Saturday, November 11, 2017
Sunday, August 20, 2017
Food, the traveller
At farmers' markets across India you would notice some vendors selling a variety of spinach, assorted beans, gourds, pumpkins and local produce like banana flower, drumsticks etc while there are others who keep coloured vegetables like bell peppers and carrots. The latter are often referred to as those who sell angrezi or shehri subzi... English or city vegetables. In a very straightforward way this unexceptional segregation of trade conveys the story of Indian cooking.
India has had a deep relationship with locally-grown provisions, forest produce, herbs and spices; a fact our remote villages and tribes still exhibit the best. Cooking was largely based on the ayurvedic system of eating which broadly speaking means having food according to season and body type with each meal presenting a combination of six flavours: sweet, salt, bitter, pungent, sour and astringent. Food was simple, balanced but nourishing.
As I dug deep to discover the history of food, it became evident that imports brought in plethora of choices and flavours and almost every popular dish in the country, has evolved over time to present itself in the form we know it today. Multiple invasions, royal patronage, colonial rule, asylum seekers and maritime traders who turned settlers have greatly influenced our food. The arrival of the Portuguese, Dutch, British, French, Mughals, Persians, Afghans, Parsis, Cantonese, Arabs, Jews Armenians and others saw their cooking traditions blending with local methods and ingredients to give India gastronomy immense depth and diversity.
European entree
Portuguese explorers lead by Vasco Da Gama were the first Europeans to discover the sea route to the subcontinent in 1498 AD. Their dropping anchor on Indian shores over the next few centuries brought in new greens and grains. The first seeds of the red long chilli pepper are also believed to have sailed the seas with them to forever alter the character of Indian cooking.
Apart from the potato, they disembarked with tomato, groundnuts, maize, papaya, pineapple, guava, custard-apple, a variety of beans and cashew to name a few. This fact can be fairly established by vernacular terms of some items. In Bengal, for example, the guava is called peyara; the Portuguese term for it is pera. Pineapple and cashew are known as ananas and caju, respectively, in both countries. Bread is called pao in Portugal; so no guesses required in tracing the history of your favourite breakfast essential.
The origin of paneer has for long been a subject of debate. But food historians as KT Achaya believe it were the Portuguese who introduced the technique of heating and deliberately splitting the milk using an acidic agent. Such cheese was first prepared in Bengal and came to be known as ponir and chhana. It was to become the basic ingredient of the immensely-loved rasogulla. On the west coast it's the Surti paneer, also known as topli nu panir among the Parsis, which has Portuguese origin.
They are also credited with having brought the art of making vinegar and initiating its extensive use in cooking. That's clearly exhibited in the cuisine of Goa, which was a Portuguese outpost till 1961, when the Instrument of Surrender was signed, closing the chapter of Portugal's rule in India which had lasted 464 long years. Popular Goan fare, a must-have on tourist lists, like chicken cafreal, pork vindaloo, prawn recheado, chicken chacuti or the sweet bebinca is the scrumptious result of that mingling.
Arabic, Jewish tweaks
Much before the Portuguese, in the 7th century Arab merchants had landed in southern India, in areas that belong to Kerala now. They settled in peacefully and married locally. That alliance led to an incredibly interesting spread of food in the region.
In the state's northern districts, the Moplah (or Mappilla), the Muslim community of Malabar, have a cooking style reflecting the Arab influence of yore. The fortuitous marriage of traditions can be seen in the aleesa, a wheat and meat porridge that's the Malabar cousin of the original Arabic harees. Browse through the menu at a Moplah restaurant and you can spot the parotta. It was a flatbread created with refined flour to please the palette of homesick Arabs who did not care for rice in all three meals and missed their khoubz and khamira. The Malabar biryani served with Ethapazham or dates pickle and coconut chutney is another example of India's remarkable composite culinary culture.
Later, when the Portuguese arrived, Malabar got its popular eshtews and egg-based desserts like muttamala, similar to the fios de ovos and the banana fritters.
