Veena and her husband recently visited Land of Fire and Ice – Iceland. One may wonder why Iceland? If you are like me, the first question might be “What were the food traditions there”? When I requested her for a guest post, she kindly agreed to share her Iceland experience with me and with Mahanandi readers. I thank Veena for writing this wonderful article and sharing some beautiful pictures from Iceland with us. ~ Indira

The Colors of Iceland ~ Viti Crater

Last month, we visited Iceland for the first time. Except for a couple of days in the cities of Reykjavk and Akureyri, most of our trip was spent driving around the country, with stops in small towns and villages along the way. We drove for nine days, for the most part on the Ring Road that encircles the island, starting from Akureyri (Iceland’s second-largest city situated in the north, only 60 miles or so south of the Arctic Circle), heading east to Lake Mvatn, then along the eastern fjords towards southern Iceland, then a foray into the interior Highlands to the wondrous Landmannalaugar, finally making our way back to Reykjavk.

One of the great philosophers said that a man travels round the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find it. There are some things in Iceland that could probably never be experienced in the countries I call home (India and United States). Some are obvious – Nature in her most beautiful forms, yet so capricious, so forbidding, so untamed that it strikes fear in one’s heart. Others are not so obvious:

* It is the last inhabited unpolluted space on the earth. The environment and water are so pure and clean that they permeate every food item grown and prepared in Iceland, from the dairy products, chocolate, bread, and vegetables to the fish, lamb and other meat products.

* Very few places in the world can claim the silence, stillness and isolation one experiences in many parts of Iceland. There is not even the rustling of trees or the soft, muted noises made by tiny critters. The silence is so palpable that it envelops your ears and wraps itself around your mind like a thick fog, blurring out all mundane details.

* One encounters public rights in Iceland, a term that one forgets after years of living in the United States. Our tour guides informed us that travelers may walk into any farm or land and spend one night without the owner’s permission; for more than one night, you have to seek permission. Even in the most isolated of areas, we could walk into a farm or an open-air bakery and take pictures without fear of being questioned or shot at.

* The concept of tipping does not exist. No tips are given and there is no expectation of one -not in hotels, not in restaurants, not for taxis, nowhere! No bellboys hovering outside the hotels to take your luggage – you haul your own, which is the way I prefer it.

As anyone with a penchant for food is wont to do, I try to learn about the culinary specialties of any place that I intend to visit (after all, the best souvenirs are to be found in the local farms or grocery stores!). To a foreigner and a vegetarian at that, many of Iceland’s traditional dishes might sound rather extreme: H?karl ?”rotten” or cured shark, Svi? ? singed sheep’s head, and blood pudding to name a few. Oddly however, I felt neither disgust nor nausea when I came across some of these items. Iceland’s traditional cuisine was shaped by the exigencies of their land and harsh environment, where they could afford to waste nothing from the few food sources available. Iceland’s meat production entails none of the mechanized and beastly practices that are the hallmark of North American meat industries.

Iceland’s dairy products meet, no, surpass the highest standards of good taste and quality. Icelandic sheep and cattle breathe unpolluted air, graze on pure pastures, and are not subjected to cross-breeding, antibiotics or hormones. I was somewhat apprehensive about the vegetarian fare in Iceland, and had gone armed with packets of heat-and-eat food products. These quickly became unpack-and-throw products once we discovered the simple, yet extraordinarily flavourful vegetables-and-cheese sandwiches and soups in even the most unassuming caf’s. We found three Indian restaurants in Reykjavik – Shalimar (of course!), Indian Mango (which, to our pleasant surprise, was run by a Goan, George Holmes), and Austur India Fjelagid (“East India Company”). The last one, said to be the northern-most Indian restaurant in the world, was exceptional. As for souvenirs, I came back with Icelandic cheese, locally prepared rhubarb jam, which is absolutely delicious and not very sugary, and Icelandic milk chocolate.

Some scenes are forever etched in my memory. The sight of Mjifjrur the most remote and beautiful of Iceland’s fjords, with a population of 35, after a harrowing drive on a one-lane dirt track where every turn was a hairpin bend. The wild white reindeers that appeared on a mountain ledge out of the fog like some mythical creatures, unfortunately, or perhaps, fittingly so, we do not have pictures of this scene as it would have been dangerous to stop given the bad weather and treacherous winding road. The colony of white swans in a lake encounted briefly one dusky midnight when it still looked like twilight*; the eerie silence broken by their strange, bugle-like calls to each other. Like phrases from an exquisite melody only once heard, these scenes return to haunt the mind long after all tangible evidence of the visit has been either eaten or stored away in a closet.

