Great Beginnings...

Some time ago, when I was shopping at a nearby Mother Dairy, a lady who spotted me with a bunch of drumsticks asked what I do with them. She said she had only ever seen South Indians or Bengalis buying them. I told her they make a great sambar, or aviyal, so she asked me, Do you cook South Indian very often and how and so on. Naturally it tumbled out that I was a South Indian, so the next thing you know, she's asking me, "Do you know how to make dosas? I can never get them right." I said I always botch mine too while spreading them on the tawa. Then she asks, "So what proportion of urad do you use to rice?" "I haven't the faintest. I only make them from the MTR mix", I confessed to which she shook her head in disbelief. "I've never heard of a South Indian who uses the ready mix", before disappointedly going off.

Honestly, I confess, I do regularly and freely use the MTR idli and dosa mix. They spare me the pain and the time of soaking, grinding, then fermenting and then waiting to see if things turned out right or not. MTR's ready to eat food sucks, the North Indian dishes in their repertoire, rather, but their khaara bhaath is another winner. When we lived in France, on Sundays after our grocery shopping and walking home lugging heavy bags that cut grooves into our fingers and an extended session of house cleaning, we'd have khaara bhaath for a sumptuous and satisfying lunch.

MTR's rava idli mix is another winner, the catch being that you have to put in the right amount of sour curds ( yoghurt). The recipe printed on the pack specifies about 750 ml per 500 gm pack but I like to put in about 900 ml - basically, enough so the idli batter has the consistency of honey or pancake batter. That way the idlis turn out super-moist and light. Another trick is to ensure one doesn't overfill the idli moulds - put in enough to barely cover the cup, it definitely should heap up on top.

Today, with something as simple and yet perfect as rava idli, we've had such a great start to the day that it seems like the rest of the day will be awesome. I mixed up a batch of MTR's rava idlis, duly liquid-ey. We made a simple coconut chutney sans coriander leaves today. And I had made the classes huli ( sambar) with sambar onions yesterday in preparation. Add to it litchis, cold from the fridge, rich with juice and sweet as honey, fresh watermelon juice, the kids eating in blessed and rare silence, and a brisk breeze wafting in from the garden...And such a sense of wellbeing flooded us that it seemed like, at that moment, we could ask for nothing more in life.

Recipes

Rava Idli
I packet MTR mix ( will yield up to 30 idlis)
900 ml sour yoghurt
Pinch salt

Mix half the yoghurt into the idli mix, along with the salt. Wait for 2 minutes, then mix in the rest of the yoghurt slowly and blend well. Make sure the batter has the texture of pancake batter.

Grease the idli moulds lightly. Add about 250 ml of water into the pressure cooker. Pour the batter into the greased idli moulds ( don't heap the batter in), and steam in the pressure cooker, with the whistle off, for 12-14 minutes. Take the moulds out and let cool slightly before using a knife to prise the idlis out. Serve hot, topped with homemade tuppa (ghee).

Coconut chutney
I fresh coconut, grated
3-4 green chillies
1 lemon-sized ball of tamarind, soaked in 1 cup warm water
Handful of roasted chana
1 inch piece of ginger
Pinch hing ( asafoetida)
1 tsp urad seeds
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 handful curry leaves
Salt to taste

Squeeze the tamarind so it releases all its pulp into the water, then strain the water. Grind together all the ingredients with half cup water until finely ground.

Prepare seasoning: heat the oil. Then add the mustard seeds and wait until they splutter. throw in the urad seeds. When they are pale brown, add in the heeng and the curry leaves and switch off the stove. Quickly pour on top of the chutney, add salt and mix well.

Huli/ Sambar
1 cup arhar dal, cooked until soft and then whisked
2 cups sambar onions, peeled and then parboiled in salt water, strained
2 tbsp sambar powder
1 limesized tamarind, soaked in half cup warm water, squeezed and the water then strained
1 limesized jaggery lump
Salt to taste
Pinch turmeric
1 tsp chili powder
1 handful curry leaves
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tbsp vegetable oil

Put a large saucepan on to the heat. Add in the arhar dal, sambar onions ( store the water for thinning out the sambar later, if required), tamarind water, sambar powder ( instructions for making it are on my blog someplace), jaggery, turmeric, salt and chili powder and bring to a boil. Let it boil for 5 minutes and turn off the heat.

Make the seasoning by heating the oil, tossing in the mustard seeds and waiting for them to splutter and then throwing in the curry leaves. Add the seasoning to the huli and serve hot.

Grandma's kitchen

Growing up, we went to South India every summer to visit our relatives. In Bangalore, we'd stay with Grandma (ajji) and Grandpa (thatha), mom's parents, and then go on to Mysore where my dad's parents lived, along with his eldest brother and his family. I loved visits to Mysore, because my cousins who were of a similar age lived there and we were as close as sisters. The Mysore family was warm and lively and had a great zest for life, and we used to instantly become a part of their lives when we visited, not visitors at all.

Visits to Bangalore were more sedate, because my maternal grandparents were very different from my paternal grandparents. They were very disciplined and strict and their house was quiet. We had to be careful not to make any noise.No other kids lived nearby so it was just me and my sister who is six years younger, and not much company at that age for me. I used to raid thatha's library - and he had a superb set of hardbound books brought out by the Times around 1920, of the world's best detective stories, a condensed version of the world's greatest novels and so on. I read the unabridged version of Oliver Twist when I was around six, and reading and re-reading these books was pretty much the only recreation.

