Chivalrous Chivda – the unsung hero

Patal Pohyacha Chivda (Thin Poha Chivda)

Photos by Amruta Nargundkar 

Diwali is done and dusted and all the industrious food bloggers have progressed to preparing Christmas goodies, but I can’t seem to relocate my food focus without apposite valediction to one unassuming, unsung hero.

There may be scores of stars like laadus, burfi, gulab jamun, karanjis or gujiyas, shankarpale and anarase that emblazon Diwali. Crisp and savoury snacks like shev, chakali, kadboli add sizzle to balance the taste buds.  But there is only one dependable knight “in a rather drab” armour among the Diwali dramatis personae – the gallant chivda!

It doesn't take much effort or cost to make a big bin full of chivda. Not much can go wrong with the chivda, unless you are determined to ruin it by charring the peanuts, starving the chivda of essential emollients by scrounging on the oil, or leaving the poha limp and listless and not being vigilant in ensuring the copra isn’t rancid.

It’s got staying power; in that the chivda can be used to bolster the plates or packets that you send to neighbours. When you receive plated bits and bobs in reciprocation, you can in turn pick out eminent stuff and chuck the uninspiring neighbourhood chivdas all together. The versatile and democratic constitution of the chivda allows a seamless amalgamation that comes in handy when all your homemade goodies are on the brink of exhaustion and you need to entertain unannounced guests.  

Though it is not something your guests reach out for at the first go during a Diwali party, the gallant chivda rushes to your rescue when some holier-than-thou guest spurns your rich offerings and heads for some low calorie stuff. And don’t forget, as a gifted taste-bud whisperer, the chivda joins forces with chaha or chai to soothe high-strung, cloyed and feast-worn palates.

While the stars take centre stage during the four-day long festivities, the self-effacing, courteous chivda stays in the wings, stepping in with unswerving loyalty when the festivities finish and all else is spent. Quite like the amigo who brings you a cup of tea when you capsize into a chair after the “barat” has left the mandap.

The true vindication of the chivda comes only in the end, when as a true benefactor it braves decimation each passing day getting shorn of cashewnuts, peanuts and copra slices by inconsiderate, fussy pickers. The chivda is a self-sacrificing, yet happy donor that will put any knacker to shame. It is willing to repose its remains in a missal with hot and spicy sprout usal, chopped tomatoes and onions. Even the sweet and salty spluttered mustard seed dregs find their way into a dal, chutney or subji in my kitchen, while the fried red chillies come in handy as garnish.

All that remains is the comforting memory, till the next time I make another bin-full of the chivalrous chivda.

Patal Pohyacha Chivda (Thin Poha Chivda)

Ingredients

4 cups thin poha, sieved and picked clean

1cup small raw peanuts

½ cup cashew nuts

1 cup roasted chana 

½ cup thick grated dry coconut or thin slices of copra

3-4 dried red chilies, broken

 2-3 green chillies, chopped

A handful of curry leaves

1 tsp mustard seeds

1 tsp sesame seeds

1 tsp white poppy seeds

A little turmeric powder

½ tsp hing

1 tbsp coriander powder

1 tsp cumin powder

1 tsp caster sugar or powdered sugar

Oil - 1/4 cup

Salt to taste.

Method

Heat oil in a large kadai. Add mustard seeds to splutter and then the peanuts. Lightly roast the peanuts and then add green chillies, curry leaves. Let the chillies and curry leaves start to get crisp, and then add red chillies, cashew nuts, roasted chana dal, grated coconut, sesame seeds, poppy seeds. Make sure not to burn any of these nuts and seeds.  Then add the cumin and coriander powders, hing and turmeric. Remove from heat.

Quickly introduce the poha, add salt to taste and the sugar and mix well. Put the kadhai back on very low heat, stirring the chivda continuously until the entire lot suddenly starts to become lighter. Immediately remove from heat.  Allow the chivda to cool down and get crisp. 

Store in an airtight container so the chivda stays crisp for a long time.

Swatantrata Samosa

Mattar Paneer Samosa

In the days before TV, the only time we saw the official Indian flag hoisting ceremony at the Red Fort was in the Newsreel that was shown in the movies. But we never missed these grandiose events, for we had celebrations in every nook and corner of the community around us.

