Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Idlis Steamed In Screw Pine Leaves (Moode)

In the beautiful land of Udupi, Mangalore, plain idlis are made special and fragrant by steaming idli batter in jackfruit leaves, banana leaves, pandan/screw pine leaves, turmeric leaves, teak leaves, Macaranga peltata leaves (recipe will be up on the blog soon).
Moode are idlis wrapped up like a mystery in screw pine leaves! A delicacy from Udupi, Mangalore region. The screw pine leaves/pandan leaves add a distinct taste and aroma to idlis and make them special, unique and delicious.
Screw pine leaves are weaved into cylindrical moulds and are used to steam idli batter. They make cylindrical idlis, which are called as ‘moode’ in Kannada/Tulu. They are made during festivals, a must for Krishnajanmastami festival and are served as breakfast during special occasions and celebrations. It also shows up on tables of most Udupi, Mangalorean homes as breakfast every once in a while. People from Udupi and Mangalore have a flair for these cylindrical idlis.
Moode are versatile, they are traditionally had with butter/ghee/coconut oil on top and with coconut chutney's, chicken curries, sprouted green gram coconut based curry, a sweet-sour-spicy pineapple curry etc.
The art lies in making these moulds, which is slowly dying. You then steam your normal idli batter in these cylindrical moulds. Steaming is when the magic happens. The screw pine/pandan leaves impart an amazing taste and aroma to the idlis. And that’s when the heavenly smell of steaming moode, fills up your home.
These days people buy moode moulds from roadside vendors in Udupi, Mangalore as making them involves a lot of work. Thanks to our lovely neighbours, the Madhyasta family, who’s mastered the art of making moode moulds, we got some beautiful moulds. Here’s a video of Geetha Madhyasta, our neighbour, teaching me how to weave a moode.
Ole means leaves in Kannada, mundakka in Kannada is the local name of pandan/screw pine plant, hence moode are also called as mundakana ole, oli kadubu in Kannada in Udupi, they are also called as voli moode in Tulu, mundanoli khotto in Konkani.
Traditionally, Pandanus unipapilatus, the screw pine variety having vicious thorns on the spines and sides of the leaves are used to make moode (the cylindrical moulds). The thorns are neatly scaled, the leaves are then withered in an open flame on the ground (these days on the cooking stove) to remove moisture from the leaf. This makes the leaves less brittle and prevent tearing of the leaves. And thus prevents oozing out of the batter from the moulds, later on while steaming. The withered leaves are then weaved into cylindrical moulds. The screw pine leaves are thick enough to be split into 2 and be used to make moode moulds. Each screw pine leaves are long enough to make 2-3 moode's too.
Natives of Udupi, Mangalore have found a variety of pandan without thorns. These leaves help save time and effort involved in removing the thorns off the screw pine leaves traditionally used (Pandanus unipapilatus). This variety of pandan is called as mundaka in Kannada and also grows easily in backyards unlike the screw pine variety with thorns (Pandanus unipapilatus), which usually grows along side beaches, river banks, ponds of coastal areas. Sorry couldn't find the species the plant belongs to, as the genus Pandanus has over 750 species of plants, commonly called as screw palms, screw pine, pandan. Leaves of these mundaka plants look similar to any other variety of screw pine leaves, impart similar taste and smell to idlis. The leaves in the images below and the leaves used in the video above are that of mundakka, the variety of pandan without thorns widely available in Udupi. The plant, leaves look like these:

These super long leaves (which go upto 60cm) are withered on a cooking stove or in an open flame on the ground and then the leaves are rolled tightly one after the other to keep the long leaves intact in shape untill they are used. These circular rolls made are called as chandrike in Kannada.
If the leaves aren't withered with care then they smell completely of smoke and they may not be very pleasant to eat.

The withered leaves tend to change in colour with time. They brown, so use them while they are fresh for an amazing smell and taste.
Moulds ready to steam idlis in:

My neighbour uses the thorns of Catunaregam spinosa, kaarekaayi gida, maggaare in Kannada, to make these moulds. You can also use dried coconut leaves petioles, dried bamboo sticks to make these moulds.

