Instant Chutneys

A "chutney" is something of a semi-spicy, semi-tangy Indian dip.

When I was a kid, growing up in Bangalore and Pondicherry (in the States of Karnataka and in the vicinity of Tamil Nadu respectively), a chutney was basically made with fresh grated coconut.

Simple Coconut Chutney

Blend one cup of freshly grated coconut until properly pulverised.
Heat a wee bit of oil (about one teaspoon) and add to it a quarter teaspoon of black mustard seeds. When these have fully spluttered, add one dried red chili, a quarter teaspoon each of channa dal and split white urad dal. Go easy with the fire so that nothing burns. Lastly, add a few curry leaves.
Pour it on the ground coconut and add salt to taste.

There are many variations on this.

When, at the raw age of 20, I met the love of my life, who is from Kerala, he introduced me to chutneys made with shallots.

Uli Chutney

Some 4-5 shallots
Half a tomato
1 dried red chilli
About one teaspoon of coconut oil.

Heat most of the oil and saute, one by one, the chili, shallots and tomato.
Blend them well in a grinder and add salt to taste. Drizzle some coconut oil just before serving.

And this is what we have been whipping up over the more than twenty odd years that we've been man and wife.

Somewhere along the way the Love of my Life once told me of a friend who claimed that a chutney could be made with almost any left over.

And so it came about that, today, I opened the fridge and beheld a plate of leftover bits of spaghetti in some Prego sauce. It was laced with some stir fried zucchini, onions, green bell peppers, etc.

Chutney with Leftovers

1 cup leftover veggies (Do try anything else that takes your fancy)
1 or 2 dried red chillies
A teaspoon of coconut oil

Saute the chillies in a bit of oil until brown but not burnt.
Blitz with the left overs and drizzle with coconut oil before serving.

Serve with "idlis", "dosas", any type of Indian bread, rice, any type of bread, tortillas, enchiladas or anything else which comes to mind!

Expect the Unexpected!

It is no exaggeration to say that the diversity of India is mind-boggling. Perhaps it was with great foresight then that this diversity has been classified into various kinds of castes and languages, not to mention genres of cuisine. The Indian abroad often reels with indignation when asked to speak "Indian" (India is a veritable Tower of Babel). Amongst ourselves, we navigate by politely asking the other's name. This will more or less reveal from which region the person "hails" as some put it in India and maybe even what this specimen ingests ("namoona"- a slightly mocking way of putting it. We Indians tend to be highly sarcastic as a result of our frequently pungent diets).

In my youth I would flinch at the question "Where are you from?" for I'm a typical example of a favourite Indian comfort food (Khicidi- a mixture of rice and lentils. The term is used to denote any hotch-potch of things). This sad state of affairs was all the fault of my dear parents who had to go and marry spouses from faraway States (India is divided into States and Union Territories). Thus, while my late father was from the Southern Indian State of Andhra and a Brahmin ( a priestly caste that is strictly vegetarian) to boot, my mom, also now busy configuring her next Avatar, "hailed" from what is now West Pakistan and was a Mona Sikh ( Sikhs whose males need not maintain beards and wear turbans, nor need carry any of the other five requisite k's as in kesh, kirpan, kangan, kada, kacchha- hair, sword, comb, metal bangle, boxer shorts-or some form of underwear-Sikhs are supposed to be fairly warrior-like and thus do occasionally indulge in the eating of flesh). I was born in Bangalore, now famous as a software capital of India- this is in the State of Karnataka whose cuisine is a whole new story. I grew up in the sea-side town of Pondicherry- an ex-French colony and now a Union Territory engulfed by the Sate of Tamil Nadu. How was I to answer the all important "From where do you hail?"

I got into a greater pickle ( No Indian will survive for long without a good bottle of pickles-several are known to get pickled at the drop of a hat) when I decided to fall in love with a man from the Southern Indian State of Kerala- famous for its matriarchs and coconut garnished dishes. We lived out most of the first twenty years of married bliss in and around India's bustling capital city and thus acquired addictions to the tangy street foods that floated down to the Moghul-monument bedecked Delhi, along with heaps of dust, form neighboring Rajesthan (Famous for camels, desserts and castles in the sand).

It will be no wonder then if the recipes presented here bear scant resemblance to their original models. Much is morphed.

Madhu's Mean Curry

Ingredients:
1. About 5 fishes of the kind shown, cleaned and cut as depicted
2. Roughly quarter cup of oil (any vegetable oil should do)
3. A small handful of Madras onions (shallots), finely sliced
4. 6 slit green chillies 

5. 3 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
6. One piece of ginger cut in juliennes
7. A small handful of curry leaves
8. A quarter teaspoon of turmeric
9. A tablespoon of red chilli powder
10. A tablespoon of coriander powder
11. A pinch of fenugreek seeds
12. Salt to taste
13. Some 4-5 pieces of cocum

Method:
1. Heat the oil in a clay pot.
2. Add the onions, green chillies, ginger, garlic and curry leaves. Saute for a couple of minutes.
3. Lower the fire. Add the fenugreek seeds and the moistened powders (add some water to the powders before putting them in the pot so that they do not burn).
4. Let it all fry well until there is a good smell. Add a bit of water now and then to prevent burning.
5. Add the fish, cocum torn into pieces and enough water to cover the fishes.
6. Bring to a boil and cover and let it cook.