Every galli, nukkad, naka, chawl, colony, roundabout and chowrasta had enthusiastic patriots – some of them mere “chanda” gathering charlatans- organising flag hoisting ceremonies for denizens who gathered in the early hours of the 15^th of August by the dozens.

 

Buntings would be strung along electricity lines.  A temporary dais would be erected for parochial politicians or corrupt corporators to make patriotic speeches, not always insincere, and unfurl the tricolor on makeshift flagpoles.

All the while, loud speakers with large horns would blare Aao Bachcho Tumhein Dikhayen and De Dee Hame Azaadi Bina Khadag Bina Dhaal by the Kavi Pradeep or Lata Mangeshkar soulfully singing his Ae Mere Watan Ke Logon…and who could forget Iqbal’s Sarey Jahan Sey Accha Hindustan Hamara…

What I also remember, and not merely because I am very hungry at the time of posting this, is the little oil stained paper packets of samosas and laddus that were distributed to all.

The laddus were not a novelty, but the samosas were certainly a treat.  

Our strict home-rules about establishing the origins of a samosa (and yes, a cutlet too) before pronouncing it fit for consumption were thrown to the wind. “Don’t tell me if your tummies go bad!” was a caution we collared, even at the risk of the insufferable but inexorable “I told you so!”

Hot, freshly fried samosas were ok we were told– but you could never be sure as to how long the filling had been exposed to the elements. There were far too many examples of how eating samosas on display, in storage or in transit at under the requisite 60 C or above the 5 C (BTW - the temp range is recent gyan) had ruined many a fun outing.

As my interest in cooking developed, I realised all this could be avoided if we made samosas at home.

The writing on the wall was always clear.

When I finally got down to making samosas at home, it was actually so liberating not be at the mercy of suspect stuffing of unknown origin and antiquity… So emancipating not to be ambushed at first bite by a filling at pungency levels that would scorch any Scoville scales…  So releasing not to fear rancid re-used oil…

   

Matar Paneer Samosa

For the pastry

250 gm plain flour

2-3 tbsp ghee

Salt to taste

¼ teaspoon ajwain

Water to knead the dough

Oil for frying

Method

In a bowl, sift the flour and salt. Then add the ghee and rub it into the flour with your hands until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the ajwain and gradually add the water to make a smooth, firm but pliable dough.  Cover with cling film and set aside for an hour.

For the stuffing

2 tbsp oil

½ tsp cumin seeds

1 small onion, chopped

½ tsp garlic

½ tsp ginger

1-2 green chillies, chopped fine

1 cup grated paneer

1 cup frozen baby peas

1 medium potato, boiled, peeled and mashed

1 tbsp chopped cashew nuts

½  tsp amchur powder or lemon juice

½ teaspoon coriander powder

1 tsp garam masala powder

Salt to taste

1 tbsp chopped coriander leaves

Method

Heat oil in a pan. Add cumin seeds followed by the onions, garlic, ginger, green chillies and cashew nuts and sauté well. 

Add the paneer, peas, and sauté further. Then add the coriander powder, amchur powder, chopped coriander leaves and garam masala. Add the mashed potato for binding and mix well. Cover and cook on a low heat for 2-3 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

Divide dough into equal parts. Make a ball out of each part and roll it into discs like a poori. Cut each disc in half. Fold each semi-circle in a triangle and prop it open like a cone and fill it with a spoonful of the matar-paneer mixture.  Fold the edges over run a finger dipped in water along the edges to seal them.   Prop the prepared samosas in a row.

Heat oil in a kadai or pan and fry the samosas on medium heat till golden and crisp.  Drain them onto kitchen paper to absorb excess oil. Serve hot with chutneys like mint and tamarind-date.  

Cheesy Choices

Cheese Mysore Bonda

 

Some of you may share my disdain for things like cheese dosa, paneer dosa, baby corn dosa, cheese Mysore masala dosa, cheese pav bhaji, cheese dabheli – such fusion in foods sounds a tad cheesy and almost wannbe…

Why is there a need to add cheese, baby corn and paneer to regional dishes that don’t really need this added embellishment?

Do the restaurants really adjust ingredients to justify the claims – or just chuck in a handful of Amul cheese and wilting ageing baby corn – to make it “special”?

Does this far-fetched addition of foreign stuff warrant the substantial difference in the price?