Each moode can hold a lot of idli batter due to it's elongated shape and 2 moodes can fill you up. :-) Moode filled with idli batter, on the steamer:

Here’s how they look after they are steamed:

The colour of the leaves change on steaming:

Before you serve them, remove all the thorns used to keep the moode moulds intact. Peel open the moode slowly as shown below:

Ingredients:
Ingredients:

3/4 cup split black lentil (urad dal)
1.5 cups of rice semolina (idli rava, rice rava)
Salt to taste
5-6 moode moulds

Serves: 2-3
Prep Time: 60 minutes, overnight fermentation
Cooking time: 30 minutes
Preparation Method:

Grind the batter for these idlis on the previous night of preparation.
And to make a batter, soak urad dal for a minimum of 30 minutes. Wash them well and drain all the water.
Grind them using as little water as possible into a smooth paste. I suggest using a wet grinder over a blender, for a super smooth batter.
Transfer the ground batter into a big vessel. Add in rice semolina, salt and mix well. The batter tends to rise on fermentation so use a bigger vessel.
We need a semi-thick batter and not a very thick batter. The batter should fall off the ladle easily. So, add a little water if required. Be careful not to add excess.
Keep the batter closed aside and allow it to ferment overnight for a minimum of 7-8 hours on hot days and 10-12 hours during winter. If you live in a cold region look for tips to ferment the batter below.
Just before you steam these idlis in the morning, give the batter a nice mix as the semolina would have settled down at the bottom of the vessel.
Get your steamer going and once the water is rolling hot start filling the batter into the screw pine moulds.
First keep the screw pine moulds into the steamer lined up next to one another.
Then pour fermented batter into the moulds upto 3/4th of the mould, as the fermented batter tends to rise and fill up the mould. If not they fall out of the mould.
If your moulds aren't standing straight once they are filled, then place them inside idli moulds/ramekins to prevent them from toppling over.
Steam them for 30 minutes on a medium flame.
After steaming, open the lid and put it back on with a little space for the steam to escape. Don't close it fully, to prevent steam from trickling onto the idlis.
Serve steaming hot moode by peeling the leaves after 5 minutes of steaming. They otherwise tend to break into pieces if you try to peel them soon after steaming.
Before you serve them, remove all the thorns used to keep the moode moulds intact. Peel open the moode slowly as shown above.

Servings suggestions:
Serve steaming hot mudde with butter/ghee/coconut oil on top and with a spicy coconut chutney or chicken curry or sprouted green gram coconut based curry or a sweet-sour-spicy pineapple curry etc.
Note on fermenting the idli batter if you live in a cold region:
Fermentation needs warm temperatures. So, in summer the batter ferments very well and doubles or triples in it's quantity within a few hours. With drop in temperatures you would have to ferment them for longer.
But in cold places, the batter has to be kept in a warm place for it to ferment. If your oven has light, then turn on the light for a few hours with the batter in the oven. Once the oven is warm, turn off the light and let the batter undergo fermentation.
If your oven does not have a light, then preheat the oven to warm, turn off the oven. Then keep the batter in the oven to ferment.
You would have to experiment and keep a watch to get the right amount of fermented batter depending on the temperature in your place.
More info on Pandan:
Mundaka isn't the flavourful pandan leaf, Pandanus amaryllifolius variety widely used to flavour rice, sweet and savoury dishes. (Called as sannakki in Kannada.) However, the leaves look pretty similar, the only difference being, the mundakka used to make the above moulds have a thick, broad, dark green, leathery textured, long leaves unlike the flavourful, thin, not so long, pandan leaves below: Pandanus amaryllifolius leaf, sannakki leaf:

Pandanus amaryllifolius plant, sannakki plant:

More Info on Pandanus amaryllifolius: http://theepicentre.com/spice/pandan-leaf/, http://www.cooksinfo.com/screw-pine-leaves.
They are also different from the fragrant screw pine - Pandanus odorifer - http://www.itslife.in/gardening/wild-plant-and-flowers/kewda-tree
Find more Konkani cuisine, Udupi, Mangalorean breakfast recipes here.
Tags: kedige leaves, screw pine leaves, pandan leaves, moode, mooday, kadubu, kottige, mundakana ole kadubu, oli kadubu, Idlis steamed in screw pine leaves, Udupi cuisine, Mangalorean food

Monday, November 5, 2018

The Story Behind One Of Mumbai’s Oldest Standing Eatery That Belongs To A Yazidi Family: Yazdani Restaurant & Bakery

SAVE

Parvez Irani could be any old man sitting on the counter of a restaurant collecting cash. He’s so much trained in his trade that the best of corporate employees could be put to shame with his no-nonsense demeanour and a poker face determined to get work done well. He can be quite intimidating at first, but it’s his eyes that say a different story. Literally, a different story, because his eyes have a sharp hint of grey in them, a trait of the Yazidi community from the West Asia.

