Before I begin this post, I hope that you are safe and well. And I hope that you continue to be so in this very strange time. I’m sorry about not getting a post out last week, but things have been fairly chaotic and left me with very little time to work on anything. I’m happy to finally have this up though!
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As a child, a large part of my school vacations were spent in Bombay. The excitement started right from the time we started packing. It’s hard to believe now, but I actually remember jumping on the edge of the bed while Ma packed, because I was excited I was going to have Nani’s cake. The excitement lasted only half a minute because I fell pretty badly, and haven’t jumped for cake since. Not outwardly at least.
The whole experience started with one very punctual grandfather dropping us to the station (in Ahmedabad) even before the train had come to the platform and ended with a very laid back grandfather dropping us to the station (in Bombay) just as the train was leaving the platform. We’ve chased our share of trains, running and climbing into any compartment with me and the bags being passed over.
The highlights of my vacation in Bombay were seeing my cousin Aarti and all the food that awaited me at my Nana-Nani’s house. My Nani’s way of showing love has always been to stuff you till you actually have to retire your current pair of pants. She would always labour over making special snacks, cakes, mithai and every other delicious thing you can think of, days before we were to even arrive. She’s always been indulgent with food and took great pleasure in feeding me. I’m sure a part of my love for food, cooking and feeding people comes from her and I’m grateful to her for that.
Meals at their house have always been quite an affair - not in terms of fancy food, but just in terms of the fact that they were delicious, slow, deliberate and to be enjoyed immensely even on a weekday afternoon. Nani did all the cooking and my Nana was the equivalent of Matt Preston (without the cravat). He had a remarkable palette and often she’d ask him what adjustments were needed. He was always bang on.
The family owned a very old, beautiful building called Jadavji Mansion (named after my Nana’s father) at Cuffe Parade. Nana-Nani occupied a spacious apartment on the first floor and my Nana’s brother occupied one on the third floor. My enduring memory is running up and down the grand, wooden staircases with Aarti, with a sense of adventure almost. And while we scuttled between the two houses, we were continually looked after, entertained and fed by doting grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts and uncles. Occasionally we’d stumble on a narrow passage or balcony that we had never seen before and decide it was a ‘secret passage’. The building was positively charming and fascinating to me as a kid. In the evening we’d play on the tar laden terrace, where the sea breeze hit our faces and the tar blackened our clothes. Sudhanani (my Nani from the house upstairs) would make these amazing Swiss Rolls and every now and then we were given a slice. They’re etched in my memory not only because of how fantastic they tasted, but because I couldn’t wrap my head around how a cake could possibly take that shape. I was so captivated and bewildered by this thing of beauty, I could’ve sworn it came right out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. If there was ever a cake I was to jump for again, that would be it.
After a day of running around, playing and eating the most amazing things at two houses, a Khichdi dinner could potentially have been considered anticlimactic. Perhaps to make it less so, my Nani called it ‘Kuva vali Khichdi’ (Khichdi with a well). She’d put the piping hot Khichdi onto my plate, then make a whole in the centre with her titanium fingers to form a well and then fill it with ghee. It was supremely delicious and far from anticlimactic. In fact all these years later when I’m eating alone, I still stick my finger in and make a small well. It has always made me smile.
It would seem that my association with this Khichdi is still one of old, beautiful Jadavji Mansion and of being surrounded by and doted on by a large family. I suppose that really is comfort, in a nutshell.
Ingredients
1 tbsp ghee
1/8 tsp hing (Asafoetida)
60 gms rice (I use Daawat Rozana Basmati Super)
60 gms split mung dal (with chilka), also known as split mung bean lentils
1/4 tsp turmeric powder
375ml water
Salt to taste
1/2 tsp whole black peppercorns (optional)
Method
Combine the rice and lentils, wash thoroughly two or three times and soak for about half an hour. It is ideal to let the rice and lentils soak for a while, but if you’re in a hurry you can skip this. I do, sometimes.
