Photos: Passport & Plate - Forgotten recipes of the Konkan coast

thewanderingfoodie — Thu, 13 Mar 2014 18:51:00 GMT

Ingredients
For the Gul-Pohe
• Organic flattened rice flakes (pohe) - 1 cup*
• Palm jaggery (grated) - 1/2 cup
• Cardamom powder - ½ tsp
• Salt - ¼ tsp
• Fresh coconut (grated) – ½ cup
• Tender coconut water – ½ cup
For the sweet potatoes
• Sweet potatoes – 2 large
• Salt – ¼ tsp
• Oil – 1 tsp
• Water – 3 cups
For serving
• Okra or Turmeric leaves
• Oil – as required
• Wooden toothpicks or small dried stems
*Note: Originally, the rice flakes were made from organic rice that was reddish-brown in colour due to de-husking by hand in a round mortar-like structure known as a ‘musal’ buried underground. The final product had a pinkish-brown hue. Today, though very much available, this version of flattened rice is hardly eaten on a daily basis.

How to prepare this recipe
How to Prepare the Recipe:
Gul-pohe
• Wash the flattened riceflakes once and drain all the water. Let it rest for 10-15 minutes
• In a large mixing bowl, add the grated jaggery, cardamom powder and salt. Mix well.
• Check if the riceflakes have enough moisture. If dry, give it a sprinkle of tender coconut water and lossen up the flakes with a fork.
• Add the flattened rice flakes to the mixture and toss lightly
• Now add freshly grated coconut and toss again till the mixture comes together

Sweet potatoes
• Bring the water and salt to a boil over medium heat
• Peel and cut the sweet potatoes lengthways and add to the boiling water
• Let simmer for 15-20 mins or till the potatoes are well0cooked but slightly firm
• Drain the potatoes, let cool and slice into cubes
• Toss the cubed sweet potatoes in the oil to avoid them from blackening

To Serve:
• Wash and pat dry the leaves
• On a warm pan, press the leaves down till they become softer and more pliable
• For okra leaves, fold each side clockwise onto the next segment of the leaf and secure with a wooden toothpick or small dried stems. For turmeric leaves, fold the leaf to form a cone and fix the edges.
• Apply a light coating of oil on the inside of the leaf bowls
• Serve a ladle of gul-pohe with some sweet potatoes on the side
• Garnish with freshly grated coconut and serve at room temperature

The story behind this recipe
The utter simplicity of this recipe does not in the least match the history of change that underlies it. Its roots lie in the Hindu festival of lights – Diwali. Till about 50 years ago, Gul-pohe and boiled sweet potatoes were made in large quantities and shared with neighbours and visitors who came to greet the family, mainly in the lower Konkan coast of Maharashtra state, India. Most of the community comprised fisherman, some trading communities and a good number of ‘Marathas’ from the warrior varna/caste. Food consumption along the coast was largely on subsistence basis; a life of abundance was unheard of. On the other hand, the food of the Brahmins - an originally austere caste - turned lavish in more recent centuries. Access to education allowed them to get better jobs during the British Rule and continued even after independence, allowing them to live lives of privilege which also had a bearing on their cuisine.

A little after the 1950s, food patterns began to change along the coast. Increasing migration of labour to port cities like Mumbai brought in affluence, which made possible the purchase of ingredients that weren’t necessarily locally grown. A possible attempt at upward caste mobility also brought in Brahmanical influences in food. More refined ingredients began to replace the rougher, tougher textures consumed by the poorer classes and castes. Brown rice and a variety of millets such as sorghum and ragi gave way to refined flour, polished rice and finely ground curry pastes flavoured with ‘exotic, new’ ingredients like coriander. It is at this point that gul-pohe and boiled sweet potatoes made way for 'faraal' or sweet and/or savoury Diwali goodies.

Today, gul pohe is eaten rarely, if at all, and has almost entirely been wiped away by the more well to do ‘faraal’. This is one of the many points of transformation in coastal Maharashtrian cuisine – an indicator of a nutritiously rich culinary history lost to affluence and finery.

My Scholarship entry - Understanding a Culture through Food

thewanderingfoodie — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 20:43:00 GMT

The sun sets as the car dances its way up and down the Sahyadris. I’m about to doze off when suddenly, the car stops. “We’ve reached Khandgedara,” someone says.

I jump off my seat, negotiating with my luggage, and head towards a hut- my home for the two day trip to this remote village in Maharashtra,Western India. As I walk, cricket chirps and cries of ‘Jai Jai Ram Krishna Hari’ inch closer.

“What’s going on?”
“It’s the Saptah. We eat and sing together,” a little one says.

A festival with food! I already feel better.

In one corner of the pandal, men clink brass cymbals and dance deliriously. Two young men play the mridanga furiously, while the lead singer croaks into an ancient microphone. An audience packed with the mesmerised elderly and fidgety children looks on. Amidst the psychedelic din, a generator chugs indignantly.

A conversation with an old lady reveals that the Saptah is an age-old, annual week-long festival with a twist. Men perform kirtans and cook. The women ‘rest’.

A man gestures me for dinner. A whiff of air strikes my face and then a burst of aromas: dry red chillies, dungcakes, musky rice, wild flowers. But an overpowering sweetness of cardamom from a pot of halva draws my attention.

I sit and watch salt and lemon being thrust rhythmically onto hundreds of leaf plates laid out in horizontal rows. Brown-white rice is topped with fiery red curry, with a dollop of translucent ghee which meanders down to a shimmering semolina and raisin halva. As a guest I receive special treatment-a separate earthen jar of water and extra ghee. I tuck in like a famished ogre,blistering spice and silky sweetness tingling my senses.

For a while, we eat silently. And then voices grow louder. Reticent courtesy turns into hearty discussions on cuisine and culinary practice, followed sometimes by laughter and sometimes by disgust.

I look around. It’s all more familiar than strange.
In fact, I’m no more a guest. I’m somewhere between the observer and the observed.

Of People, Plates and Palates

Photos: Passport & Plate - Forgotten recipes of the Konkan coast

My Scholarship entry - Understanding a Culture through Food