The first Jews too came to the southern coast around the 8th century most possibly for trade in teak, ivory and spices. Over the centuries small batches kept arriving here with the later ones as Bene Israeli, Baghdadi Jews reaching India's shores to escape persecution. Apart from areas around Kochi, they moved to other parts of India and over time Kolkata, Pune, Mumbai and Goa became places of preference. Jewish culture thrived and Kochi's Jew Town and ornate synagogues in other cities stand witness to a glorious past. And so does typical Jewish fare like challah bread, aloo makalah, latkas, dolma matzo balls in soup etc that became familiar in Indian homes. Kosher bakeries like Nahoum and Sons in Kolkata grew famous for traditional items like baklava and the baked cheese sambusak, said to be the forerunner of the samosa. The Jews naturally influenced regional food too and a strong claim food historians make is of the appam being a Cochin Jews invention. Though the population has dwindled, Jewish food items continue to be savoured in areas where they had a strong presence and have become a happy part of the Indian food glossary.
Persian palate
In 1526 AD Babur set his foot in Hindustan. The Mughals not only changed the political history of the country but in a significant way transformed the course of our food history too. How we cook and eat today, especially in north India, has it beginnings centuries ago.
Babur had suffered a series of setbacks in Central Asia, and turned towards Hindustan to accomplish his ambitions of being a conqueror. He had heard the glories of the land but though he found wealth here he was largely disillusioned with the social fabric. In his biography, Tuzk-e Babri also known as Babaurnama, the cultured warlord has famously written, "Hindustan is a place of little charm. There is no beauty in its people, no graceful social intercourse, no poetic talent or understanding, no etiquette, nobility, or manliness. The arts and crafts have no harmony or symmetry. There are no good horses, meat, grapes, melons, or other fruit. There is no ice, cold water, good food or bread in the markets." Having come miles away from his land Samarkand, Babur it appears missed every aspect of home. Like his ancestors Timur and Genghis Khan, he was enamoured by Persian civilization. As he set up his empire in Hindustan, he began introducing Persian elements of art, architecture, landscaping and food. His son Humayun carried that legacy forward in a greater way.
Humayun had lost Mughal territories to Afghan noble Sher Shah Suri and had retreated to Persia. He returned 15 years later to recapture them; and this time accompanying him was a large contingent of Persian nobles, artists and writers and cooks. Humayun was victorious and hereafter Persian culture dominated Mughal courts.
In royal kitchen delectable Persian flavours bubbled. Their aromas also filled kingdoms such as Punjab and Kashmir (where Persian cooking and art can still be seen in its near-original form and almost borders on the sublime).
Culinary art was at its zenith in Persia and its cuisine was known for its sophistication and delicacy. Fragrances and flavours melded to present lavish results. At Mughal courts, royal chefs ran trials, fusing locally-available ingredients, spices and cooking styles with indigenous Persian techniques as dum pukht or slow cooking in a sealed vessel allowing the juices of the meats and vegetables to get absorbed well, using curd as a marinade for meat, combining vegetables and meat in a single dish, elaborate use of dry fruits and rosewater in dishes, grilling meat over charcoal in the tandoor or balancing the sweet and sour flavours in stews and soups. The result was a cuisine rich in taste and texture that overtime came to be known as Mughlai.
That is how the kebab, quorma, musallam, shorba, champ etc accompanied with an assortment of naan/ roti baked in the tandoor and on the griddle, as well as a range of pulao became part of royal spreads and sooner or later home kitchens were doing much the same in small ways. Presentation was fundamental to Persian cuisine and became central to Mughlai style too; an example of this was the practice of gilding a dish with gold or silver leaf (warq).
Royalty flourished and khansamas (chefs) received patronage to excel and outdo each other. Gradually, food preparation became creative and developed a sophistication that an evolved cuisine demands. Mughlai food later was tweaked at different imperial courts with Awadhi, Hyderbadi and the Rampuri (which has Afghan origins) styles emerging as offshoots. The biryani supposedly was created with the merger of cooking styles, but that remains a subject of debate.
