Category Archives: Food

Sandeep fondly recalls tales of his youth in a Kerala village, Neercadu. He spent six years here as a kid, “playing with sticks, chasing chickens and riding bikes.” I had this bucolic notion of their family house and the reality did not disappoint. Neercadu is a small village, about two hours from Cochin. Everyone knows everyone. In fact, when I first visited eight years ago, the sight of a ‘foreigner’ was so foreign that several neighbors found excuses to stop by and find out what was going on.

As an outsider, what I love about Neercadu is that it still so traditional. The family house is one of the more modern ones in the area, but it still works in ways that are lost to most of us. Many things remain unchanged since Sandeep lived here over 20 years ago. The kitchen still uses a wood burning stove.

The well supplies all drinking and cooking water.

And food is still made the traditional way, without mixes and packets. This is the housekeeper grinding coconut and chilies into a chutney. The ingredients come from the garden.

The garden has almost everything needed to sustain – coffee, pepper, garlic and ginger. Papaya, mango, tapioca, plenty of bananas, coconuts and jackfruit.

Some things have changed in 20 years. The back plot is a paddy field that supplies rice, but it was recently sold when its upkeep proved too difficult for Amachee (Sandeep’s grandmother). The family used to also keep chickens and a cow, but now the shed is a garage. There was an outhouse, but now there are multiple bathrooms. And instead of doing the cooking, Amachee now has someone to cook for her.

As if answering a nostalgic call, Ava and Kayan instinctively picked up sticks from a tapioca tree and made a game of moving around stones, picking at the dirt and exploring the perimeters of the house. None of Sandeep’s family seemed perturbed by this. But I was worried about red ants, snakes, sharp objects… I suppose that’s what happens when a city girl goes to the village.

Sandeep beat a raw mango off a tree and we cut it up into tiny pieces to have with salt and red chili powder. It was tender, sweet, salty and sour. Amachee, who birthed five children on this land, said the dish is a favorite of pregnant women. Lucky us non-preggers can enjoy it too!

A reader of this blog knows we love food. But loving food comes with complications. Sandeep’s palate craves salty fatty meat. When he smells grilling meat he assumes the position of a hound. I am pescatarian and gluten-free. I love bread and cakes, but for health reasons, use all the will power I have to avoid gluten. I find joy in stinky things like cheeses. Ava likes things odorless and bland. Kayan prefers things sweet, but, bless his little taste buds, consumes whatever he sees.

More than anywhere we have travelled thus far, Kerala has highlighted that taste is a subjective matter. Malayalee food is heavily spiced and heavy in general. The palate here leans towards meats and fish left to rest in dense marinades and then thoroughly fried in coconut oil. The food is fabulous, but it asks a lot of our stomachs. After a few days of indulgence, we started craving simpler meals. We asked Sandeep’s parents’ housekeeper to make us grilled fish. Just salt and pepper please. The result was fried fish with salt and pepper. And turmeric. She couldn’t fathom cooking it ‘naked’. I took matters into my own hands, grilled a fillet and offered her a taste. She said she would gag if she had it because the taste of the fish was not masked enough. The horrified look on her face when we told her about sushi was priceless. I’m sure she is counting down the days until we leave so that she can reunite with her spice box.

Since the restaurant variety in Kottayam is limited, we were very excited to attend the annual Kottayam Food Festival. It’s a four day event highlighting the creativity of local chefs.

The first stall that excited us was “BBQ and Fries”, which had Arabian Chicken Wings on the menu. Sandeep probed as to what was in the marinade and was assured that it was “nothing but tomato sauce.” The wings arrived doused in a fiery red masala that had Kayan tearing up. We proceeded to the grilled seafood joint, where our grilled octopus was alarming burgundy and tasted the way it looked. What we quickly learned is that, even in the most avant garde culinary event of the year, the food is resolutely prepared according to local tastes.

While the taste of the food was not of the variety we expected, we had fun walking around and seeing the action. The chefs, such as this friendly batura (fried bread) vendor, were more than happy to show off their skills.

One entrepreneur was adding life to porathas (flat bread) by dramatically chopping them up into various vegetable and meat mixes.

While we didn’t have too large of a dinner, we did top the evening off with gelato, no masala or grease included. Ava’s highlight was joining the mini amusement park. (That band aid on her forehead is the result of a trip she had yesterday. I’ll update you on another post…but before you think we are negligent parents, see how happy she looks!)