Parvez Irani, the owner of Yazdani Bakery
In another part of the world, Parvez’s community is suffering genocide at the hands of ISIS. None of that seems to remotely affect him, as the now 76-Year-Old Parvez has been born and brought up in Mumbai and calls himself a true patriot (Because he knows the true meaning of the 24 spokes on the Indian flag – he thinks it has not much to do with King Ashoka, but that you’re supposed to do one good deed per hour). He knows more about the Indian flag than anyone of my generation will ever know. He impatiently rings the bell on his counter of the Yazdani Bakery to call on the men who are waiting for the tables of the restaurant and bakery.

The old style posters still stand at the entrance
Someone once told me that Parsi and Irani bakeries are different, and asked Parvez the same to clear my doubt. Parvez immediately rubbished it and said, “The only difference between us is that the Parsis came 1200 years ago and we came about a hundred. But we’re the same people and every ritual and practice we follow is exactly the same,” he shares with us.

buns are the decor in this old structure

Travelling through the time

Entering Yazdani bakery is like stepping into a time warp. You’re immediately transported into what would look like the 1950s, exactly when the bakery was established. The narrow lane near the Horniman Circle, Fort was really busy on the Tuesday afternoon we visited.

The lane itself mirrors the good ol’ Bombay, but swanky Mercs and posh BMWs passing through the lane are major old-world-charm killers. The bakery, on the other hand, has a wall full of posters and advertisements from the yesteryears, with grandfather clocks hung on two walls. Even the menus displayed outside and inside are written with a chalk on a wooden blackboard.

wall with advertisements and posters from the 50s
Parvez tells us that when Babri Masjid was demolished, leading to riots in 1992 in Mumbai, Parvez recalls that Yazdani was the only open bakery in that area, providing food to those stranded and homeless.

“No police or politician made any attempt to come and shut us down. And this support from the people still stands with us,” he tells us proudly.

This is evident when we look around the place that is so sturdy and teeming with regulars and the frequent knells of ‘Bun-Maska-Chai” booming through the room.
the classic bun maska at Yazdani

the classic bun maska and tea at Yazdani
The baking style is obviously old – done manually with little to no help of machines. As the bakers stand in the farthermost section of the bakery spraying flour across the gigantic table and kneading kilos of dough with the finesse that would give quite a competition to their French counterparts. And they seem to be in the flow – happy, content, and in almost movements so synchronized they could be called choreographed.

Something old, Something new

The first Starbucks café in Mumbai had opened in Horniman circle’s fancy Elphinstone building in 2012, and lives up to the hype of its name – a comfortable, classy café with a perpetual coffee aroma for the company. It’s air conditioned, unlike Yazdani bakery which is barely fifty meters away from the international franchise outlet.

stark contrast between the two cafes near horniman circle

And yet, Yazdani has a large and loyal fan following. May be it’s the feeling of having time travelled into a classic Irani restaurant in Mumbai, or simply the dollops of maska in the bun-maska they offer, Yazdani is full of character – just like your favourite old book lying rugged on your shelf.

Parvez’s father had set up Yazdani Bakery & Restaurant in 1950, which Parvez joined in 1959. “People used to be so large hearted back then. My father used to give away food to the poor just like that,” Parvez gestures ‘giving away’ with his skinny, wrinkled hands.

“Sometimes, people would not have enough money and even then my father would let it go. The Nehru government had hiked the rates of maida and there was not much of a scope for profit. But still, my father said that the difference of one naya paisa should go into the stomach of the customer and not our pockets. Since then it became a norm to give the leftovers to the poor. This, was until we could afford a new fridge,” Parvez laughs and points at one standing at the corner of the restaurant.

