Recent Posts
-
Admin
Sep
10
Cruising through the ‘Madrasi Zone’ with Curry Leaves and Chickpeas
September 10, 2008 | 68 Comments
As a child, curry leaves to me where part of the keedey-makodey (Hindi for ‘critters’) along with chillies and mustard seeds I had to pull out of my food.
I had no idea why my mom would haggle with the vegetable vendor for a bigger bunch when it was going to be picked out and thrown away anyway. Much like the bay leaf or kaffir lime leaf, it is bitter on its own, but lends an aroma and smoky depth of flavour that is not immediately discernible, but is missed when absent.
My palate is far from discriminating and during the many years I lived outside India without curry leaves, I never missed them at all. Prior to that, the only use my friends and I had had for curry leaves was to counter the “Madrasi monologues”.
Map of India.
Black horizontal line – indicates Madrasi zone to the south
Black vertical line – to the east live those Chinese-looking types
Blue arrow on the west coast – the city of Bombay (now called Mumbai)
Orange arrow on the south-west coast – the state of Kerala
Green arrow on the south-east coast – the city of Madras (now called Chennai)
Many Indians (at least in Bombay, where I grew up) have an arbitrary line drawn across the map of India in their heads. Two, in fact.
To many north Indians, just about where Maharashtra (the state where Bombay is located) ends, begins the ‘Madrasi zone’. Madrasis are supposed to be dark-skinned, the women have long oily hair and wear a lot of gold jewellery, and they all speak a strange guttural language.
Both my parents came from the ‘Madrasi zone’ – one from Kerala, the other from Andhra Pradesh, but the differences between them were quite pronounced. They didn’t understand each other’s languages. Think Korean and Chinese. Or Texan and Mexican. Neighbours, but quite distinct linguistically, culturally and in terms of appearance. The ‘Madrasi zone’ encompasses four states with several distinct languages, scripts and religions, but what the heck, they’re all equally weird and none of the ‘mainstream’ Indians understand what they are saying. The same goes for “those Chinese-looking types” to the east of Bengal.
Many south Indians return the favour. Everyone who speaks Hindi or Gujarati is lumped into the ‘north Indian’ niche. One of my Tamilian friends who wanted to marry a Marathi guy had her dad blow a gasket because “my daughter will not marry a north Indian”.
Pune (in central Maharashtra) is 916 km (about 570 miles) away from Madras. That’s about the distance between San Francisco and San Diego in California. However, the arbitrary line in the head makes Pune and Madras a world apart. They went ahead and got married anyway, and now it’s “As long as she married an Indian it doesn’t matter.”
It’s a real pity no one pointed out to him that that the drive to the Pakistan border from Pune is shorter than the drive to Madras.
‘North Indian’ as a geographical and cultural marker is less bothersome to me than ‘Madrasi’, which is
1. incorrect – a very small percentage of south Indians are from Madras and less than a fourth of south Indians speak or understand Tamil, which is the lingua franca of Madras.
2. used in a derogatory sense to denote “conservative”, “rigid”, “unsophisticated”, “with a poor fashion sense”.
You think not? Well, here’s a ‘Madrasi’ primer for ya.
Bombay has the most crowded passenger railway system in the world – about 255 million passenger-km per km of route annually. My friends and I would commute to college in the ladies’ compartment. Cram four hormonal women per square foot in a metal box with rapidly thinning oxygen for an hour, and there are bound to be some very entertaining arguments. Who’s stepping on whose foot, whose purse is poking whose ribs, etc.
When the barbs flew back and forth, someone would pull out the ‘Madrasi’ card.
She’d extricate her nose from someone’s armpit, take in a big breath, and declare:
“You Madrasis should stop crowding our trains. You take our jobs, put coconut oil in your hair, eat curd rice and talk in your andu gundu language. Go back to where you came from.”
Bravo!!! The chatter subsides to silence. The non-Madrasis start nodding their heads, resisting the urge to applaud.
If I was lucky to have a seat, I would be nudged by one of the ladies on either side of me.
Lady, in a half-whisper: “I have a Madrasi boss and he only gives promotions to his fellow Madrasis.”