We like to think of ourselves as adventurous eaters. We do try most things at least once (we tried crickets in Chiang Mai, after all!). Our challenge in Kerala has been the heaviness of the food, regardless of what dish we try. We have one more week here. Perhaps by then we will be licking the spice off our greasy fingers.

I asked Amma (Sandeep’s mom) to make her delicious banana bondas (similar in disposition to Duncan Donut Munchkins). After returning from her grocery run she said she didn’t find the right type of bananas. This confused me. Kerala is lined with stalls that sell nothing but bananas in all sorts of shapes, sizes and colors.

Before meeting Sandeep and getting to know about Kerala, I thought Chiquita was a the one and only banana species. I couldn’t stand the smell or taste of bananas. My friend Amanda still remembers the time I kicked her out of my car in college when she peeled open a yellow case. However, when I fell in love with a Malayalee, I was forced to expand my banana knowledge. I watched from afar as Sandeep consumed a few bananas every day. He would relish dried bananas from India, the stench of which sent me escaping to another room. The years soften me. I even learned how to make banana bondas because Sandeep looks so happy when he eats them. The truth is that I’ve come around and, once in a while, you can find me eating a banana.

The fertile South Indian state of Kerala alone is home dozens of banana species that grow year round. Each serves a purpose, which is why Amma said she couldn’t find the right one for the bondas. For example, palayankoda is the most versatile banana. This variety is yellow and about four inches long. It can be eaten as is when ripe, or sliced to make banana chips when raw. This is also the type sliced and dried in the sun, yielding the stinky snack that sent me running. The palayankoda is what Amma needed for the banana bonda. Njalipoovan are yellow and about three inches. They are mostly eaten as is. Kadalipazham are fat red fruits about five inches long and are generally taken to Hindu temples as offerings.

Every respectable house in Kerala has at least one banana plant. A true Malayalee uses it in its entirety. The banana flower, which needs to be cut off in order for the fruit to grow, is made into numerous dishes.

The leaves are used as plates. The inside of the trunk can used as a vegetable. The outer layer serves to decorate exteriors. The stalk and the peels are gifted to the local cow as treats. Malayalees have strong emotional attachments to the banana plant. As one Malayalee lamented to me, “The banana flower is a tragic thing, like a mother being killed to save her children.” When cooked, the purple flower tastes faintly like black button mushrooms and has the texture of cabbage.

In Kerala it is a crime to confuse a banana with a plantain. I have been frowned upon with great disdain over this mistake. Plantains are a whole other story.

Want to get closer to the Kerala banana bonanza? Try your hand at banana bondas.

Banana Bonda Recipe

Beware – This is Amma’s recipe. Like all her recipes, she gives me approximate measurements and frequently omits ingredients. This is why none of the dishes I try taste like hers. Either way, I have tried to be precise by recollecting my own bonda experiments. Bottom line – be creative.

1/2 cup all purpose flour (I use half rice and half tapioca when I make them gluten free)
1 large ripe banana, mashed and whipped (yes, you can use Chiqita if you don’t have access to palayankoda)
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
pinch of salt
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom seeds

Mix all of this in a bowl. If needed, add just enough water to create a thick batter. Spoon teaspoonfuls into a deep fryer. Remove when brown and dry on a wire rack or paper towels.

When we go out for Indian food in New York, it’s usually to a South Indian restaurant. The food is native to Tamil Hindus, who have a wide variety of vegetarian dishes made from pulses, rice and various vegetable curries. These dishes are harder to replicate at home, so South Indian spots end up being the go-to dining choice for many Indians. Our restaurant of choice is Saravana Bhavan, on Lexington Avenue’s Murray Hill, also affectionately known as Curry Hill due to the aromas wafting from the area’s many Indian establishments. The New York eatery claims to be the child of the original Saravana Bhavan Hotel Restaurant in Chennai. We had a three hour layover recently in Chennai and decided to seize the opportunity to determine whether this is true.

Our doubts were put to rest when the place mat proudly claimed to have locations all around the world, one of which is on Lexington Avenue.

We ordered a dosa and thali, similar fare as we would in New York. We’re delighted to report that the food was remarkably similar to the New York outpost. All you New Yorkers who want a taste of true South Indian food – head to Lexington Avenue and 26th Street.

