Food
The Alphonso Mango
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When you find yourself looking forward all day to eating a fruit as dessert after dinner, that fruit must be something special. It is. It is the king among fruits, a fruit fit for kings, indeed fit for the gods, the Alphonso mango. It is named after a Portuguese general, Alfonso de Albuquerque, who introduced grafting on to native trees and produced the peerless Alphonso. While varieties of mangos are grown in tropical climes all over the world, the Alphonso mango is cultivated only in India, that too in a particular part of India, in the south-western peninsular region of the country. It is the terroir - a French term usually associated with wine, one that encompasses the soil, the climate, the water, the sunshine, the environment, the je ne sais quoi of a particular region or area - that confers on the Alphonso its unique taste.
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A ripe Alphonso is golden on the outside, while inside it is red-gold, saffron, a colour, incidentally, associated with the Hindu deities. The flesh is smooth, virtually fibreless, intensely sweet and perfumed. It is this combination of appearance, texture, taste and aroma that make the Alphonso peerless and unique. The aroma of an Alphonso is evident even when the fruit is uncut so to test whether a mango is an Alphonso one has only to smell it on the outside, not dissimilar to the way a wine expert would swirl some wine in a glass and inhale its smell.
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The mango is a summer fruit, and while Indian summers are long, the Alphonso season is short. As winter comes to an end, the mango trees, with their long glossy, green leaves, start bearing tufts of small white blossom. As the days of summer follow, the trees bear hard green fruit which rapidly grows in size and ripens under the hot sun. In early June, once the monsoon arrives - the southwest is where it starts its journey across the Indian subcontinent - the Alphonso mango season is over. Other varieties of mangos, grown in other parts of the country, continue to be available late into the summer, but not the Alphonso. It has to be enjoyed in the brief period between the onset of summer and the arrival of the first monsoon rains.
An Alphonso should only be eaten when it has reached the peak of ripeness. It should be eaten, as the French term it, when it is à point. If eaten before it is fully ripe, the Alphonso will taste a bit sour, while afterwards it will have lost some of its intense sweetness. There are many theories on the best way to cut, present and eat a mango, all of which can be dismissed when it comes to the Alphonso. To do justice to an Alphonso, one needs to put aside all notions of decorum. Cut off the two big cheeks on either side, scoop out the flesh with a spoon, if desired, do the same with the thinner strips at the side, then pick up and suck any remaining flesh or juice on the skins. There remains the inner seed which will still have some luscious flesh adhering to it. This can only be eaten with the hands. At the end the person eating will have fingers, hands, mouth covered with the juice of the fruit and, if insufficient care has been taken, some will have also got on to clothes. A thorough washing of hands, face and perhaps clothes, is a small price to pay for enjoying the fruit in its glorious entirety.
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​The reputation of the fruit has spread well beyond the country’s borders so the demand for the fruit is now international. This demand comes from Indian expatriates and also from natives of other countries who have learnt to appreciate the fruit’s unique flavour and are willing, and able, to pay high prices for this prized commodity. Aficionados keep a lookout for their arrival in the local shops, eagerly buy them when they are available and take them home to be relished. In India, where they can be bought at modest prices in profusion during the season, the mangos are served in a number of ways such as pulped, to be eaten with puris, or made into ice creams. Such extravagance is not possible if one lives abroad where supply is limited and prices are high. So self-rationing is the order of the day and one has to restrict oneself to perhaps just one a day. On the few occasions when I am able to buy Alphonso mangos, I look forward all day to eating one for dessert after dinner.
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Basmati Rice
Basmati rice is the best rice in the world. It has a delicate, natural fragrance, barely detectable in the raw grains of rice, which is released when the rice is boiled. When the rice is cooking, its perfume fills the kitchen and pervades the house. The aroma of Basmati rice cooking is one of the most inviting of smells. When preparing a meal, rice is always cooked last, for it is best eaten freshly made. So to smell the perfume of Basmati rice cooking is to know that the time to eat is not far off. All the other dishes, including at least one liquid, spicy dish to be eaten with the rice, will already have been made. Once the rice has cooked through and after it has had a little time to settle, food will be served. It is very important to allow the rice to settle for a short while after the heat has been turned off for it is then that it reaches the point of perfection. While the rice is resting there is time to drink a glass of wine, to listen to some music, to read a few pages of a book. If guests have been invited, there is time to chat as the rice will keep warm in the pot. One of the first things guests usually say when they arrive is – What a wonderful smell! It is of course the Basmati rice, probably made for guests with the addition of whole spices and vegetables into a pulao, perfuming the air. Should I be condemned to death I would ask for Basmati rice in my final meal.