Parvez Irani posing with a friend outside his bakery
Parvez’s family has been into baking for a long time. He tells us that his ancestors were bakers in Iran and were bakers after they came to India. His grandfather had opened a bakery somewhere in Mumbai, where his grandmother used to make bread while his grandfather sold it. Yazdani was later set up in 1950 after his father decided to let go of a partnership business and set up his own.

British architecture under the blue sky

The structure of this bakery with its sky blue exterior and red painted roof stands alone among the elegantly carved British architecture on one side and neat commercial buildings on the other. And it’s surprisingly bigger on the inside – huge table to knead dough and large ovens to bake, and still, so much of room left that one could get their dance rehearsals done while the bread baked in the ovens. Yazdani bakery still uses an old style bread cutter, which is quite fascinating but efficient nonetheless. Stacks of hot dog buns are perhaps the only embellishment in the otherwise faded blue interiors and high vaulted ceiling above.

the bread cutter used here is rare and won't be seen elsewhere
It looks like the Irani bakeries of Mumbai are living on borrowed time from three different generations. They serve the same dishes they did back then, and have people loving it, but are slowly being swamped by a different generation who loves polished wooden floors and a crowd that loves imitating an accent.

The speciality of the bakery – bread pudding usually gets only hours after it is made. So we sort of made ends meet with an egg puff, bun maska and chai. There’s a lot more they offer – the apple pie, carrot cake, fiery ginger biscuits and muffins – all of which almost get over by the end of the day.

the insides of this bakery are huge and spacious
Parvez’s son Tirandaz may be slightly less perky than his father, but still, has an interesting perspective regarding the death of the Irani café culture in the city. “The new cafés that are taking over the city are very fancy and have more facilities, but I wish that old places like these are retained and managed well. Our coming generations are so much in awe of the westernised world that they will voluntarily not take over the family business or manage the bakery. I would still wish that this bakery went on forever,” he tells us.

Tirandaz Irani, the next generation who will take the bakery ahead

Is the change good?

Places like the Yazdani bakery are rare. When nobody provided livelihoods to people, the bakeries and restaurants did. Less than a dozen people work in Yazdani, and have been for almost all their lives.
Irani bakeries and cafes may look ordinary from the outside and may seem mundane to those who are ignorant to the beauty of the antiquated, but always have something fun to tell. Right from the exteriors to the people who visit it, Yazdani takes you on a trip to a less polished, raw and ragged Mumbai – the one that told tales of its initiation, survival and how it still stands undeterred and moves on but still retains its glamour.

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Jews From Cochin Bring Their Unique Indian Cuisine to Israeli Diners

On a moshav in southern Israel, the women behind Matamey Cochin keep alive the flavors of an ancient Jewish community

By Dana Kessler

October 23, 2013 • 12:00 AM

See
Recipe

Cochini Dosha

(Shy Shmuel; recipe photo below Hadasa Shani)