I nod. “Yeah. They are weird.”
She: “Why can’t they learn to speak Hindi properly? They have such a strange accent.”
Me: “Yeah, strange accent.”
My friends join in. “Yeah, darn strange accent.”
Lady: “I’m Gujarati. Dikra, tu Parsi che?”
Me: “Umm….. no… not Parsi.”
Lady: “Where are you from, then?”
Me: “I’m from Kerala … you know … a Madrasi.”
Lady, with her face about to implode: “But you’re not dark and you have short hair. You don’t look Madrasi.”
Then, brightly: “Madrasis are very clever … and very good at math. The girl who always tops my son’s class is Madrasi.”
My friend: “It’s got to do with all the curry leaves we inhale rolled up with the weed.”
Me: “Curry leaves and coconut oil. Try putting some in your son’s hair. It helps with geography too.”
Other friend in exaggerated ‘Madrasi’ accent: “Try saying ‘Annnnduuuu Gunnnnnddddduuu’ slowwwwly a hundred times. It clears phlegm from the nasal passages and cures tonsillitis.”
And we would carry on “taking the p!ss”, as we called it. There would be the “I-told-you-these-Madrasis-are-crazy” glances exchanged around us, interrupted by a new fight … this time about “those bhaiyyas“. I tell ya, I miss those train rides and my smartass friends.
We are used to being without curry leaves for two to three months a year since the supply where we live is sporadic. We find it quite dispensable and freely substitute it with sage, oregano, and kaffir lime leaves (in sour dishes).
Sage and oregano are easy to grow and kaffir lime leaves retain flavour and freeze very well.
Curry leaves lose flavour as they dry out and are rather difficult to grow in our arid, extreme weather.
While the substitutes taste equally good, the end result does not taste like my mother’s cooking. When I get nostalgic and crave those childhood flavours, I turn to Ammini Ramachandran’s recipes. Amminichechi, as I call her (‘chechi’ means ‘elder sister’ in Malayalam) has a background and cultural heritage uncannily similar to my mother’s. (Read about it HERE)
She is a food historian and cookbook author whose Grains, Greens and Grated Coconuts: Recipes and Remembrances of a Vegetarian Legacy won first place in the 2007 Cordon d’Or International Cookbook Awards.
Ammini Ramachandran’s recipes and articles can be found at her site: Peppertrail.com.
The ingredient list in her recipes is short and almost all the savoury dishes call for a cup … or two … or three … of freshly grated coconut, along with “12 to 15 fresh curry leaves”. So this time when we visited the East Coast, we brought a curry leaf plant back on the plane with us.
It’s not doing too well, but we’ll see how well it survives the winter indoors.
South Indian cuisine, in particular, prizes the curry leaf – Murraya koenigii, not to be mistaken for the ‘curry plant‘ of south European origin. The curry leaf plant is from the Rutaceae (citrus family) that also includes the kaffir lime, pomello, bergamot and the prickly ash tree that yields the Sichuan peppercorn.
The curry leaf plant, called “Girinimba’ (sweet neem) in Sanskrit, is native to tropical Asia, south India and Sri Lanka. The taste is bitter, and the aroma is a curious mix of citrus and the “earthy, acrid smell of freshly poured asphalt, or possibly scorched brake pads”.
Every kitchen garden in Kerala has a curry leaf bush several feet tall, covered with swarms of butterflies during flowering season. It is an indispensable ingredient in Ammini Ramachandran’s Houston kitchen as well.
She shares a recipe from her wonderful book, where the curry leaf is the star, and tell us what this herb means to her. We Keralites love the earthy flavour of kadala – brown chickpeas – as a gravy eaten with puttu (steamed layered cakes with rice and coconut). Or as a snack (one of my childhood favourites), sauteed with curry leaves and chillies. No coconut in this one. The Tamilian version of this dish is called sundal.
We are delighted to have her author a guest post for us.
- Bee
A WHIFF OF KERALA
by Ammini Ramachandran
Curry leaves are an irreplaceable flavor component of the south Indian kitchen.
The cook tosses a fistful of freshly-plucked curry leaves into hot oil or ghee along with whole cumin seeds and mustard seeds. The slender leaves hiss and sputter instantly, engulfing the kitchen in their fragrance.