* Iceland has 24 hours of daylight in the summer.

Keri, an explosion crater, around 3000 years old.

On the way to Lake Myvatn.

Sheep grazing in a field at Lake Myvatn – a very common sight in Iceland.

Close-up of a bubbling mud pool at Hverarnd.

Underground baking ovens near Bjarnarflag Thermal Station, where hverabrau, a traditional rye bread is slowly baked for over 20 hours using geo-thermal energy.

Hverabrau (traditional rye bread), which we were lucky to get fresh and warm out of the oven.

One of the hairpin bends on the way to Mjifjrur.

Arriving into Sey?isfj?r?ur, the most picturesque among the fjords of Eastern Iceland.

ingvallakirkja (1859), the beautiful church at ingvellir, the site of the world’s first parliament.

Rainbow near ingvellir. We saw five full rainbows on the same day!

The 17th century “house of prayer” at Npsstaur, a small farm in Southern Iceland. According to this site, the same family has lived on this farm since 1730.

Summer flora in Iceland.

After driving miles and miles with not a sign of life in sight,
this lone couple of swans reminded us that we were still on Earth.

Is it yogurt? Is it cheese? This is skyr, one of Iceland’s traditional delicacies. May be available in some parts of the United States

Hkarl (Preserved Shark) ~ An Icelandic Tradition
Fisherman Hildir showing us his hkarl at his farm in Bjarnarhfn. He regretfully informed us that the traditional occupation of fishing and preserving shark is declining.

Chef George Holmes outside his restaurant “Indian Mango”
My husband was thrilled to bits meeting him – imagine bumping into a fellow Goan in Iceland!

~ Guest Post by Veena Parrikar

My fondest childhood memories are of mealtimes at the home of my maternal grandparents where my grandmother- Annapurani in nature as in name- would whip up meal after magical meal prompting my late grandfather to often say in Sanskrit “Anna dhaata sukhi Bhava” (May the giver of rice be happy). If the story of a people’s deepest aspirations can be seen in their metaphor, then this poetic conflation of rice as food itself speaks volumes to the centrality of grain in the foodscapes of India’s many cultures.

One of the other remarkable features of the Indian subcontinent, is that depending on what filter or combination of these that you use- language, religion, culture, region, social identity, you could carve it up into a delightful array of unique variants of regional cuisines.

If I were to cite the major culinary influences that shape my own approach to cooking, I would pick out, as my example, my paternal grandmother Vathsala’s austere, methodical, cooking-with-what’s-on-hand-to minimize-waste? Kumbakonam Iyer style, with Annapurani’s elaborate, lavish, incredibly rich preparations shaped by her own life in Hyderabad and Bangalore; to my mother Jayanthi’s innovative style from her many travels, her tendency towards the fiery twists of her life in the Rayalseema region but always with a strong adherence to the authentic approach of her own paternal grandmother.

So when Indira asked me to guest blog, I could not think of a better tribute to my heritage and to the food grain that has sustained generations of my family, than the humble “Arisiuppma” with two of its popular variations “Thavalaadai” and “Pudikozhakattai”.

Ingredients:

(a) For the “Upma Odasal” or the cracked rice meal:
Rice- 1 cup (Using Brown basmati for this takes it to a whole new level of dense nutty chewy perfection but regular basmati or ay other rice especially par-boiled rice is quite acceptable and is the norm)
Urad Daal– 1 tsp
Toor Daal– 2 tsp
Dried red chilies- 4- 6 (depending on the level of spice tolerance)
Black peppercorns- 1 tsp
Cumin seeds- 1 tsp

(b) Tadka or seasoning:
Mustard seeds- 1 tsp
Urad dal– 1 tsp
Few Curry leaves
Green chilies- 3 to 4, chopped finely into rounds
Ginger root- 1inch, finely chopped .
Fenugreek seeds- Just a tiny pinch (optional)
Asafoetida- a pinch (the extract of the solid version soaked in water is ideal but the powdered form is acceptable too)
Sunflower oil- 1 tbsp (It is normally used but if you have the gutsJ, coconut oil tadka will make this dish quite ethereal.)
(c) Garnish:
Freshly grated coconut a fistful (can be omitted if it’s not preferred or my paternal aunt’s variation is to substitute it with sauteed onions)
(d) Salt to taste

Procedure:

1 In a blender/food processor coarse grind the ingredients listed under “(a)” to a cracked wheat consistency.

2 In a wide-bottomed pan, heat the oil and do the tadka.

3 Once the seeds start to sizzle and splutter, add fresh water in the proportion 1: 3 rice meal and water.

4 Once the water starts to boil, add in the coarsely grinded “(a)” list of ingredients and mix well.

Now when I made it this time, I had to ensure that my pipeline was effective since I was making three dishes with the exact same ingredients. Typically, one would only make one of the three preparations at any given time.

