Of food that spells home and hope

Poha. I don’t have a count of how many times have I cooked Poha. I don’t even have a count of how many times someone has rolled their eyes over how often I cook Poha. That’s how often I cook it. As a kid, I never enjoyed Poha. Between my brother and me, he was the Poha person and I was the Maggi person. Sometime he would accommodate Maggi in a meal, some days I would accommodate Poha in a meal. After all, that is what siblings do.

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For the uninitiated, Poha is nothing but flattened rice. I grew up in Madhya Pradesh where no matter which city you are in, the streets are flocked with Poha Jalebi stalls. Poha is among the staple forms of breakfast in the state and definitely the healthiest, given that the other options are all deep fried- samosa, kachori, bhedai, to name a few. Not only that, it’s simple to make too, all you do is stir fry mildly soaked Poha in with salt, red chilli powder and turmeric, add onions and roasted peanuts and top it with namkeen, some extra masala and lemon to taste. However, it didn’t seem as simple when I first made them.

I was 12 and my parents weren’t home for a week, which left me, my brother and my grandmother at home. There was a Sunday when I proposed that we would eat Poha for lunch because I was sick of eating all those North Indian takeaways which basically are differently cut cottage cheese in cream gravy. My brother had his reservations because elder brothers always have reservations and because he found the idea- of his favored Poha being subjected to my experimental cooking- quite discomforting. An hour, an errand to the grocer and a couple of arguments later, I served him Poha which he told me was dry, needed a little salt and a lot of lemon. To me, it was Poha which did need salt but it didn’t need the green chilies, coriander, fried potatoes and that dash of lemon and sugar. I couldn’t understand why the recipe needed so many small ingredients and why did the recipe span across so many steps.

Over the years, I have learned to cook Poha. A lot of Sunday breakfasts at my home are made up of Poha. My brother who once eyed my Poha with contempt often favors mine over my mother’s. To him, what I make is the virgin Poha; I stick to the classic recipe without any deviations. And we do have a couple of deviations at our home, one recipe has fried onions over raw onions, one recipe includes peas and tomatoes, one recipe is Poha bordering on lines of Upma. But what I make is the classic Poha, the one that we have grown up eating.

I often joked that if I were to ever go in a Masterchef Audition, I would make Poha for the judges and spin an emotional story on how this stands for my childhood and my first serious step in cooking. My mother would then point out, how my chances of making into the Masterchef were so bleak, given that I didn’t cook at all. I knew how to make a few variations of sandwiches, instant noodles and pulao. Primarily, I was comfortable with a recipe that required salt, black pepper, red chilli powder and turmeric. But beyond that cooking seemed like a different ball game altogether. Why my mother had shelves full of medium to small jars of whole spices, ground spices, mixture of different spices, dried herbs, perplexed me. Every Indian household has a namakdani, a circular container with 9-10 small bowls to keep everyday spices and when I opened ours I couldn’t tell the garam masala and dhaniya powder apart. My mother who is not only a brilliant but a zealous cook occasionally encouraged me to learn a few recipes citing concerns over what will I eat once I move out of the house and what will I cook once I get married. But I never succumbed to her persuasions.

I moved to Bangalore in November last year. For a month, fascinating food made its way to my plate. Like the beetroot at lunch every Wednesday, the Greek salad which had more feta than vegetables to even qualify as salad, bland under cooked lady finger, lady finger cooked in a tomato gravy, pale green scrambled eggs with a hint of salt, under cooked chick peas and kidney beans, fried rice that contained a whole star anise in every second bite and lentils that had no gravy and no taste whatsoever. Thus, what my mother could not achieve in years, Bangalore achieved in a month. I made a call to my mother asking her for the recipe of Dry Urad Dal. That evening, I bought split urad from DMart and marched into the kitchen to make something that spelled ‘home cooked food’.

I put half a bowl of dal in one bowl of water. I added salt, turmeric and baking soda to it and let the water boil on the stove. As my mother had explained it to me, the trick here is to let the dal cook in the water till it is al dente. This prevents the dal from being a mushy mess once it’s finally done. The original recipe requires asafetida and cumin seeds, however I did not have any of them, so I stir fried garlic, onions, green chilli and tomato in that order. I added salt and red chilli powder to the vegetables and tossed the boiled dal in them. I let the dal simmer on the stove. Once it was cooked, I added garam masala and finally like a true Sanjeev Kapoor patron garnished it with coriander. Since one day calls for one experiment, I decided to do away with making dough and chapattis; instead I bought a pack of ready to cook chapattis from a nearby store. At the end of the meal, I felt satisfaction. My dinner reeked of simplicity, flavor and a little bit of home.