One of Israel’s well-known traditions is “the great trip to the East” that young adults take after completing their army service—whether it’s to “find themselves” in ashrams, lie on the beach in Goa, or smoke weed all day far from their parents’ observing eyes. This tradition is one of the reasons Israelis think they know all about India (the other being the fact that Israelis think they know all about everything). But many Israelis don’t know that Jews have a history in India that dates back to antiquity.
While there are different groups of Jews in India, living in different areas, the Cochin Jews of South India are the oldest, dating back to biblical times. These Jews, whom the Hindu Raja granted their own area in the southern Indian port city of Cochin (known today as Kochi) during the Middle Ages, lived peacefully in what is now part of the state of Kerala. Even though they never suffered persecution, most of them immigrated to Israel in the 1950s and early ’60s. The majority settled in moshavim around the country, while some moved to various cities. In the 1960s, there were between 2,000 and 3,000 Cochin Jews in Israel. Nowadays, there are very few Jews left in Cochin, while the community in Israel, which grew due to intermarriages, totals between 7,000 and 8,000 members.
One of the moshavim where most Cochin Israelis are situated is Nevatim, in the south of Israel. Nevatim used to be an agricultural settlement, but since the local agriculture died down in the 1980s, the moshav has been striving to revive its economy by turning it into a tourist attraction, based on the heritage of its Cochin Jews. Tourists, from Israel and abroad, visit Nevatim for its beautiful synagogue, cultural center, and museum, as well as for the traditional food cooked and served by the women of Matamey Cochin.
Matamey Cochin (“Cochin delicacies”) is a business operated by eight local women between the ages of 55 and 65 who host Cochin-style meals in their homes or in the local hospitality tent, for groups who make reservations. When the idea of hosting traditional meals in the moshav came up, the women of Nevatim turned to Smadar Kaplinsky, who develops small businesses for women in Israel. She helped them get their enterprise off the ground four years ago this month, and, with the assistance of Partnership 2000 and the Jewish Agency, the women of Nevatim started holding cooking workshops for Taglit-Birthright Israel and other youth groups, as well as hosting meals for visitors. In addition to providing traditional meals for groups from the United States and Canada a few times a year, they cater mainly to groups from Israel.
I traveled to the Negev recently to visit Nevatim, where I met Bat Zion Elias (the moshav’s tourism coordinator), Geula Nehemia, Rima Efrayim, and Miriam Elias—four of the leading ladies of Matamey Cochin. Sitting in Nehemia’s garden, which surrounds a small art gallery where she sells her ceramics and her husband’s iron art, the women told me about their heritage and culture.
Although it is a small community, Cochin Jews are not a homogeneous group. There are two separate communities: Malabari Jews (who were known in Cochin as Black Jews and probably arrived in India as traders in the time of King Solomon) and Paradesi Jews (a community of Sephardic Jews who arrived in Cochin in the 16th century, after the expulsion from Iberia, and are known as White Jews). Just as the Malabari Jews were the majority back in India, they are the majority in Israel, too. The Cochin Jews in Nevatim “belong to the Black Cochin Jews,” said Bat Zion Elias. “In India the two communities lived separately, and it’s the same in Israel. Recently the Indian ambassador initiated a convention of all Indian Jews in Israel and brought all of us together for the first time, but generally there is no connection between the groups.”
After urging me to crumble a curry leaf—fresh from the curry tree that grows in Nehemia’s garden—in order to smell its unique aroma, the women started bringing various traditional dishes to the table, most of which were prepared with curry leaves, which Cochinis call veplla. Many of them seemed like exotic versions of more familiar dishes, and not necessarily Indian ones. I sampled pastels—deep fried pastries similar to empanadas, filled with minced chicken breast, onions, cabbage, and spices, which probably originated from Spain or Portugal. The kadtela pastel I was served had the same filling, but with a different kind of dough, which reminded me of blintzes. Dosha, a pancake that brought to mind the Yemenite lahoh, was served with a traditional spicy and sour sauce called chamandi, made of ground almonds, coconut milk, curry leaves, and mustard seeds. Hubba—semolina dumplings filled with minced chicken breast, onions, cabbage, celery, and coriander—looked like the Cochin version of Iraqi kubbeh. The women were quick to confirm that many of these dishes did arrive in Cochin from faraway places and were adapted to suit the local produce.
“Our food isn’t like the Indian food you know,” explained Miriam Elias, who, like Bat Zion Elias, was born in Israel; Nehemia and Efrayim were born in India and came to Israel as children. “We use different spices. We stick to a few basic ones and don’t mix them up like the Indians do.” A cookbook called Spice & Kosher: Exotic Cuisine of the Cochin Jews, which was published in Canada a few months ago, claims that the three C’s—cardamom, cinnamon, and cumin—along with coconut, coriander, and pepper, dominate this exotic cuisine. If you ask the women of Matamey Cochin, they will tell you not to forget curry leaves, black mustard seeds, garlic, onions, ginger, and turmeric.