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Rice, like wine, is best when it has matured and aged. Newly harvested rice is often sticky when cooked as it does not absorb water well. Mature rice cooks better, the grains have a firmer texture after cooking. Rice is usually bought in large quantities, one reason being that it is a staple, every day food. Another is that the amount of water the rice absorbs depends on its age, the older the rice the more water it needs when cooking and vice-versa. Only after one has cooked the rice from a new batch once or twice, can one correctly estimate the amount of water needed to cook it correctly. Water which is double the quantity of the rice is only a rule of thumb. An expert cook will be able to vary this according to the variety of the rice and, equally importantly, the age.
When my father was posted at the Indian Military Academy in Dehra Dun, he was assigned a spacious white washed bungalow in the grounds of the IMA. The bungalow had a small garden in front and an enormous one at the back. There were a number of trees, including some lychee trees which bore luscious fruit in summer, and a large expanse of lawn. My parents took a decision to put this piece of land to use. It was dug up and used to plant rice, the fragrant Basmati rice, which grows in the foothills of the Himalayas. The small plot yielded a good harvest after which we had our own home grown Basmati rice to eat. My mother did not use it all up and kept some back for several years. She would then cook it on a festive or special family occasion and we would relish the fragrant rice, matured and mellowed by the years, which had been grown in the back garden of our bungalow in the IMA
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Aubergines
Few vegetables are as versatile as the aubergine in culinary use and so varied linguistically.
In India where it is a staple food, it is known as baingan in Hindi and vanga in Marathi, both derived from the Sanskrit vatingana. Its Anglo Indian name is brinjal, puzzling to most English speaking visitors from Britain, or from America, as it is derived from the Portuguese brinjela, the Portuguese being the first colonial nation to establish themselves in the country. In Britain it is better known as aubergine, from the French. It is not cultivated in Britain’s cold climate, though now widely imported, and is called by the name visitors to the nearest country on the continent encountered it in their travels. In the Mediterranean, in Italy and Greece, it is known as melenzana from the botanical Latin melongena. In North America and the West Indies it is often called egg-plant, which Europeans regard as an odd name for a vegetable which is known to them as purple in colour and large, either bulbous or elongated, in shape. There is however a variety of aubergine which is small, about the size of a lemon and though commonly purple and white, can sometimes be almost all white, thus resembling an egg. Mystery solved.
‘Few names even of plants exemplify so fully the changes to which a foreign and unintelligible word is liable under the influence of popular etymology and form-association.’ The Oxford English Dictionary
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Cherries
Wine red on the outside, a lighter shade of red on the inside, sweet and flavoursome, with a single stone that can be easily removed, cherries are irresistible. They usually come attached to a single stalk and placed in a bowl, preferably a white one, they are pretty as a picture. Little wonder when things are going well and life is pleasant and enjoyable we say ‘life is a bowl of cherries’.
Fresh cherries were unknown in my youth in India. The only cherries I, as a child, encountered were tinned ones, often a single cherry topping a scoop of vanilla ice cream served as a dessert in some restaurants. A lurid, day glow, seedless, pink orb that tasted artificially sweet, I loved the tinned cherry and enjoyed eating it more than the ice cream.
It was in the west that cherries came into my life. In Cambridge’s open air market the fruits would appear in summer, expensive at first, then as the season progressed, fell in price and became more affordable even to those on a tight budget such as ours those days.
In the last few years our local Coop has been selling small packets of cherries. They come mostly from the Mediterranean, from Spain or Greece. Lately with global warming they have come from Kent where there were reports of a glut. These were more expensive but as the sell by date neared they would be knocked down in price and I would buy a couple of packets. Placed in a small bowl they were pretty as a picture to behold and a joy to eat.