Anglo-Indian melange
"Like the Mughals and the Portuguese before them, the British refashioned Indian food according to their tastes and created an independent branch of Indian cookery. This Anglo-Indian cuisine was the first truly pan-Indian cuisine, in that it absorbed techniques and ingredients from every Indian region and was eaten throughout the entire length and breadth of the subcontinent," says Lizzie Collingham in her definitive work Curry. This happened as the British hardly ever stayed at one spot in India, and as they moved to different cities they took along their retinue of cooks who prepared the same spread.
What the khansamas of The Raj served their sahibs and memsahibs was the outcome of all things Indian whipped up with all elements European. So menus got the mulligatawny soup, a Tamil stew converted to suit an English palate; country captain's curry or chicken stew with turmeric and a dash of chillies; the all-time favourite chicken cutlet; pish pash, a rice broth with chicken; and desserts like caramel custard and bread pudding. Now labelled Dak Bungalow cuisine, it still retains familiar flavours and that nostalgia can be savoured at British-era clubs and the gymkhanas. The colonial passage to India has also given the world cocktails like gin and tonic.
A host of other influences like the Cantonese arrival in Bengal making 'Calcutta Chinese' a genre in itself or the Tibetan fare found in the Himalayas are all part of the smorgasbord of flavours that define India's incredible food landscape. Today television cookery shows and recipe books do what colonisers and traders had once done: bring in miscellaneous flavours into our kitchens.
Food history is rampant with claims and counter-claims owing to the lack of data. But there is no denying how it has played a major role in human progression. Recipes have been adopted and restructured by different cultures, becoming testaments of history. Indian gastronomy stands witness to that.
Etymology
Diverse societies have strongly influenced each other and a great way to learn the voyage of food is by peeking into the etymology of a food term. Let's take the example of the kulcha. The term seems a derivative of kolache from the Old Slavonic kolo which stood for round or wheel. In Eastern Europe, kolach or kalac are buns packed with jam or walnut filling and prepared during Easter. Further on, koloocheh are Persian yeast cookies stuffed with walnuts, sugar and cinnamon specially baked during celebrations. The cookies are flaky, moist, mildly sweet and ideal with a cup of hot Irani chai. Moving East, kolcha becomes the generic term for sweet or savoury biscuits in Afghanistan while it means sweet flat buns in Uzbekistan and Tajikistan. Closer home is the Kashmiri kulchay, a yeast-leavened dry, crumbly biscuit-like snack dunked into tea. Moving to Punjab you get the hugely popular potato-stuffed Amritsari kulcha baked in the tandoor, while in most other parts of the country kulcha means the yeast leavened soft-textured bread in the shape of a flat bun.
Friday, August 11, 2017
JW Marriott, Chandigarh: On a culinary expedition
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| On the wheels: Road to London... A Gourmet Journey |
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| Dilpreet Bindra (left) and Naveen Handa |
“What an incredible journey this has been. We had planned meticulously for over six months and everything worked to precision. What made it remarkable was the cultural exchange, the thrill of traversing the Silk Route, the magnitude of nature, and the impeccable highways that made driving such a pleasure.”
After flag-off from Imphal and clearing the customs at Moreh, the Indian border outpost, the self-driven expedition made its way through Myanmar, Thailand, and the rain forests of Laos, before entering China and being dazzled by the state-of-the-art Dragon country. What welcomed them next was the vastness of land and warmth of locals as they drove through Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. Further on Russia showed its gentle side while Latvia, Lithuania and Poland delighted them with East European generosity and courtesies. It was a breeze here on as the convoy manouvered through Czech Republic, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, France to finally cross the English Channel and let out a hurrah in London.