Not only does their cuisine differ from Indian food from other areas, it differs from Hindu cooking in Cochin, too. First of all, it is kosher and devoid of dairy products (the closest you get is coconut milk), and some dishes are strictly Jewish and don’t exist in the local Hindu menu at all. Many of the dishes serve a certain purpose and are aligned with holidays and specific dates. For instance, the Cochin papadam (which differs from the kind of papadum you get in Indian restaurants) is eaten before the Tisha B’Av fast and is served with various kinds of curry. “When we say ‘curry’ we mean something completely different than what you know as curry,” clarified Bat Zion Elias. “Curry for us isn’t a spice mixture or a hot dish. Our curries are a variety of cold salads made out of cooked vegetables, like tomatoes, onions, or eggplants, sort of like matbucha. The meal before Tisha B’Av, as well as the dishes served during mourning periods, are always vegetarian. We eat chicken or beef on happy occasions.”
In day-to-day life, the Jews of Cochin ate a lot of vegetable and rice dishes, as well as fish and chicken. They boast a large variety of breads—some baked, others steamed, deep-fried, or pan-fried—as well as many different savory snacks. “In India, we didn’t have refrigerators, so most of the food was made fresh and eaten on the spot,” explained Bat Zion Elias. “But we also have a large variety of wheat snacks that are dry and can be kept outside for a long time. Any big event starts with a toast in which we eat these snacks, before starting the actual meal.”
Apart from helping the local economy by establishing culinary tourism in their area, Matamey Cochin’s main objectives are preserving the Cochin Jews’ tradition as well as empowering local women. “Smadar Kaplinsky organized elderly women in different areas, women who had vast knowledge but never did anything with it outside of the home,” said Bat Zion Elias. “That’s what she did for us, too. When we started out we were 18 women and one man, now we are eight women. It’s hard work and many dropped out along the way. But now we have a strong and unified group.”
Nehemia admits that for many years she didn’t cook this kind of food at all, and the group opened her up to her own tradition: “My kids grew up on schnitzel and mashed potatoes, like all Israeli children. After we started this project I found out that my grown-up daughter does like Cochini food and is eager to learn how to cook it. It is important to us to teach the next generation how to make this food, otherwise our culinary tradition will disappear forever.” Bat Zion Elias agreed: “In Nevatim and other settlements in which we are the majority, like Aviezer, Ta’oz, or Mesilat Zion, our cooking tradition still exists. But in places where Cochin Jews live among other ethnic groups, and where the young generation intermarries, it is starting to die out.”
There used to be a restaurant called Cochin in Kfar Yuval, a moshav in the Galilee panhandle, but it doesn’t exist anymore. Nowadays it seems the only other place to eat Cochini food in Israel besides Nevatim is at a similar set-up in moshav Mesilat Zion, near Beit Shemesh. This is also called Matamey Cochin, although it has no connection to the women of Nevatim, and is privately owned. “My family and I host homemade Cochini meals in our backyard for about seven years, maybe more,” said Benny Aline, the owner of Matamey Cochin in Mesilat Zion. “We cater to groups of at least 10 people, and usually 20 to 30 people. We get internal tourism as well as tourists from abroad, who come here to taste something new and different.”
Both Aline and the women of Nevatim sometimes venture outside of their home turf to sell their food at various food events and festivals, but when striving to preserve a dying tradition, festivals, workshops, and group meals aren’t enough. In Israel only one Cochin cookbook has ever been published: Eti Gilad’s The Cochin Cuisine, which was published independently in 2007 and has long been out of print.
“My personal drive was to document and preserve the tradition of the Cochin Jews and its culinary aspects,” Gilad, head of the Institute for Gender Research at Achva College of Education, told me. When I asked her what is so special about Cochin cuisine and why it should be of any interest to the outside world, Gilad—who was born in Cochin and immigrated to Israel with her parents when she was 4 years old—talked about healthy kosher food, much of it suitable for vegetarians (it has some meat and fish, but a lot of it is based on fruit and vegetables). “One of the interesting things about Cochin cooking is the use of coconut, in all its variations,” Gilad told me. “I got a call from Mea Shearim telling me I saved them, because coconut milk is a great substitute for milk in kosher cooking. Another interesting thing is our use of onions. We brown large quantities of onions, and then cook vegetables or whatever it is we are cooking in the onion juice, instead of cooking in water. A lot of our dishes are cooked this way, and it gives them a very distinct and special flavor.”
Gilad grew up in Yesud HaMa’ala and resides in Rehovot, but of course she has visited Nevatim many times and eaten at Matamey Cochin. “The most striking thing about the experience of eating there was the freshness,” she marveled. “In India we didn’t have refrigerators and the food was prepared before each meal. Freshness is one of the main principles of our cuisine, and the women of Nevatim are very strict about that. When you eat food with spices that have been pulverized on the spot, and not bought at the supermarket and kept in the fridge, or when you eat freshly baked bread, you can taste the difference, and of course everything is much healthier. It requires a lot of work, but the women of Nevatim do it with tremendous love.”
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