Up to step 4 above is common to all 3 dishes. After this point, the procedure diverges for each preparation.

When the mixture is well mixed and the water is just absorbed, take it off the heat. Depending on your heat tolerance, try not to let it cool down too much. Work rapidly using some cold water to wet hands and roll it into balls. Steam for about 8-10 minutes till done. A special twist here is to bury a smidgeon of jaggery in the center of this so you stumble upon a heart of sweet goodness as a surprise while biting into it.

After step 4, take it off the heat. Once it’s cooled down shape into patties and shallow fry on a griddle. Can be served with ketchup or any chutney if desired or just plain.

(Try as I might, I could not come up with a nifty English equivalent for this dish. Let’s hope this will enter the lexicon alongside the likes of Bulghur, Couscous and Cream of Wheat. )

Keep going from step 4 till the uppma is well done. To serve, especially for kids, a popular pairing is with some ghee and sugar. Pickle and yogurt is also a combination but mostly its just eaten plain and piping hot.

– Guest Post by Janani Srinivasan, Toronto
Jayasri Srinivasan – Ingredient lineups and picture arrangements
Dr.S.Ramachandran – Photographs

“Okay, it’s my turn now”, I said.

“What is your turn for?” she said with a curious look on her face.

“I want to make chips with the plantains we bought yesterday. You just relax and wait for a tasty snack I’m going to make for you”. I said to her. But it wasn’t just for her. It was for me too. I like plantain chips very much. But, I don’t get very good quality chips here. So, whenever I could find good quality plantains, I prepare the chips myself.

Making of plantain chips in-house started few years ago, when we were in Houston. We have a good friend, Sunil Sukumaran, who is a Keralite. I knew that plantain chips were popular snack food in Kerala and I always wondered how they were made. I thought that there would be some special process to make them, because they were different, tasted good and had a special flavor. During one of our visits to their house, I asked my friend Sunil.

“Sunil, do you know how these plantain chips are made? I like them a lot, they are really tasty.” I expected a very long answer. I will tell you the truth. I was getting ready to note down the details on a sheet of paper. But his answer surprised me. Just one sentence!

“Pick unripe plantains. Slice them into thin rounds and deep fry them in oil.”

“That’s all?!” I didn’t believe it.

“That’s all there to it, man. What more you want to do? That’s how we make them back home in Kerala. We use coconut oil to fry them, but you can also use peanut oil.”

You don’t know how much relieved I was. Oh, I can make my favorite snack food right in my home. That’s fantastic.

Houston is a very lively city with all kinds of people from all over the world. Also a great place to get all kinds of food and vegetables. Most importantly (for me), I could get four fresh plantains for a dollar! How nice! Bought four of them and brought them home. Washed them thoroughly and scraped the outer skin lightly. I didn’t remove the skin completely. Cut them into circular chips. In the meantime, I had a big cast iron frying pan with peanut oil heating on the stove. When the oil reached proper temperature for frying, I dropped the chips in oil. One after the other, I filled the pan until the whole oil surface was covered by the chips. Reduced the heat to medium-high, and fried them for about three or four minutes. I turned the chips in the pan occasionally to make sure that both sides are properly fried.

I was very happy. Why? I just made the first batch of plantain chips myself. They looked just like the chips I was used to buy in Kerala bakeries. I sprinkled little bit of salt and they were ready to eat. I thanked my friend in my heart for sharing the great secret with me.

Now, coming back to Boardman, Ohio, there I was making the chips again, for Indira (and myself too). A full bowl of chips were ready in just few minutes and they also disappeared in just few minutes. But, I was quick enough to take some pictures to share with you. Here they are, tasty and crunchy, homemade plantain chips.

Plantain with outer skin scraped and sliced into thin round chips

Deep-frying Plantain Chips in Peanut Oil

Homemade Plantain Chips

–Guest post by Vijay Singari

Click on the photo to enlarge

An unexpected gift from my blog reader Srimati Veena Parrikar. I first met her at a forum, fell in love with her depth of knowledge and deep understanding of our food culture and traditions.

I have written a post a while back on Mahanandi, inquiring about Indian food magazines. In response, she has mailed me two Indian food magazines (Tarla Dalal and Savvy), a cookbook- “Ruchira – Selected Maharashtrian Vegetarian Recipes” and also a packet of traditional Marathi ‘godaa or kala masala’. She purchased all of them during her recent visit to India.

Veena, thanks for the thought and thanks for these wonderful gifts!