Is this a stratagem to make these traditional dishes more attractive to younger people?

Does this attempt at modernisation delude diners into thinking they are patronising a  “progressive and trendy” eatery?

Okay… granted, I am a little crabby that a most fantastic long weekend has come to an end… reckon I am restive tonight – it’s past midnight; accept I will be busy meeting a mid-week work deadline… and won’t be able to indulge in writing or cooking…

Hmmm, so cheese, paneer and baby corn in these dishes may have some merit. If nothing, only to mitigate the inordinate levels of heat introduced in restaurant foods these days…

Thinking about the dish I am describing - remembering how the flour and cheese were a perfect match - my grudging grumpiness is melting, just like the cheese in the bondas  – and diminishing just like the spongy bondas disappeared in no time…

Cheese Mysore Bonda

This is a perfect snack attack dish - a tad oily, so reserve it for a real special day when you come home hungry on a rainy Friday, after driving for an hour through treacle traffic ... like I did the other day!

Ingredients

1½ cups self-raising flour

½ cup rice flour

¾ cup sour yoghurt

1 onion, chopped

1 tbsp fresh ginger, chopped fine

2-3 green chillies, finely chopped

1 tbsp coriander leaves finely chopped

A few curry leaves, chopped fine

1 tsp cumin seeds

4-5 tbsp grated mozzarella cheese

Salt to taste

Oil to deep fry

Method

Make a thick batter of the flours, chopped onions, chopped green chillies, chopped curry leaves, chopped ginger, cumin seeds, coriander leaves and the yoghurt. Add some water to adjust the consistency to resemble that of a thick pakora batter. Make sure there are no lumps. Add the grated mozzarella cheese and then the salt accordingly. 

Heat oil in a wok and drop spoonfuls into hot oil. Fry the bondas till they are golden brown and remove them on a kitchen paper to drain excess oil.

When you fry in a large quantity of oil, the bondas come out round – but I usually use small amounts of oil, hence the flatter shape.

Serve hot with tomato sauce and mustard sauce.

Land Ahoy!

Masala Wada/ अंबोडे (crisp savoury lentil dumplings) 

“विकाराबाद आलं !” (We’ve reached Vikarabad) was a cry perhaps as dear to us as “Land Ahoy” to a weary sailor, for it marked a high point of the day-long train trip home from holidays.  

The journey till this point was arduous as we headed home, with laden feet and a heavy heart, after spending a memorable summer vacation with my maternal grandparents, cousins, uncles and aunts, stray dogs and cats that were house guests of the season - and mangoes!

Not that the train journey wasn’t fun – we monkeyed around climbing up and down the bunks, gingerly testing and almost pulling the stop chain, trying the switches of the quaintly funny Cinni fans and lights, sliding the windowpanes and shutters up and down, much to Mother’s chagrin.

But after a while we would tire of these games and begin to feel cooped up in the narrow gauge carriage, wooden bunks biting our bones, bits of coal from the steam engine fume plumes getting into our eyes, and the swaying when you closed your eyes would go away only after a whole day’s or night’s rest.

The only highlights so far (till Vikarabad, I mean, in case you lost me) would be the hot and sweet instant coffee Mother had bought us before boarding the train at Latur Road station, which was located many miles out of town and warranted a long bumpy bus ride. What was so great about coffee? Well, instant coffee was quite a novelty still, and (good) kids like us were not allowed coffee or tea.

The other highlight would be the lovely lunch Mai, our grandmother, had packed for us. This energetic lady would get up at 3 am to make our breakfast and pack lunch and dinner to last us on the journey. It would be fun to lay out our travelling lunch, open umpteen containers of the towering tiffin carrier and other sundry boxes of all sizes and shapes to discover the goodies.

धपाटी (theplas), तिखट मिठाच्या पुऱ्या ( masala pooris ) चुरम्याचे लाडू (churma laddu) soft chapatis and बटाट्याच्या काचऱ्या ची भाजी (crisp stir fried potatoes) गुळ-तूप, तूप-साखर (jaggery and ghee or sugar and ghee spreads) various pickles, hand pounded दाण्याची चटणी (peanut chutney)  and दहीभात (curd and rice) were usual, but each time they tasted better than before.

