Providing social media services to some of the best restaurants have put me in constant contact with some of the people who love and make great food waking up the foodie in me. It has also given me a chance to learn a great deal on the art of cooking, complementing my own passion to experiment on new tastes. Love for good food is inscribed in the human gene. Legend has it that, when the sons of Kunthi and Madri had to go undercover as a penalty of them loosing a game with the Kauravas. Bheema, Kunthi’s third son, the fiercest of them all who later killed the hundred and one Kauravas and won the war chose to be a cook due to his love for food. He could resist Draupati’s fragrance but not his hunger.
Writing about food is a matter of great pleasure. So I find it important to write about my own goddess of food. My grandmother who i call Ammamma has a distinctive style of cooking which is often very hard to replicate due to her habit of putting her own signature into each dish that she prepares. I must confess that eating from our ancestral home in Vatakara for a period of time would make people have less appreciation for others cooking, making my mother, a wonderful cook herself, angry about me constantly complaining about her culinary skills after the vacations spent with Ammamma.
It is not her popular Biryani that is made during every festivity or her celebrated Sambar, appreciated by some of the dignified guests at our ancestral home, that I am smitten by. My personal favourite is the simple “Pulingari” prepared using cucumber or papaya along with tender jackfruit seeds or yam from the backyard. A flood forms in my mouth every time I think about it.
The strong flavor created due to the topping made of onion, mustard and uluva (Fenugreek) fried in coconut oil transforms the curry into something beyond description, acting as the touch of Midas. The aroma that comes out of the kitchen during the noon is so alluring that it makes you hungry even if you were full. It is a sheer pleasure relishing it by reducing the amount of rice in the plate. At the end of the meal even the fingers would seems edible, one would not wash them without licking the memories of the lunch which ended a few seconds ago. A fried fish and Mezhukku puratti (appetizers/starters) along with some hot literary and political discussions with my Grandfather and stories by my uncles and cousin would prolong the lunch time.
I always wonder what makes her cooking unique. It is perhaps the spoon, the same one which is used to choose the spices, including the powdered chilly and turmeric or is it the unique rhythm of mixing the curry with the long ladle. I often ask Ammamma how she makes the tastes linger on the tongue and how the flavor is felt deep in the lungs. With a smile Ammamma asks me not to over react and I should stop the habit of exaggerating things. “Cook for yourself and for your favourite people”, that my boy is the secret” she once revealed.
It’s the recipes that we make ourselves that are the best ones. No one is born a good cook. It takes years of practice to perfect the art of creating a mouth-watering masterpiece. The passion for the art of course is very important. “The fish curry will not taste good even with the Malabar tamarind if you don’t attend it while it boils in the earthen vessel with love”