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That night and on the nights that followed I sent pictures of my food to my mother. She was surprised at the transformation and so was I. But like they say that necessity is the mother of all inventions and my kitchen experiments were probably a result of my longing for home cooked food. On the night of lohri, I craved the achari aloo that my mother usually makes with the oil and the spices leftover after cooking stuffed karela. I called her for the recipe but maybe she was at the Lohri celebrations and hence did not take the call. Finally, I fried the potatoes and made the masala purely on instinct. I took a bite and felt that though it was close to what my mother cooks, there is something amiss with the taste and the color. My mother always warned me that if you add garam masala during the process of cooking, the final dish will be of a darker color; since I was aiming for dark color with the potatoes, so I added the garam masala and it elevated the color and the taste.

Then one day, I made chhole (chickpeas). Because no matter where I had eaten chhole in Bangalore, they were never cooked through; they always felt slightly undercooked as if they needed another whistle in the pressure cooker. My mother has two variations for chhole as well- the one that we call langar wale chhole because I first ate them in a langar and the one that she makes with bhature. Langar wale chhole are cooked in a gravy of tomatoes, onions, ginger garlic and turmeric. However I am biased towards the latter, because they are both spicy and sour and make for a comprehensive feast for the taste buds. So I made the latter sans the bhature because one experiment at a time. The most cumbersome vegetable that I made was ladyfinger perhaps. The amount of attention it demands in drying, cutting, cooking and keeping it from sticking to the pan is baffling. I mean, if lady fingers were human, their behavior would warrant therapy for being so attention seeking.

Not all days were triumphant in the kitchen. I made over cooked moong dhuli dal. I hate overcooked dal but how do you hate the product of your own hands. If you have made the mistake of keeping dal in the refrigerator and eating it the next day, you will know how lumpy it feels while gulping. That is how my fresh dal tasted. My cousin and I spent two hours trying to make besan ka chilla and we started at 10 in the night. Two hours of our lives were dedicated in getting one chilla whole out of the pan and when we did manage that feat, it tasted dry. We scraped off the scrambled bits from our plates, listing out all the other (read better and viable) things that we could have made for dinner.

I cannot identify the exact stimulus which sustained my interest in cooking over the last few months. Cooking at home is definitely simpler, cheaper, tastier and healthier (read less creamy and oily). I have always enjoyed eating what my mother cooked for us at home over restaurant food. Given a choice, I would never go to a North Indian restaurant because my mother’s food is a very difficult yardstick to match. So maybe I find comfort in the fact that there are a few modest recipes where I can come close to what I have grown up eating.

There was this day when I was making kadhi and I took out 7-8 jars of spices. My cousin laughed and remarked, “Didi ghar par jitney masale hote hain woh sare dalne hote hain kya?”. (Do we have to use all the spices that we have at home?) Remember how I felt about all those small ingredients and steps involved when I first made Poha. Between that day and this day, I have made a huge turnaround. I no longer find the expanse of the spices housed in my mother’s kitchen perplexing; in fact I have a 16 jar spice tower which houses a variation of ground, whole and dried spices. I have seen quite an eventful (read tumultuous) 2017 and if I can come up with even one thing to smile about, I take the time and appreciate it. My transition in the kitchen is undoubtedly one of them. Some things just require a little effort and commitment. Sometimes there are hidden possibilities in what we are inadequate at. I took a chance at trigonometry after 8 years and I understood that; the same topic that led me to believe I’d fail my class 11 final exam. But that is a story for another time. This was about my takeaways from kitchen- an open mind, an honest effort and a little confidence can yield happy surprises.

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What about you? What have been your lessons from cooking so far?


In case you are interested in reading more about food and hope, you should hop on to my previous two part post-

 

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Author: Palak

A young woman who is busy carving a small niche for herself in this huge world. People intrigue me and had it not been for a career charted out in finance I could have made one helluva psychologist. I am fond of reading fiction and equally fond of holding on to a story for a while so as to analyze the way it shaped up. Television, movies and slow music are some of my other interests. I am an obsessive thinker and observer and being an absolute coffee addict and semi-somniac leaves me with ample of time to be one. This blog is an attempt to take note of some of the thoughts that cross my mind and a few of my experiences.