For some dishes, flash frying is step one, with the other ingredients — coconut milk, vegetables, or rice — added once the aromatics release their fragrance. For other dishes, the fried curry leaves and spices make a dramatic final garnish. We use curry leaves in just about everything we cook, from chutneys to curries to breakfast dishes – the list goes on.
They have a fresh and pleasant aroma, remotely reminiscent of citrus fruits. They are also of some importance in the cuisines of Northern India. Together with South Indian immigrants, curry leaves reached Malaysia, Singapore and South Africa.
Apart from cooking, the curry leaf has immense medicinal value. The leaves, root and stem of the plant contain minerals and essential oils used to prevent nausea and to cure stomach upsets. It is also used in treating skin irritations and poisonous bites. It is an essential ingredient in the traditional medicine system of India, sometimes with amazingly good results.
Fresh curry leaves are available now in Indian markets in the United States. These fragrant leaves are very tender and best when used as soon as possible. They remain fresh if wrapped and stored in the refrigerator, for up to two weeks.
They can be frozen and kept for future use, but should not be removed from the stalk in that case. Curry leaves lose their delicate fragrance when dried.
There was a time when I had no choice but use dried leaves. When I first came to the United States decades ago, the closest store that carried some Indian groceries – dals and spices – was two hundred miles away. Fresh Indian produce was not available anywhere. I used to fondly remember how the vegetable vendors back home always threw in some extra bunches of curry leaves.
During my trips home I used to dry curry leaves in the shade and bring them back. Tossed in hot oil they had just a faint aroma – or was I just imagining? I don’t know. Thankfully, procuring curry leaves is not a problem now.
KADALA (Spicy Brown Chickpeas)
from Grains, Greens and Grated Coconuts (p. 286)
This simple bean dish is a traditional offering at temples during the nine-day Navarathri festival. It is a healthy snack, and it also makes a good side dish for brunch. Whole garbanzo beans may be substituted for brown Indian chickpeas.
Makes 6 to 8 servings.
2 cups dried brown chickpeas
salt to taste
1 tbsp vegetable oil
1 tsp brown or black mustard seeds
2 dried red cayenne, serrano or Thai chillies, or 1/2 tsp crushed red pepper
1/4 tsp asafoetida powder (optional)
12 to 15 fresh curry leaves
2 fresh green chillies (serrano or Thai), thinly chopped
Wash and soak the chickpeas overnight in plenty of water. Rinse them in several changes of water until the water runs clear.
Cover them with water and cook them with the turmeric until very soft but not mushy in a pressure cooker or on the stovetop.
Drain well, sprinkle with salt, and set aside.
Heat oil in a large skillet, add the mustard seeds. When they start popping, add the rest of the ingredients (except the chickpeas) and panfry.
Add the cooked chickpeas to the pan and mix well. Stir for a minute or two.
Remove from the stove and serve warm or at room temperature.
Variations
1. Using canned garbanzo beans. Rinse the beans, drain, sprinkle salt and turmeric, and proceed.
2. Coconut-Mango Sundal. After frying the spices and chillies, add two tsps of fresh lime juice along with the drained chickpeas. Panfry for a minute or two, stirring continuously. Remove from the stove. Add one medium-sized raw green mango cut into small cubes and half a cup of freshly grated coconut. Stir, garnish with cilantro leaves, and serve.
A VIDEO PEEK INSIDE Grains, Greens and Grated Coconuts
Spicy Brown Chickpeas is our entry for My Legume Love Affair hosted this month by Lucy of Nourish Me.
Ammini-Ramachandran, brown-chickpeas, Chillies/Peppers, cookbook, Curry leaves, Grains Greens and Grated Coconuts, India, kadala, Kerala, Madrasi, MUSINGS, vegan recipes, vegetarian recipes
I would have said – hey! You forgot the andu gandu, but I see you have included it!! Have gone through this too:)
and i missed that ‘part’ part manisha
this is the most informative post on Indian regional differences and curry leaves – thanks – I had no idea – I have some curry leaves in my freezer and am wondering how long they last as I have enjoyed them when I used them but it hasn’t been often
All that is fine, but I once had a Maharashtrian living in Delhi tell me that all the Kashmiris migrating to Delhi were making it too crowded! Long live Maharashtra!