Ajji was somehow even more forbidding, even though we knew she loved us. She was highly orthodox, which meant all kinds of rules to be followed. We had to leave our slippers inside the front porch of the house. In the mornings, she'd rise very early, around 5 am, and have a bath. Every day, she'd wash out her saree for the next day, along with the blouse and petticoat and hang it up on a really high set of rods - they were set at about 8 feet high and ajji was only 5 feet tall, so she had a long pole she'd learnt to manouevre expertly to put her clothes up there. No one was supposed to touch these, because they were 'madi' or cleansed. After her bath, she'd enter the kitchen ( never before), brew coffee for everyone and then do her puja before she made breakfast. No one was supposed to enter the kitchen before they had bathed, and no one was supposed to touch her before she was done cooking for the day.

We as kids were always a bit confused about the rules, and when we could approach her and when we couldn't, which worked to put us at a little bit of a distance from her. She on the other hand was a traditional south Indian, which meant she was reserved about expressing her emotions. Her love for us kids would mostly be expressed through a series of strictures about obeying our parents and behaving well, which we found kind of boring. The other way she expressed her love, which I came to understand only much later, was through cooking.

Ajji took incredible pains over cooking for her grandkids. Inevitably when we reached their home, we'd find that ajji had made coconut burfee - a sweet concoction with fresh or dry coconut, sugar, cardamom etc. We all loved ajji's coconut burfee, and even today when she sends me a care package, this is usually one of the things she puts in. She used to make a potato palya with very finely cubed potatoes - they were barely 3 millimeters in width and height. It used to take her hours of slaving over a medium heat stove, stirring constantly to bring them to the perfect state of crispness, and she unfailingly used to make them whenever we visited - a real labour of love.

One thing she used to regularly make for breakfast was uppittu. This was thatha's favourite breakfast too, so we'd have it at least twice a week. Uppittu is made with semolina, and ajji used to find really fine grains of mustard seeds to flavour it with. The final dish the way ajji turned it out was fluffy, warm, mildly spicy and somehow tender with the love she had for all of us. Whenever ajji visits, I still ask her to make it every few days, and it has been a favourite of every one of her 7 grandchildren, and her great grandson - my son. Though I do make it for breakfast myself, somehow I feel my version lacks the secret ingredient ajji puts into it - a lifetime of love and sacrifice for those she loved.

Years later, after I'd had my son, ajji and thatha came to visit and help out with their first great grandchild. We shared stories as wives and mothers, and I came to know the person behind the name. I heard her backstory and learned to appreciate the quiet strength as well as the adventurous nature of this 78 year old who still walked or took buses everywhere. She had travelled the length and breadth of India on bus tours, all by herself, way back in the 50s. The woman who wouldn't eat watermelon because she thought it was red like meat was also the one who climbed up the mountain to Vaishnodevi on foot at the age of 65. The traditionalist who always followed the rules was first in line to dance in my cousin's baraat.

I sometimes wonder what she would have done given the freedom and opportunities we have now. Despite her quiet exterior and her fragile appearance, she's a woman of great strength, and in some way, the strength comes from the fact that she has always been about giving. I just hope by the time I get to her age I have even half her grit, her ability to give and her enjoyment of life.

Uppittu

Ingredients:
1 cup slightly coarse-grained semolina ( available at any Indian store - ask for sooji)
800 ml water
2-3 green chillies, finely chopped
1 tsp fine black mustard seeds
Curry leaves - 1 sprig
1 tsp urad dal
1 tbsp groundnut oil
Handful grated fresh coconut
Salt to taste

1. Put the water on to boil.
2. Meanwhile, heat the oil in a bandley ( wok).
3. Add the mustard seeds and wait for them to crackle and pop.
4. Add the urad dal and wait for it to brown slightly. Quickly add the green chillies and the curry leaves.
5. When the curry leaves turn crisp, add in the semolina and salt and stir to mix. Roast for 4-5 minutes until the semolina starts giving off an aroma but before it browns at all. By this time, the water should have started boiling.
6. Working quickly, turn the heat all the way down on the burner which has the semolina mix. Pour the hot water on top of all the ingredients in the wok, stirring to mix using a long handled spoon. (The mixture will dance around the pan like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever). There will be hissing sounds and the mixture will spit - just ignore the sound and fury and make sure the water reaches through the mix to the bottom of the pan. Cover the pan with a tightly fitting lid and let cook for 2-3 minutes.
7. Remove the lid and stir to mix the uppittu. Don't worry if there are grainy, uncooked looking bits of semolina in the pan. When you mix everything up together, they will get cooked.
8. Top with the grated coconut.

Serve hot, garnished with finely chopped coriander leaves, if you like. We loved eating this with homemade curds ( plain yoghurt) or sometimes with a dash of lemon juice.

This blog was sparked off by a wonderful reminiscence event by Vanilje's kitchen: Apples and thyme (http://vanielje.blogspot.com/2007/10/apples-thyme-celebration-of-mothers-and.html)