Bindra wasn’t only at the wheel during the trip as the hotelier in him made sure he peeped into kitchens at restaurants and highway inns, cooked and ate (and even sang) with locals, gathered spices and collected an assortment of recipes. Once back to work in Chandigarh, cuisines were discussed with the F&B section at the hotel. Lead by executive chef Naveen Handa, the team worked for over a month to recreate what Bindra had tasted and the result is Road to London... A Gourmet Journey, a five-day food festival on the culinary trail of 18 countries, that commences today. At the preview on Thursday, I tasted a sample of what’s on offer and all I can say is the palette of flavours pleased the palate enormously. |
| Auksta zupa |
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| Yall dib |
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| Chengdu hotpot |
The desserts section is a medley of sweet temptations: cakes, tarts and flaky pastries. One that took me back to my trip to Poland was karpatka. Delicious! Matterntaart from Belgium, xianhua bing, a Yunnan rose-flower cake, marlenka from Czech Republic, baumkuchen from Germany and klingeris from Latvia were some others in the irresistible club.
That it was a huge learning experience for the chefs was visible in their enthusiasm to explain culinary nuances of what they had laid out. For it’s not every day that a hotel gets to prepare Latvian, Uzbek, Krygyz, Kazhak or Polish dishes. This fest is an absolute must-visit, especially if to you passion means food.
What: Road to London – a gourmet journey Where: The Café@JW, JW Marriott,
Sector 35, Chandigarh
When: August 11 to 15, 2017
Brunch: 12.30 pm to 3.30 pm,
Rs 1,550 plus taxes
Dinner: 7.30 pm to 11.30 pm,
Rs 1,950 plus taxes
Wednesday, August 9, 2017
Saturday, July 29, 2017
Amber hues in Krakow: Bedazzled in Old Town
Pristinely-preserved past is Krakow’s big draw, but the glow of its amber outshines the restThe 700-year-old Sukiennice at Rynek Glowny, the main square in Krakow, Poland, was once a medieval textile trading hub. Shops flanking the long arcade of this elegant Gothic building are now packed with souvenir shops. I halted at the one where a mellow light was filtering through every displayed object and creating a wispy hue. As it turned out, it was the hue of amber. Dulcet and dewy. Almost fairylike.
The bespectacled owner behind the counter chuckled at my dazed expression, “I see that look on most visitors. By the time they reach my shop they’ve seen plenty of ‘I love Krakow’ tees, armies of dolls, lots of lace, wood-carving and ceramics. They are dazzled by amber,” she said. The shop indeed had a lot to offer. Sitting cheek by jowl were lampshades, delicate cutlery, boxes and paperweights, keychains, and loads of trinkets and charms. Each had a hint of amber or were carved out of the precious resin entirely. The owner held a luminous amber pendant against the light and exclaimed, “This little piece has undertaken a long journey. The beautiful Baltic amber must have passed many a hand as it travelled down the Amber Road,” she said.
I was familiar with the Silk Road, the Hindustan-Tibet Road and the Incense Road — all ancient trading routes. The Amber Road, however, was unfamiliar territory. As I stood chatting with the silver-haired Pole, a narrative emerged as maps were fished out and routes retraced. Amber has been big business in Eastern Europe for centuries and trading corridors emerged from its two major sources — the Baltic Sea and the North Sea coast.
The owner relished trivia and had much to say about the superior Baltic amber, a prized, almost revered commodity which the Greeks used as medicine, Romans for jewellery, Egyptians for armour, Chinese in objects d’art, and the Prussians for building palace chambers. “Poland was so busy sending it all over the world that we were content with the hand-me-down rings and pendants of our babcia (grandmother)!” she jested. Amber, we decided, would possibly have reached India through the Silk Route, bartered for spices, brocade or gold. “Amber and salt, which we had in abundance, was as good as gold for us. In fact, it’s poetically called Gold of the Baltic,” she explained.