Here’s a short guide to eating at a South Indian restaurant. These pictures were taken at Anand, possibly the longest running South Indian restaurant in Kottayam, Kerala. In India you’ll likely have a choice of the AC (air-conditioned) section or regular dining. The food is the same, but the AC section a price premium. First, wash your hands as you are expected to eat with them. Only your right hand though, the left one is considered unclean. This is always a challenge for left-handed Sandeep.   A true South Indian restaurant will have a hand washing station (yes, Saravana Bhavan in New York has one too).

Getting through the menu may be a challenge, particularly when faced with odd items such as “Raw Rice” and vaguery like “Special Meals”.

The most traditional fare are dosas (roasted flat lentil pancakes), vadas (fried lentil donuts), and idlis (steamed rice and lentil patties).  All are served with sides of sambar (spiced lentil gravy) and various chutneys, including coconut and tomato. Thalis, AKA Special Meals or Set Meals, are a pre-selected assortment of various side dishes and rice. For the wow factor, order a paper masala dosa, a gravity defying thin pancake rolled around a mound of spiced potatoes.

A traditional South Indian meal is not complete without frothy coffee, brewed with milk and plenty of sugar. It’s served in a stainless steel cup nestled into a stainless steel bowl. Pour the coffee into the bowl and measure out smaller amounts to drink from the cup. This maneuver cools the coffee.

We don’t deny bribing our children. To get them through dinner we promise them dessert. They heartily ate their dosas and were rewarded with round ladoos – semolina roasted in clarified butter, boiled with sugar and rolled into a ball.

That ensured that they were just as excited we to return for another South Indian meal.

Over 4,600 miles of sea lap the shores of India, resulting in coastal cuisine that is laden with fish. Fish species and preparation vary around the country, but one thing that binds coastal Indians is their insistence that their region knows fish best. Sandeep’s family is from the southern coastal state of Kerala and mine is a mix of Mumbaikers and Goans, both coastal. Our entire family is programmed to love fish – raw, fried, grilled, cured, dried, pickled – we’re up for anything with gills or shells.  For an entertaining and educational journey about fish in India, read Following Fish with an empty stomach. In it, Samanth Subramanian offers a colorful collection of investigative fish-oriented stories from around the country.

Kerala is particularly fish rich, as it has the added bonus of rivers and backwaters that sparkle with fresh water gills. No day is complete at Sandeep’s parents without fish. It’s acceptable fare for breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner.

Curious to get closer to the source, we decided to go fish shopping. We left at the crack of dawn, to make sure we got the freshest of the day’s catch. Even with Sandeep’s Malayalam, we knew we would stand out at the local market, so asked a neighbor to go with us. Uncle, as he is called, loves the bottle. So when we asked him last night to be our guide, it was clear that his ability to make it was correlated to the night’s consumption. He was up bright an early, along with his booming voice and confident gait. Uncle knows everyone in town and everyone in town knows not to take him for a ride. He’s the kind of guy you want on your side of a fish market negotiation.

The local fish market is in the pocket of a country road. It consists of about 20 stalls, with obediently stacked fish awaiting direction from enthusiastic vendors.

Each vendor specializes in one or two types of fish. Fish butchers and shellfish pickers are scattered among the stalls.

Uncle boisterously negotiated at every stall. The stalls organize their catch with freshest up front, and yesterday’s catch is discounted 25%. In a feat of nature, some fish were still moving, in rhythmic determination to make it back to the backwaters. This is clearly fresh stuff.

The stars today were pearl spot, snapper, sharks and several varieties of sardines and mackerel. We were overwhelmed at what to buy and let Uncle dictate the way. When we settled on a type of fish, Uncle checked the gills (ruby red) and eyes (firm and clear) and weighed the selection. The purchase was then passed on to butchers, who gut, de-bone, fillet and cube away on solid tree stumps.

We came home with two huge snappers ($8), two kilograms of sardines ($2), and one kilogram of freshly shucked crab meat ($1).  We wanted a break from masala-fried fish and fish curry, so decided on grilled snapper for dinner.

Tomorrow’s lunch will be flash fried sardines with a squeeze of lemon. Clams stir fried with coconut and tropical spices will grace the dinner table the day after. We can’t get enough fish.