I’m starting with something very simple, partly because I’m still setting the tone for this project and figuring out its various aspects and partly because this is the first and only thing I learned how to make from my beloved grandmum, Alooma. That’s why this is ‘Alooma’s Chai’. My love for chai is unparalleled and shared with some of the most special people in my life- my dad and my closest friend. Perhaps it isn’t just chai itself that I love, but the associations with it that fill me with a kind of warmth and comfort.
My father was a very lean man, but a real powerhouse. All his life, he never ate in the day because he said he felt sluggish after and wouldn’t be able to work. So he filled himself with copious amounts of tea (that had copious amounts of sugar) and that seemed to be his rocket fuel. Between cups of tea, he was always bustling, never vacant.
On occasion, when my grandma put a cup of tea in front of him in the evening he’d pull out a jar of butter biscuits (Batasa) and Nankhatais (a sweet, dense, porous biscuit), that were probably supplied by a relative who had recently been to Surat or Navsari. He always poured his tea into the saucer to cool it quickly and then proceeded to drink from the saucer itself. Having made some room in the cup, he’d dunk a whole butter biscuit in and immerse it. You could see bubbles coming out like it was snorkelling. The result was this sweet-salty, soggy-crunchy thing which was absolutely delightful. Completely unhealthy, but delightful. Once in a while one got away because it got too soggy and you found it lying at the bottom of the cup when you finished your tea.
My dad and I would sit in front of the TV and I would dunk away in his tea cup. Somewhere along the way, I got my own tea and somewhere I probably liked tea enough to have it on its own.
I felt so grown up and stupidly accomplished when my grandma taught me how to make chai and I made it for my dad every now and then. My dad, for his part, would always say it was great. You know when a cup is brewing at home because there’s this wonderful aroma of mint and lemongrass wafting out of the kitchen and into the living room. It’s a smell that stirs up the most comforting feelings and I never would’ve thought that something so ordinary could do that.
When I was older and moved back home after design school, I started making my dad’s morning cup of chai. There was a designated cup that was filled not only to the brim, but until some spilled into the saucer. The short walk from the kitchen to the dining table, where he sat with two newspapers, was probably the most focused and deliberate, as the chai threatened to leap out of the saucer with every step. I’d put it on the table almost victorious, we’d exchange a smile and I went on to do my own morning things. The house was quiet, except for the hiss of a wall fan, the rustling of the newspaper as my dad pored over it and some raucous Babblers outside. Sunlight streamed in through the glass doors on either side and the house had this warm glow. This was my normal. Nor matter what went on, this was our little ritual.
Often when we think of food as a trigger, we think of feasts or family meals or spending time in the kitchen with our mum and grandmum. I have however, come to realise that it is the little, unassuming things that creep in and lodge themselves, that actually mean the most. That become rituals and slide into our subconscious and form the everyday. It is these things that you yearn for the most and you realise that the ordinary has never looked more precious.
In a humble cup of chai are housed a million ordinary memories, full to the brim and overflowing - more precious than ever.
The chai at my house has more milk than water and is full of flavour. I don’t mind tea that is more watery, but what I’m not a fan of is tea that is insipid. Or for that matter tea that comes out of a machine. You can smell the desperation when I drink that.
For as long as I can remember, the tea at home has always been mint tea and when lemongrass was available, we added that. To us, it couldn’t get any better. Mint and lemongrass together have the most fantastic aroma and make for the most flavourful, fragrant chai.
The pot we use to brew the tea is aluminium, with a handle - partly because it’s easy to clean and partly because it’s been around forever and somethings you don’t screw with. It’s big enough so that even with a couple of cups in there, there’s enough space to swirl everything around and mix it.
The tea I use is a strong one, because there’s more milk in this tea. We use Wagh Bakri Premium leaf tea and the tea itself is granular - kind of like granulated sugar. You can experiment with different types of teas (granulated though) and play around with proportions.
Once brewed the tea tends to leave a lot of fine residue, so using a sieve with a fine mesh works best.
As for the mint and lemongrass, we buy a bunch and store it in the fridge. For the mint, we pick the leaves along with a bit of the stem because that has a lot of flavour as well. Just to clarify, when I say lemongrass I mean the leaves. We cut the leaves up into about 2 inch bits and store them in a container in the fridge. It goes without saying that fresh is best, but most people can’t make time to go to the market every day.
Ingredients
3/4 cup milk
1/4 cup water
1 tsp tea granules
Handful of mint leaves with stems (At least 20 or so with stems. More if they’re small)
7-10 bits of lemongrass
Sugar to taste
Method
Measure out the milk and water and combine them in a pot over a high flame. Bring to the boil and as it nears boiling point, add the tea and lower the flame. Add the mint, lemon grass and sugar at this point and change to a high flame to bring to a boil again. Make sure you tear the mint leaves to release more flavour. As it reached boiling point, swirl the pot around to make sure that everything is combined. Lower the flame and put it back on the heat and simmer for a couple of minutes, until you find that the tea has leeched its colour into the milk and it has lost its milky hue. If you like it strong, leave it to simmer a little longer. Some of the liquid will evaporate and you should be left with just the perfect amount to fit into a tea cup.
Makes 1 cup
This is just how we do it, so feel free to play around with proportions based on how you like your tea. If the tea granules you’re using aren’t strong enough, you may need to add more than a teaspoonful.
Variations
You can do just mint or just lemongrass, but you can also add ginger into the mix. This is especially nice in winter. Here are some variations we do -
- mint, lemongrass, ginger
- mint, ginger
- lemongrass ginger
- just mint
- just lemongrass
If you like the occasional dunking in your chai - try a Khaari (a flaky, puff pastry kind of biscuit), a Nankhatai (a sweet, dense and porous biscuit flavoured with Indian spices) or my favourite - a Batasa (a salty, buttery-rich, slightly hard biscuit. Enjoy your chai!
Please let me know if you end up trying this or even how you make your cup of chai :)