Unlike precious stones which are found in the rock state, amber is fossilised tree resin and is an organic gemstone much like coral and pearl. To my untrained eye, several of those pieces appeared commonplace, but were actually high-grade jewels boasting supreme clarity. Some, embedded as they were with fossilised insects, took my breath away. Such exotic pieces had made amber worthy of kings and a key agent that filled up the treasury of medieval kingdoms.
Various sea and overland passages were sketched to transport amber. The Romans used the Amber Road, which began at the Baltic coast, ran up the mountains, down the valleys and over corduroy roads and culminated at the Adriatic Sea. It cut across Poland and bits of it are still found here. The ancient path gets a modern makeover with Autostrada A1, officially called AmberOne, an under-construction expressway that nearly traces that route. This north-south corridor runs through central Poland, beginning at Rusocin, near Gdansk on the Baltic Sea and winding up at Gorzyczki, the Polish-Czech border, where it meets the Czech highway D1. The highway is about an hour from Krakow, but the ancient route is believed to have been closer to the town, thus making it prosperous.
I had arrived in Krakow or Cracow after reading closely about its well-preserved 12th-century Old Town, a Unesco World Heritage Site. The site was expectedly atmospheric. Its nucleus, the imposing Rynek Glowny — the biggest medieval market square in all Europe — made a pretty picture with immaculate buildings, outdoor cafes, artists working in the promenades, buzzing restaurants and touristy horse-carriages. The 14th-century Gothic-style St Mary’s Basilica, and the Sukiennice, also called Cloth Hall, are its remarkable landmarks. Footing around Old Town, I was impressed by the exactness of its restoration and the extent of preservation. Almost all public places — avant-garde brand-stores, restaurants or museums — had uber-contemporary interiors, but the exposed brick-work on its walls conveyed the passage of time brilliantly. The past and present juxtaposed seamlessly adding to the character of Krakow.
A little away from Old Town is Kazimierz, the district where the city’s rich Jewish culture is carefully preserved. During World War II, after the invasion of Poland, Jews of the city were forced into a walled zone from where they were eventually sent to concentration camps such as Auschwitz. Steven Spielberg shot a section of Schindler’s List at Kazimierz in 1993.
I was staying on Ulica Florianska, Old Town’s lively high street known for its boutiques, pubs, and carts of obwarzanek, the Krakow bagel. The street also had glass-fronted jewellery shops claiming to sell ‘Original amber with certificate’. Tempted, I had walked into one only to retreat hastily, empty- handed. “Once upon a time people would say, ‘Ah, you bought amber’. Now they say, ‘Oh my! You bought amber!’ That’s how expensive Poland’s most popular souvenir has become,” my guide said in an attempt at consolation. However, I did bring back something priceless from Krakow — the knowledge of a prehistoric trading route.
http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/takeaway/krakow-poland-bedazzled-in-old-town/article9790870.ece
Getting there
Krakow is well-connected and all major airlines fly into town.
Stay
Hotel Pod Roza (hotelpodroza.com), an elegant heritage property in Old Town
Tip
Visit Stary Kleparz farmers market for artisanal cheese, lavender and freshly-steamed pierogi (dumplings stuffed with potato or cheese)
Published in
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
The shepherd’s cheese
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| The Gujjars of Jammu Kashmir are the creators of the soft kaladi |
I learn about it unexpectedly, in keeping with the tradition of getting some of the best leads on culinary trails from the most improbable sources. On my maiden trip to Jammu aboard the Malwa Express, my co-passenger, a soldier posted on the Indo-Pak border, turns out to be a ready-reckoner on the region’s cuisine. “You have to taste the kaladi, else your trip to Jammu is incomplete,” he insists.
A mere mention of it to my friend PB, a fellow journalist I’m visiting, and she ensures I sample kaladi the local way. “It’s unique to this region. They say it’s like mozzarella, but if you ask me it beats its Italian cousin by miles,” she grins, describing it with a zeal matching the soldier’s, as we drive to the popular eatery Pahalwan’s, established in 1934 and initially a milk shop typical to the hills.