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Fresh Lychees
While all fruits taste better fresh rather than tinned, few are so dramatically different when fresh as lychees. Here in the west, most people know lychees (which they pronounce lie-cheese) only in their tinned form, as tinned lychees served with ice-cream are a standard dessert in local Chinese restaurants. Few have eaten them fresh. They are not easily available, turning up sometimes in Chinese/Asian shops in summer when they are expensive. Yet fresh lychees are a delight to eat. When ripe, the outer, stippled skin turns pink. Peeling off the skin reveals the white, juicy, delicately perfumed flesh underneath. In a good lychee, the dark, elongated seed will be small so that there is a maximum amount of succulent flesh to bite into and to savour. The tinned variety, unnaturally pink, in sugar syrup, bears no resemblance to the fresh fruit. I bought some fresh lychees from the supermarket the other day, sealed in a transparent plastic container. When I peeled off the plastic film covering, the trapped scent of the ripe lychees wafted out and filled my nostrils, bringing back memories of childhood and hot summer days and lychees eaten in abundance.
Fresh peas
Fresh peas, available here only in summer, are a delight. Frozen peas are good as they are frozen immediately after being picked yet they are no substitute and as for tinned peas, they are an abomination. Fresh peas have body and texture that frozen peas lack. They take longer to cook and thus can be simmered along with other vegetables, such as with potatoes, onions, tomatoes, garlic, ginger and spices to make a delicious rassa. If the peas are tender they will have a natural sweetness which will add extra flavour to the dish.
Fresh peas have to be shelled, which might be regarded as something of a chore, particularly for a large quantity. As a child, I would look in women’s magazines my mother sometimes bought at ads for tinned peas. The slogan for one brand was – Let Smedley’s do the donkey work, alongside a picture of a smiling woman and a cute little donkey. I would marvel at the refined life led by western women who did not have to endure the drudgery of shelling peas. In our family, when fresh peas were on the menu, they would be heaped on to the dining room table round which we, mainly women and children, would sit and shell them, a sociable activity. Entertainment was provided by peas that escaped and rolled on to the floor from where they had to be retrieved. There was also the pleasure of eating any peas too small to go into the pot, which were popped straight into the mouth and were deliciously sweet to bite into. An older person, on opening a pod and finding only tiny peas inside would usually pass them on to a child. If a large number of the peas were tender there was a risk that too many would be eaten, leaving not enough for the pot. In Anand Park when my parents, after my father’s retirement in 1969, moved into the first house they owned, there was a field adjoining the houses. In winter, the farmer would sell fresh peas to the residents of the few houses then built in the area. The freshly picked peas he brought to the door would still be moist with dew. When the pods were split open, the peas inside were glossy green, tender and sweet.
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Groundnuts
Groundnuts, or peanuts as they are also known, are grown all over Maharashtra. It is a common crop in the state where the soil and climate are conducive to its growth. In one of the many quirks of the English language the nuts when eaten, perhaps salted or added to dishes, are known as peanuts while the oil extracted from them is always referred to and labelled as groundnut oil. The nuts yield a light oil, with no strong flavour of its own, which makes it ideal for cooking. It is the commonly used medium of cooking in the western part of India. It is inexpensive, affordable and does not interfere with the taste of the food or with the spices used in its preparation.
Not only is groundnut oil used in cooking in the region, peanuts too find their way into a vast number of dishes of the region. They are used in a variety of ways, boiled along with a liquid dish such as kadhi palak, or roasted, their thin skins removed and the nuts ground, then added to a number of savoury dishes, both in salads and cooked dishes. They are used in making sweets too and Lonavla, situated in the Western Ghats between Mumbai and Pune, is famous for its chikki, peanut brittle.
Peanuts, roasted and salted, are a popular snack affordable by most. They are sold at little grocer’s shops and also by street vendors who sell them in cones of paper. Hawkers carry them around in baskets hung around their necks looking for customers especially by the seaside in cities like Mumbai.