Heat ghee in a pressure cooker on a high flame. Once it comes up to temperature, add the hing and then the peppercorns (optional). Once it sizzles and becomes aromatic, add the soaked (and drained) rice and lentils. Add water, then the turmeric and salt. Give everything a quick stir and seal the lid shut.
After the first whistle, reduce the flame to low and wait for two more whistles. Open the lid after about 7-10 minutes, once some of the steam has escaped. With a wooden spatula, stir vigorously so that the rice and lentils are all mashed up and have a gluggy consistency. If you’d like it slightly more loose, add more water at the cooking stage. Serve piping hot with a generous dollop of good quality ghee.
Serves two, with a couple of accompaniments. If you’re doing just Khichdi, I recommend increasing the quantity.
The kind of cooking I seem to enjoy most is the spontaneous sort, where you do a small recon mission of your fridge and pantry, and whip something up. It’s the unglamorous sort of cooking, but I find it extremely satisfying because it is like solving a little puzzle - figuring out what elements might work together and running through permutations and combinations, even if there are only three or four ingredients.
Khichdi is my go-to when my fridge is rather bare or I’m too tired (or lazy) to actually make an effort. The ingredients are few and always handy in most kitchens, it’s a one pot dish (which means hardly any washing up), it takes literally 10 or 15 minutes to cook, but most of all, it’s wholesome and comforting. A lot of people think of Khichdi as rather blah, sick-person food, but to me it is honestly the ultimate comfort food. It can be a meal in itself.
We’re going through some very strange and trying times and I thought we could use a little comfort and something that’s not demanding on us or our pantries during this long, anxious lockdown.
Useful peripherals
The proportion of rice to lentils in this recipe is 1:1 and my measure is generally 3 fistfuls of each. Since I’m aware that palms aren’t a form of standard measure, I’ve tried to convert my proportions to grams. It’s a very simple recipe so you can always use the ratio to adjust the quantity you want.
I personally think hing is what gives this Khichdi its character and I like its subtle hum through everything. If you’re not as much of a fan, you can always reduce the amount that goes in.
I’ve tried making this with shorter grained rice, since it’s all mashed up anyway (and the point of a long grain is lost), but we all agreed that we didn’t enjoy the taste or the consistency quite as much.
Peppercorns add a subtle heat to this Khichdi and I actually enjoy the punch when you bite into one that has softened, but no one at home ever enjoyed it, so I don’t end up adding them now. However, Nani’s Khichdi always had them.
For this quantity of Khichdi I use a 3 litre pressure cooker and it works really well. You can even make this in a vessel on the stove top, but the amount of water and cooking time will differ and you will have to stir constantly. I’ve never tried it this way, but I’ve had it at Nani’s and it is even more delicious!
We have a few favourite accompaniments with this Khichdi - Raswalu Bataka nu shak (Potato sabji with gravy), Raswalu Tameta nu shak (a sweet-sour Tomato sabji in gravy), Kachi-paaki dungli (onions sautéed with mustard seeds and green chillies that still have a bite to them) and of course, Chaas (buttermilk) and Papad.
Since Edible Heirlooms is about food and celebrating it, I can’t help but think about people who absolutely no food security during this rather strenuous 21 day lockdown to fight COVID-19. I cannot even begin to imagine the hardship and anxiety that they must endure. There are people and organisations trying to raise money to provide food for the poor, migrant labourers and daily wagers, if you’d like to make any sort of contribution.
Human beings are the only ones suffering as animals and animal welfare organisations are also having a very hard time. Please consider donating to them too. If you’re out to buy essentials, please also consider feeding the animals on your route.
Here is a list of organisations you can donate to -
Zomato Feeding India https://www.feedingindia.org/donate
Goonj Rahat COVID-19 https://goonj.org/support-covid-19-affected
Saath https://saath.org/donate-now/ (Maybe mention that it is for COVID-19)
Jivdaya Charitable Trust https://www.jivdayatrust.org/donation-form/
P.S. In all of this doom and gloom, it made my day when some of you actually tried the Papeta Par Eedu and shared pictures! Thank you <3
As always, if you give this a shot, please share pictures! I’m always thrilled to receive them.