8 thoughts on “Of food that spells home and hope”

  1. I like your question (and great descriptions and photos – I’m really hungry now!) The lessons I learned came from cooking are really applicable in anything I do:

    Love and good attitude have to be present for a good outcome. I’m thinking now about how you described cooking. It sounds like your mind was very much on your family as you did it. You were not, for example, regretting that you had to cook or overwhelmed with the amount of work. You weren’t questioning all of the little efforts with each tiny ingredient.

    The other thing that is required is commitment. You can’t half-want to do a good job cooking and expect a good meal to come of it. If you start cooking with a “I’m going to do my best” attitude your chances of success are much greater. For sure this applies nearly everywhere in one’s life.

    I liked your reference to Masterchef also. My family and I are huge fans of Masterchef Australia (the most positive and supportive one of them we’ve seen). I really enjoyed Masterchef India when I have seen it – but finding episodes with subtitles is difficult. I speak some Hindi but my vocabulary is still quite small even after several years (maybe I need to go back and re-read that previous paragraph! 😉 )

    1. The strange thing about food is that whatever is going on in your mind, it translates into the plate. So, if you look at it as a chore, your food will reflect that. Maybe, that’s what I did wrong as a child.
      As a matter of fact, I prefer Masterchef Australia over Masterchef India. I love how cheerful and encouraging the judges are at all times. Even the contestants are so kind to each other, always helping and prompting whenever need be.
      Also, my apologies for all the Hindi references, I was going to include a link for all of them but writing 1800 words at a stretch does leave you quite lazy 😂😂

      1. Don’t apologize – the practice is just what I need. I don’t intend to have the vocabulary of a toddler forever and the only way to change that is to work at it. 🙂

  2. Okay, so I had this list of untold resolutions of new year with me of which the very first was to learn to cook. I was excited for a couple months when I started off with cooking Poha. The first time I tried cooking it under my mom’s guidance and later I tried on my own and both the time it tasted nice. That day, I declared to myself that I have learned to cook Poha but I don’t know how confidently I would say that today because I didn’t take a chance with it again. The history is repeating itself and I am continuing to be failure at my resolutions like years in the past. 😛
    On separate note, I like Poha very much. I have tasted all the variations of Poha mentioned above but I prefer classic one which gets cooked at our home very often. I guess, Poha is the obvious and easy choice to start with when it comes to leaning to cook. Glad to hear that you chose it to start with and have transformed over the months. It surely is a great deal. Kudos! I consider the cooking very difficult as it tests your sense of perfection. It takes time too but I don’t know how my mom cooks so much of food in very less time. I know experience gets count but it seems like magic sometimes. All in all, I still am hoping to learn a few of recipes till the year ends and keep my words. I had captured the photo of Poha at my first attempt too. I hope, I would make such attempts at other recipes and post the photos on my blog. 😀

    1. The first person in ages who knows what Poha is and who has grown up eating it. You don’t know what a relief is it to find you. Mothers are such wonder women when it comes to cooking. By the time we manage to get up, they sort us for 3 meals, which is quite commendable. In fact, more than cooking, the tedious task is to decide the meal everyday and to keep the kitchen well stocked.
      Here’s a lot of luck for your future ventures in the kitchen. But trust me, Indian recipes are easy to make, most of them are almost identical. In case you need a push, I have a tomato shorba recipe which just takes 30 minutes and I find it much better than the ready to make/restaurant versions.

      1. haha… I can relate to the feeling. I used to doubt the popularity of Poha in the past, especially among Indian states other than Maharashtra. But, I stopped doubting when I took the trip to Rajasthan a year ago. I found Poha stalls at every corner of the cities like Jaipur. It was surprising but a relief too. I also had searched the topic on Google to cross check its popularity. Actually, Poha is a very common food for breakfast here in Maharashtra. It has created a sort of reputation for itself in Marathi culture and we call it ‘Pohe’ in Marathi. Just to let you know, I ate it in the evening yesterday. 😉

        Yes, Tomato Shorba is always welcome. I wonder, if you know how to make ‘Pohe ka chivda’, a crispy-namkeen version. Don’t know what do you call it over there at your place but I am sure you must be familiar with that. 🙂

      2. Haha, my mother makes that fried chivda sometimes on Holi. It has fried Poha, cornflakes, sabudana and peanuts tossed in salt, red chilli powder and amchoor.

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