Now, we weren’t greedy kids, but somehow there is this inexplicable attraction for the forbidden – in this case the snacks and sweets - gul poli, gul-papdi cha ladu, chivda, sakhrparyachya vadya - Mai had packed for us in plastic bags and boxes in a wicker picnic basket covered with a tea towel and jealously guarded by Mother. Eat the fresh food now and keep the snacks for later - some sane but disappointing advice from her.

We would doze off after lunch, to Mother’s relief. To grant it to her, she had patiently answered all our questions so far (e.g. Do air planes also have toilets just like trains?) kept her temper when we whinged for the bright colourful lollies and peanuts from the vendor’s basket or squabbled over who would read which comics, scolded us for mimicking beggars singing and playing castanets, diligently, and we thought paranoidly,  told us not to touch this and that…

Waking up as we neared this town of Vikarabad, we would sight the huge rocky boulders, signboards that were now in Telugu and note excitedly that red buses gave way to green ones and black auto rickshaws of Maharashtra became yellow.

This point marked the entry into our home state Andhra Pradesh. It meant most of our journey was done. 

Sometime during the nap, our kid hearts had gotten over the sweet sorrow of parting and we woke up looking forward to going home, going back to school, buying new books, uniforms, school bags and shoes…

And the cry “विकाराबाद आलं !” revved up our spirits – for the ultimate reason – we would be allowed to buy the most delicious masala wadas at this railway station. Yes, buying food wrapped in old newspaper from vendors was a very exotic experience for us - and buying street food that met Mother’s strict quality control was an unbeatable and somehow unbelievable bonus.

As the train drew into the station with a little shed, we would fretfully look out for the vendor with the singsong nasal voice, wondering each year if it would be the same guy as the previous year, and if it was, would remember us…

Equally fretful were decisions about how many wadas to buy, with Mother giving in with each passing year in deference to our growing appetites and girths and quite simply, to our growing up. This was vindication of the yearlong misery of longing for these delectable morsels on roadside stalls and restrained by the strict prohibition.

Needless to say, the wadas - the most delicious, crisp, crunchy and tasty ones ever, would be gone even before the train left the station, but sated and happy, we would be too busy going at Mother -

“ Pleeeease, can I not get Dada’s hand-me-downs this year!”

" I need to wear pants from this year on..."

"Says who?"

"Says me.."

Masala Wada

The masala wada is a very popular savoury snack of South India and comes with many variations – with fennel seeds, with spring onions, with dill or mint, with turmeric or without, with or without garlic and ginger, round and flat ones, or round balls. Some use only chana dal, while others use a mix of chana dal, urad and moong dal.

As "Gateaux Piments" they are very popular in Mauritius, and as "Dal Wadas" they make very popular Iftar food in the Middle East.  

Marathi/Kannada versions go by the name ambode and are made especially for a festive meal. 

This is my sixth post in support of my friend Preeti Deo's event  A humble giveaway to fight against plagiarism.

And I am dedicating this post to the wonderful ladies in this story of my life- Mai and Aai! 

Ingredients

2 cups chana dal (Garbanzo beans)

½ cup urad dal (Black Gram)

½ cup moong dal (Green Gram)

1 large onion or 1 cup chopped green onions

1 tbsp chopped garlic 
1 tbsp chopped ginger

8-10 curry leaves

2-3 green chillies

2 whole red chillies (or more)

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 cup cleaned green coriander

Salt to taste

Oil to deep fry

Method

Pick, wash and soak the dals separately for a few hours.  Set aside a handful of soaked chana dal.  Peel and roughly cut the onion. Combine all the ingredients except the oil in a food processor bowl and grind coarsely using little or no water. Grinding in a food processor or onion chopper is necessary, as it allows you to grind without any water, unlike a mixer/grinder.

Remove the ground mixture in large bowl and adjust the tastes. Add the whole soaked chana dal. 

Try to shape a wada like a pattie with flattened sides in the palm of your hand. If the mixture doesn’t hold together, add a little besan (chickpea flour).

Heat oil for in a wok or kadhai. Test the batter by introducing a small amount pressed into a tight ball. If the mixture disintegrates in the oil, add some more besan.

Okay – let me gloat- I didn’t have to add any besan, as I ground the mixture without adding any water.

Make equal sized patties with thicker centres and thinner edges, and deep fry them on medium heat till golden and crisp. Remove on kitchen paper and serve hot with a chutney or sauce.