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Guests
Hospitality had to be offered to guests who dropped in for a visit. Visitors were usually relations or close family friends who would usually drop in unannounced. Telephones were expensive in my childhood, hard to get and were not commonly owned in the general population. As for those living in tenements having a telephone was an impossible luxury and out of the question. A popular time for dropping in was the early afternoon. After lunch at home, followed by a short rest and a quick cup of tea, there was a little time to go visiting, before returning home in the evening to start making preparations for dinner. Guests who dropped in were not served just a cup of tea and a biscuit, a more substantial snack was de rigueur. Two of the most popular snacks, because they were quick to prepare and the ingredients were in the house, were pohe, a savoury dish made of dried flaked rice, or shira, savoury or sweet, made with semolina. At the arrival of the visitors the woman of the house, would retire to the kitchen to prepare the snack and make tea, an activity in which she would often be helped by female visitors. With savoury pohe, a wedge of lime would be served to be squeezed on to the snack, while interestingly, with sweet shira, a teaspoon of hot pickle, usually lemon pickle, would be served, the tang and fieriness of the pickle, providing a counterpoint to the sweetness of the dish. The snacks were tasty and filling, and light enough not to spoil anyone’s appetite for dinner.
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Khanawala
Women’s ability to cook meant more than being able to provide meals for their families. In times of stringency or hardship they could utilise their cooking abilities to earn some much needed income. This did not imply that they went out to work as cooks in other peoples homes, even less so in restaurants. For a woman from a respectable Brahmin family, going out to work in those days would have been out of the question. Moreover, with young children at home to look after, it was usually not possible.
One of my maternal uncle’s neighbours, a woman who lived directly above him in an apartment built into the roof space below the tiles, was widowed at a young age leaving her with one son and four young daughters to bring up. The son, the eldest, started work early, in a junior clerical position in a bank, with a correspondingly modest salary. To make ends meet, the neighbour also started work herself, in her case, she started working from home. In addition to cooking for her family, she provided meals for single young men who lived and worked in Bombay. These men either could not cook themselves or, more probably, lived in basic accommodation where there no cooking facilities, just a place to sleep. They paid a monthly fee in return for which they could eat home-cooked food of better quality and at a lower price than in a restaurant. At mealtimes, it was a common sight to see a succession of young men, passing the front of my uncle’s apartment and climbing the steep, enclosed staircase to the apartment above. There was a name for this kind of catering service which other women in the city also provided. She ran a khanawala, literally an establishment for eating.
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Nectarines
Nectarines and peaches belong to the same family and are similar in appearance and texture yet nectarines are a superior fruit. It is not just the smoothness of the skin that sets them apart from peaches. They come in two colours of flesh - yellow and white - and white flesh nectarines are a class apart. Smooth, dark pink skin on the outside, white perfumed flesh tinged with pink inside, sweet and juicy when ripe. The supermarkets sell them in packs labelled ‘ripe and ready to eat’ which in a way they are. To enjoy them at their best, however, they should be eaten a bit later when they are no longer firm but a little soft to the touch. Then the flesh inside will be tender and bursting with juice. Cut into one and the juice will come squirting out onto the plate and as you bite into the sweet tender flesh the juice will drip down your fingers and dribble down your chin. It would be a waste not to lick one’s fingers and not to drink up the juice collected in the plate.
The French have an expression for fruit at the peak of ripeness, à point. Wandering round a covered market in Brittany (in Quimper) I saw a stall selling piles of locally grown fruit and when I went to buy some nectarines, the stall holder inquired when I intended to eat them. Some soon and some a few days later, I replied and he chose nectarines of the appropriate ripeness. They were huge, barely fitted into my hand, pink, sweet, luscious and juicy. My only regret afterwards was that I had not bought more.
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Pomegranates
The pomegranate is a fruit impossible to eat in a refined or decorous manner, a quality it shares with the mango. To truly enjoy both one has to set aside all notions of personal dignity. It can, of course, be prepared and its jewel-like seeds put into a bowl to be eaten with a spoon, a solecism, practically a sin, that no one who loves the fruit can accept. Cutting open the fruit reveals the individual kernels, which, depending on the variety can range in colour from pale pink to deep crimson. These are attached to the walls and inner membranes of the fruit, from which they have to be prised out, a task no item of cutlery or kitchen tool can accomplish. Only human fingers can extract the kernels, a messy business that leads to sticky fingers and seeds spilling out of the plate on to the table or floor. Only the superhumanly patient person will first extract all the kernels from the fruit before setting about eating them. The true aficionado cannot wait but will keep popping some into the mouth while eager fingers scrabble around extracting more, a totally undignified way of eating combined with the risk of getting the juice onto one’s clothes. Scooping up some red jewels with the tips of the fingers and popping them into the mouth, biting on them to release the delicious juice is a joy worth the effort and the loss of a little dignity.
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