Lifestyle
Tired of the usual aamras and aam panna, DNA invited herself into the kitchens of four communities for variety.
Updated : May 14, 2011, 10:21 PM IST
Tired of the usual aamras and aam panna, DNA invited herself into the kitchens of four communities for variety.
A Tam-Brahm tradition
Given the things the sight and smell of the mango can do to someone, calling it the king of fruits seems too simplistic an epithet. If you had seen the way it makes two septuagenarians squeal, moan and hop around their kitchen, you’d feel compelled to do more justice to the fruit — may be call it the Endorphin Inducer or a Trampoline for the Senses (we warned you it does funny things to one’s head).
Meena and Vijaya Venkateshwaran are quite oblivious to my grins at their heightened euphoria. Vijaya is but a blur — her tiny frame rushes from one end of the kitchen to peel the mangoes, pulp them, bring them to a boil — all at once. “We Tamilian Brahmins love our Mambahza Pulliserry and Pachadi. They are quick to make and have a cooling effect on the body. My mother, who passed away last November at 96, cooked it for us every other day — just like she did every time for over 60 years when mangoes arrived,” explains Meena animatedly. Bitter fights and dire threats ensued in the Venkateshwaran household over mangoes — if the sisters refused to buy their mother dozens of all mango varieties for the sake of her health, she warned them she’d go out on the streets and hand over the money to the first passer-by she met.
Suddenly, Vijaya, Meena’s sister, firmly holds me by my shoulders and looks straight into my eyes. “Do you know the mango is just like a banana tree.” I look at her uncomprehendingly. “I mean, like every part of the banana tree is useful, the mango, too, can be used to make the main dish, an accompaniment, a dessert and a chutney.”
And then, in a flash, she jumps from her seat, takes a raw mango and cuts them into fine pieces. “Since we are at it, let’s make her a pickle and some mango chutney, too.” In 40 minutes, the duo lays out the Pullissery, Pachadi, Manga Curry (pickle) and Manga Chammandi (chutney) (they debate on what to call the dishes, since “it will be all over the papers”).
The mango does bring out their sweet side.
Pulissery
Ingredients:
1 onion, 2-3 green chillies, 2-3 Red chillies, 2-3 small ripe mangoes, ¾ coconut, ½ tsp turmeric powder, ¼ tsp methi (uluva) powder, ¼ tsp cummin (jeera) powder, 2½ thick butter milk
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Inspired by Tagore, no less
It is difficult to say whether it is the effect of mangoes or whether Shyamal Chakraborty, 73, is always the bundle of restless, very happy energy that he is. The first time his wife, Tapati, says ‘mango’, Shyamal gesticulates spiritedly and turns the conversation to how he first churned milk, cream, sugar and mangoes in big earthen pots to make mango kulfi. “It was a big day for me, and it was so much better than to just wait while my mother did it.”
Tapati smiles patiently and nods, as if to tell him that it’s time she finished her conversation. Shyamal smiles back and continues, mostly to her. “Don’t you remember the time I made mango kulfi after we got married? Wasn’t it just the best?” Tapati looks at me and smiles. “Most Bengali homes regularly dole out aamer dal and aamer chutney. We aren’t really supposed to have it because of our strict diets, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to indulge once in a while…” she says, clearly glad to have had an excuse to cook the mango dishes.
For Tapati, the anticipation for mangoes didn’t start with just aamer dal and chutney when she was a child. It began the moment she went to her orchard in the summer vacations to pick mangoes, hide them in her frock and cross a lake to go home. Shyamal, too, has a childhood memory. “I used to eat mangoes like Rabindranath Tagore wrote about it —chaatchaatkaraisekhatamkardete the kicheetibhiropade (I would lick it off so clean that an ant would break down)!
Aamer Dal
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You’d love to be in this pickle
No matter how many kilograms of mango pickles Ami Desai prepares every year, she “cannot grow up enough”. “Even now, when I take the mangoes up to the terrace to let them dry, I cannot help but eat a few pieces — something my mother will still scowl at.” She calls it the most fulfilling experience which drains you of all moral fibre you may have. “Can you imagine working with kilos and kilos of mangoes for hours every day and not polishing it off?”
The Gujarati community takes its pickles very seriously. Recipes are heirlooms and most mothers teach their daughters the art of pickle-making years before they decide to get married. Lesser-known varieties of mangoes — laadva and rooz — are handpicked and secret ingredient mixtures are concocted after numerous experiments. “The 8-12 days each family spent making pickles every year were boisterous. Neighbours and extended families invited themselves over, and help grate the mangoes.” Thats where Desai got her habit of stealing a few mango pieces and hiding them for later. She and her friends often extended their play time to tip-toe up to the terrace to bite into the pieces.
Today, the pickle-making process is a solitary exercise — something Desai regrets. “There are ‘healthy’ options for pickles in the market these days — less oil, less sugar and salt. My children aren’t as fond of pickles as I was as a child, but I make them to keep my tradition alive. It’s just something I ‘have’ to do…”
Gol Sambhari
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It’s best done in a mess
I wouldn’t grudge anyone the envy — going around people’s homes all week, sampling how different communities cook mango delicacies sounds like the perfect start to the mango season.
But, mangoes can make life very difficult, too. You enter a home and have no where to look but at those peeled ovals of perfection, laying back lazily in plates, at their juiciest best. Worse, sometimes you may offer to help around with cutting the lush fruit into pieces, their pulp running down your fingers. Fighting the urge to bite into them, while smiling at your hosts, isn’t what I call character-building stuff.
I purse my lips and look away, at Malini Kalyanpur, 73, who is at her motherly best during the mango season. Her son has nothing less than two mango dishes most days of the week — including sasam, the traditional mango delicacy Chitrapur Saraswat Brahmins swear by.
“I don’t get to grow my own mangoes like I did in my childhood, nor will I ever see those big mangoes making their way into my home,” says Kalyanpur, holding her hands six inches apart to indicate the size. But, she adds, what she can still do is keep her tradition alive for her children and grandchildren.
“Sasam is well-known, but an old mango dish called kuvul isn’t. It is made by boiling mangoes in masalas and jaggery and tastes best with rice.”
She’s right. Four large uncut mangoes float in a reddish-brown gravy of red and black pepper and jaggery. I know what I really want to do, but hesitate all the same. Kalyanpur smiles. “There’s no other way to enjoy kuvul. Keep the spoon aside. Pick up that mango, squeeze it to draw some pulp, dip it into the gravy and enjoy it. You won’t regret the mess.” She is right — an explosion of tang, spices and sweetness leaves little place for anything else.
Saasam
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