Words by Priya Deshingkar
My parents came from the semi-arid Desh region in Kolhapur district in Southern Maharashtra which lies on the border between Karnataka and Goa. My maternal great-grandfather was a temple priest in Narsobachi Wadi, a pilgrimage town on the river Krishna, and my paternal great-grandfather was a lawyer and landowner who was involved in clandestine activities to help people fight land cases against the British. My paternal grandfather was also involved with resistance movements during Mahatma Gandhi’s time and continued to receive a freedom fighter’s pension until he died. I recently discovered through records kept in the village that his forebears had originally migrated from drought-stricken Pandharpur to this more fertile area of the Deccan Plateau ten generations ago. Some of my earliest memories of summer holidays are of the slow journey from my grandparents’ wada to the farm in a bullock cart. I loved visiting the farm where he would proudly show me around the fields growing sorghum, groundnut and paan vines. Eating tender groundnuts straight from the ground, where the seeds were barely formed and very sweet, was an experience I remember well.
My grandmother was always cooking, processing grains and other food items or doing something to do with her religious beliefs like Ekadashi fasts and keeping vows for the family god and goddesses. I used to spend afternoons with her while she spun the jata, to stone grind sorghum flour. Sorghum bhakri was the staple in my grandparents’ home and the flour had to be made frequently as it did not store well.
My grandmother was always cooking, processing grains and other food items or doing something to do with her religious beliefs like Ekadashi fasts and keeping vows for the family god and goddesses.
She was a great cook and every meal would contain at least bhakri or poli (wheat chapatis), amti (tur daal made with tamarind, jaggery and Kala Masala), a bhaaji (vegetable dish) like bharleli vangi, a fresh koshimbir (salad), a fresh chutney like green chilli thhecha, pickle, rice and yoghurt. The meals would reflect the seasons so amras (mango pulp) would be on the menu in the mango season and so on. The food was labour intensive and had clearly evolved when women were confined to the home, joint families were common and labour was cheap to hire in. The daughters in law would cook under their mother in law, with the help of servants, to produce incredibly sophisticated and detailed meals. It was customary to have a cooked breakfast, lunch, an afternoon tea time nashta which was also freshly cooked and then a late dinner. Breakfasts and nashta foods were distinct from the main meal – these were usually not rice, amti or bhakri but other foods like sabudanyachi khichdi, pohe and makyacha kees.
The food was labour intensive and had clearly evolved when women were confined to the home, joint families were common and labour was cheap to hire in. The daughters in law would cook under their mother in law, with the help of servants, to produce incredibly sophisticated and detailed meals.
These recipes travelled with my parents to Delhi when they moved there in the early 60s. My mother (Aai) had to adapt to the local ingredients as well as her timetable as she was a working woman. The recipes travelled once again with me across continents and seas when I moved to the UK. Another round of adaptation ensued with me substituting some of the ingredients with those easily available in the UK. I illustrate the adaptation of our family’s Marathi recipes in Delhi with the first recipe developed by Aai – Chholiye pohe. The second one is a less labour intensive version of the Marathi classic, Makyacha Kees that I make in the UK.
Chholiye Pohe
My mother would make pohe – husked, parboiled rice pounded and dried– with all kinds of vegetables. So we would have tomato pohe, kanda pohe, flower (cauliflower) pohe and during the short winter season for green chickpeas, chholiye pohe. This was her twist on the traditional pohe recipe with peas and/or peanuts which she substituted with chholiye. It was one of my favourites as the unique flavour of green chickpeas would infuse the pohe to elevate the entire dish. It was quick and easy too which suited her busy life in Delhi, working as a pathologist. She would often make pohe for breakfast or the evening nashta.
It was one of my favourites as the unique flavour of green chickpeas would influse the pohe to elevate the entire dish. It was quick and easy too which suited her busy life in Delhi, working as a pathologist.
Recipe
Serves: 2-4
Time: 30 minutes
Ingredients:
- 150 g medium or thick poha
- 130 g fresh chholiye
- 2 tsp cooking oil (preferably rapseed, sunflower, groundnut)
- 1-2 dried red chillies
- 1 tsp mustard seeds
- 1 tsp cumin seeds
- 8-10 curry leaves
- ¼ tsp asafotida powder
- ½ tsp turmeric powder
- 1 tbsp freshly grated (or frozen) coconut
Method:
Wash the dried pohe by placing them inside a large sieve and running water through them. This allows them to absorb some water without becoming too soggy. After a couple of minutes sprinkle a teaspoon of salt on them and stir through.
Heat the oil in a karahi or deep frying pan and add the mustard seeds. When these start to pop, add the cumin seeds and after a couple of seconds add the asafoetida, chillies, curry leaves and turmeric. Saute these for a few seconds on a medium low heat until the chillies and curry leaves look darker and start crisping up. Now add the chholiye, give the mixture a good stir and bring the heat to the lowest setting. Cover with a lid and let them cook for 5-6 minutes. Remove the lid and add the washed pohe. Increase the heat to medium high and fry the pohe for another 4-5 minutes stirring occasionally until you start to see steam coming out of them. You should also hear a crackling sound as they start to catch on the bottom of the karahi. Garnish fresh grated coconut, stir and switch the heat off. Serve.
Makyacha Kees
This was one of my father’s favourite breakfasts and he would be dropping hints to my mother to make it whenever fresh maize was in season. She would wriggle out of doing it on some pretext because it was hard work –the maize would have to be grated off the cob and this was messy and time consuming. She used to say that the maize they got in Delhi were not as sweet and tender as the one back home in Maharashtra. She also had to scrape the flesh of fresh coconut which was cumbersome. I love Makyacha Kees too and have found a quicker way of making it with frozen sweet corn and frozen coconut.
Recipe
Serves: 2-4
Time: 30 minutes
Ingredients:
- ½ kg frozen, fresh or tinned sweet corn (I use frozen in the UK)
- 2 tsp cooking oil (preferably rapseed, sunflower, groundnut)
- 1-2 hot green chillies
- 1 tsp mustard seeds
- 1 tsp cumin seeds
- ¼ tsp asafotida powder
- ½ tsp turmeric powder
- 1 small bunch fresh coriander, chopped.
- 1-2 tbsp frozen or freshly grated coconut
Method:
Place the sweetcorn in a bowl and let it thaw at room temperature. Then very lightly grind in a food processor so that the individual kernels are broken but it does not become a paste. I usually do just one press of the button (that is sufficient in my monstrously power Sujata grinder!).
Heat the oil in a karahi or deep frying pan and add the mustard seeds. When these start to pop, add the cumin seeds. Let these sizzle for a couple of seconds and add asafoetida, chillies, and turmeric. Saute these for a few seconds on a medium low heat until the chillies start crisping up. Now add the sweetcorn, give the mixture a good stir to incorporate the spicy oil into the corn and bring the heat to the lowest setting. Cover with a lid and let this cook for 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally until the corn is done. You can check this by tasting a kernel and also observing if steam is coming out of the dish. If it tastes floury and raw and there is no steam, then carry on cooking another minute and repeat the process. Once cooked, sprinkle on the coconut and coriander before serving.