PB asks for kaladi-kulcha, which seems to be the fastest selling item on the evening menu. In appearance, the raw kaladi is a nondescript off-white roundel, with the pungency of ripened cheese. It acquires a whole new meaning, though, when it is slapped on to a tawa, lightly fried till it releases its fat to turn a lovely golden-brown on both sides, placed inside a warm kulcha, seasoned with salt and chillies and served with accompaniments of mint and tamarind chutney. One bite of this deliciousness and I know why this fare is a winner. It’s robust and subtle at the same time: a pillowy-soft kulcha complementing a kaladi that is crisp on the surface but all stringy and molten inside, the mild sweetness of the ghee it’s fried in and finally the dash of spices. The kaladi is also served by itself but the bit of carb (kulcha/ bun) adds to its comfort-food factor.
A mere mention of it to my friend PB, a fellow journalist I’m visiting, and she ensures I sample kaladi the local way. “It’s unique to this region. They say it’s like mozzarella, but if you ask me it beats its Italian cousin by miles,” she grins, describing it with a zeal matching the soldier’s, as we drive to the popular eatery Pahalwan’s, established in 1934 and initially a milk shop typical to the hills.
PB asks for kaladi-kulcha, which seems to be the fastest selling item on the evening menu. In appearance, the raw kaladi is a nondescript off-white roundel, with the pungency of ripened cheese. It acquires a whole new meaning, though, when it is slapped on to a tawa, lightly fried till it releases its fat to turn a lovely golden-brown on both sides, placed inside a warm kulcha, seasoned with salt and chillies and served with accompaniments of mint and tamarind chutney. One bite of this deliciousness and I know why this fare is a winner. It’s robust and subtle at the same time: a pillowy-soft kulcha complementing a kaladi that is crisp on the surface but all stringy and molten inside, the mild sweetness of the ghee it’s fried in and finally the dash of spices. The kaladi is also served by itself but the bit of carb (kulcha/ bun) adds to its comfort-food factor.
Pahalwan’s sells around 150 kg of kaladi a day. It’s possible that Jammu and neighbouring districts produce several thousand kilos of this regional favourite, found at almost every street corner. I turn to Pahalwan’s Satpal Abrol for a response. The kaladi, he says, has long been part of these hills and Dogra cuisine. The fact that it was prepared on a small scale in high-altitude pockets limited its presence to the region. “Now it’s commercially made in cities but till a few years back, it was only the Gujjars who’d sell it. Kaladi used to be a summer special, made only when the shepherds ascended to the mountaintops with their herds. They curdled the unsold milk — which didn’t last long in that weather — to make kaladi,” he says.
The Gujjars use rustic pots to make the cheese, shape it by hand and ripen it in the sun on a bed of pine leaves. I recall the soldier telling me Ramnagar in Udhampur district is renowned for its kaladi. Abrol agrees, saying for an authentic taste, one needs to visit a Gujjar kitchen.
Later on a trip to Kashmir, I get a flavour of the original in the picturesque town of Aru, near Pahalgam. I’m sipping kehwa at a tea shop, when I spot a cluster of pheran-clad men scrutinising a pile of pale-cream discs that a Gujjar lady — clad in long shirt and embroidered topi — has pulled out of her cloth bag. “It’s doodh roti,” one of the men tells me as he pays a pittance for 20 pieces. “We call it maish krej in Kashmiri. In Jammu region, it’s known as kaladi,” another chips in. The shape of the Gujjar variety is different but the preparation is similar and so is the manner in which it’s relished by locals. The Gujjars, however, have it the gourmet way: grilled on wood-fire.
Has nobody thought of branding this soft cheese? My question is answered at a food store in Srinagar, where I discover vacuum-packed kaladi manufactured by a Dutchman settled in Pahalgam.
Published in BLink, The Hindu Business Line.
Published in BLink, The Hindu Business Line.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Sunday, February 26, 2017
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