I do pick out my curry leaves from the finished dish – their job is done! But I would never replace them with anything! Thank God they are always in season here in Delhi, except for a brief spell in the fall when they look sickly.
Did I spot your name there, Manisha, in that video peek into Grains, Greens, and…?
Sigh….nothing much has changed – I am in Delhi now after spending 10 years in Chennai and still getting to listen about “madrasis” after all those years in Mumbai. To be fair, I saw the other side of the coin too – in Chennai, all North Indians were referred to as “Seths” !!
I have just got a curry leaf plant – finally my problems end.Its almost impossible to get curry leaves in Delhi markets.
[...] on those roots that night, and put together something wonderfully fragrant and mild-tempered in the Madrasi fashion (don’t kill me for saying that, please) – you know the kadipatta and mustard seeds combo, and [...]
the madrasi border is very well defined. good job by u and ur friends in those trains. loved it.
curry leaves are indispensable to me…at a dollar for 5-7 sprigs, that must be my most expensive vegetable.
Love your blog.I live in Melbourne with cold winters and scorching summers.I also bought a curry leaf plant years ago.Some advice on growing it,keep it indoors during winter at least for 2 winters then you can put it out in a BIG pot.It will look really pathetic during winter with no leaves but come summer it will regain it’s original splendour,if it did have some splendour originally that is!Treat it like a baby the first year and all will be well.I have been seen talking to it even, in it’s first year.Now Francis my curry plant is growing strong and vigorous.Hope all this helps.
Great post, and my favorite recipe to go with it. You rock.
My sister has been trying to grow curry leaves in the US for past several years. Now, we just use dried curry leaves shipped from home. They keep well just like other dried herbs.
Well, I’ve just planted my first curry plant because of this post. It’s one of my favourite flavours and I can’t wait to harvest my first little crop.
And thank you, so much bee, for the education on the national divide! Seems to happen worldwide, doesn’t it, regardless of nation? Your train exchange had me giggling.
Beautiful entry for the event.
What a wonderful post. Not only the Indian geography lesson, but also the interesting comments about regional prejudices in India. Such things exist all over the world, I fear.
Even if it hadn’t been such a delightful post I would be quite excited because this summer a fellow BlogHer writer gave me some curry leaves. I had no idea how to use them, so I put them in the freezer (which I learned later I shouldn’t have, but too late now.) Anyway, I’m going to retrieve them and try this, which looks easy enough even for someone like me who’s very intimidated by Indian cooking.
A fine and simple recipe. Love curry leaves – no fragrance on Earth like them, except maybe asafoetida, which I love, too.
I really enjoyed the cultural bit… very entertaining. I’ll have to try the chickpea recipe. I just cooked a huge batch of chickpeas yesterday but without the turmeric, maybe I can still adapt this recipe to it. Thanks again for a wonderful post!
Bee that was nicely written entertaining rant… Now that I must say that people think a Madrasi can’t speak fluently in National Language (Hindi). Each time I get to speak a fellow Indian in hindi fluently, they ask are you a Madrasi? Gosh! people’s mind set has never changed over the years… So will my liking for Sundal in Marina Beach…. I Love being a Madrasi….
)
[...] Sundal (stir-fried snack with mustard and Curry Leaves) Risi e Ceci like Risi e Bisi (Peas Risotto) or [...]
[...] meals that she would’ve made. Replace the azuki beans with red cowpeas and the thyme with curry leaves, and it would be quite similar to food cooked in her native Kerala on India’s south-western [...]
[...] Dinner: 10 oz. protein shake with pea and rice protein, cocoa powder, peanut butter, almond milk and decaf coffee powder 2 thumb-sized pieces of baked tempeh on a bed of greens and berries 1/4 cup spiced chickpeas (sundal) [...]
[...] Lunch: 1 cup rice-lentil khichdi half cup beet-apple salad 1/4 cup spiced chickpeas (sundal) [...]