Perhaps it’s something to do with this land, there’s something in the air here,- Thoothukudi macaroon- a vestige of European colonisation
In search of
- The Hindu Macaroons are made by mixing egg white, cashew and sugar at bakeries in Thoothukudi. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu In Thoothukudi, it is stuffed with cashew and shaped into a cone with a round base and a pointed peak. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu A peek inside the bakeries. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu A peek inside the bakeries. Photo: N. Rajesh
- The Hindu A peek inside the bakeries. Photo: N. Rajesh
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Bakers reveal to Olympia Shilpa Gerald how they reinvented a vestige of European colonisation into a much-coveted confection.
I gingerly lift the waist-high wooden plank that cordons
off swarming devotees of bread and cakes from the baking gods, who turn
out the confection that the seaport of Thoothukudi (or to give its
anglicised name Tuticorin) is celebrated for — macaroons.
Squeezing
into the tiny space between the wall and the display cabinets, I emerge
behind the sales counter of a bakery that opens out into a narrow room
lined with gilded cardboard boxes. The anterior chambers of the bakeries
in this city, like those behind church altars where garments and
vessels are stored, are privy only to a select few. It takes much
cajoling, coaxing and running around in circles till the custodians of
confectionery secrets condescend to allow us a peep into their mystery
shrouded rituals. That too only after ascertaining I am not from the
income tax department or a nosy apprentice of a rival baker.
What
strikes me as strange is that I am yet to spot the macaroons, though
all around me orders are flying and so are the cardboard boxes. The
macaroons are missing among the tempting puffs and plum cakes that dress
up counters. “This is not a roadside snack,” my local friend
accompanying me informs quite snobbishly. “One kg costs Rs.600,” she
nods to the price list, where the macaroon tops the list. The snack that
sells by reputation alone has an elitist air to it and understandably
its makers are viewed as royalty, so much so that the hole-in-the-wall
bakeries double up as landmarks in a city synonymous with pearl fishing,
feisty freedom fighters and salt pans.
“There was a
time when we used to store the macaroons in glass jars. But the rise in
demand meant frequently opening them to transfer the contents,” says
Suresh of Gnanam Bakery, established 45 years ago by his grandfather
Isravel who named the bakery after his wife. “Watch,” says Suresh,
finally producing a macaroon. “It won’t taste the same five minutes
later. The macaroon tends to absorb moisture and is best stored away in
air-tight containers.”
Chellappa, who has been making macaroons for 30 years, places one on my palm. Unlike other Indian pedas with
ethnic flavours, the Thoothukudi macaroon is a European export and a
vestige of colonisation, albeit reinvented in a unique shape. For around
the world, the macaroon is mostly flat and filled with almonds,
chocolate or coconut; only in Thoothukudi, it is stuffed with cashew and
shaped into a cone with a round base, bulging middle and a pointed
peak.
Nutty affairs
I sink
my teeth into the crunchy sugary tip that gives way to gluey and gooey
cashew crumbs. For all the secrecy that shrouds the pastry,
deconstructing it reveals just three ingredients — eggs, cashew nuts and
sugar. No water, no oil and no secret ingredient! The secret rather
lies in technique — in blending each ingredient into the hat-shaped
pastry, says macaroon master Chellappa. “It involves using high grade
cashew nuts (most shops source it from Kerala), knowing when to add each
ingredient and baking in firewood ovens.” Suresh paces to and fro,
wrapping loaves of bread and heading back to answer my questions. “I
challenge you to get the shape or taste of the Thoothukudi macaroon at
home in an electric oven or microwave. We have tried, it never works.”
When
I get curious about the origins of the pastry, I’m directed to
Dhanalakshmi Bakery, one of the oldest around town, where Thoothukudi’s
association with the confection is believed to have been shaped, much
before Independence. Though the bakery has lost its yesteryear
prominence, I find it still makes the nuttiest of macaroons, with the
base choc-a-bloc of cashew granules. In the kitchen, I peep into a
closet size hollow kiln built of brick, inside which are rows and rows
of pearly white macaroons, just baked. “The firewood furnace is just
right for macaroons in the morning as it reaches the ideal temperature
after all the baking the previous evening,” says owner Velammal. But how
does she get the temperature right? “O, I put my hand inside the wall
of the kiln and I know when it’s right.” Pointing to a portrait of the
late Arunachalam Pillai, his daughter Velammal claims it was her father
who popularised the macaroons in Thoothukudi. “He worked in a
confectionery at Tiruchi and later at Spencers in Chennai and learnt to
bake cakes and other European confections from Anglo-Indians and
foreigners there. He came here and began selling pastries, and the
macaroons which he shaped like this. Many ‘masters’ or confectioners
learnt from my father and set up their own bakeries.”
Though
many of the bakers in the city acknowledge Velammal’s
story, Dharmalingam at Ganesh Bakery, arguably the most popular in the
city (courtesy the milling crowds at any time of the day), believes that
macaroons must have been around in Thoothukudi much earlier, but gained
popularity in Arunachalam’s period. “The Dutch and Portuguese occupied
Thoothukudi before the British and the fondness for continental pastries
over Indian snacks is seen here even today. The ships that anchored off
the shores of Thoothukudi must have required local labour. These men
improvised on the flat almond macaroons.” Macaroons at Ganesh Bakery are
handed out in gift-wrapping paper. “What matters as much as quality is
the way you present the product,” Dharmalingam says.
Unlike
many of their counterparts, folks at Ganesh believe mass production
calls for modernisation, and macaroons are baked both in firewood and
electric ovens. I watch as men in vests crack the egg gently, pouring in
the gummy albumin inside a vessel, while the yolk hovers precariously
in the shell. The rest of the ingredients go in one after the other as
given in the recipe (see box).
Around half a dozen
men stand over a table squeezing the cones as little peaks materialize
on greased trays. The trays are assembled on a rack and wheeled into the
massive glass fronted oven. As I nibble at the macaroons that scream of
sugar than cashew at Ganesh Bakery, I wonder if Dharmalingam has tried
his hand at export. Like many of his peers, he notes, “The delicate
crumbly texture of the macaroon does not lend itself to transportation
over long distances.”
But industrialist S.G.
Ponseelan, who entered the confectionery business recently is determined
to make the city’s coveted confection available to pastry worshippers
in other cities. Packed in aluminium packs and Halal certified, Abi
Macaroons guarantees a shelf life over two months. “We have come up with
baby macaroons to minimise risk of breakage during transportation,”
says Ponseelan who got started with the macaroon production after a
company producing miniature versions adored by his daughter, closed
down. The macaroons maybe a treat for children but miss out on the
fulsome delight of crunching into a conventionally packed one.
Though
improvisations like macaroons with pistas and chocolates have been
tried by bakers, as Sridhar, proprietor at Shanti Macaroons established
in 1964, will tell you, cashew macaroons are unparalleled in popularity.
Sridhar has two stores slated to open in Chennai and Bangalore, but
insists that the macaroons will be carted from Thoothukudi. “I have
tried baking them in firewood ovens in other cities with masters from
Thoothukudi, but the taste was not the same.” Though none of the
ingredients is sourced from the city, almost all bakers I have met swear
that attempts to produce the macaroons elsewhere have failed miserably.
Some say it is the expertise of veteran macaroon masters, others
believe it is the firewood ovens, but everyone admits to a certain je ne
sais quoi. “Perhaps it’s something to do with this land, there’s
something in the air here,” Sridhar smiles.
Interestingly,
however varied their techniques might be, I notice that they are
unequivocally similar across major bakeries. The paper cones that give
the confections their distinctive shape is shaped out of thick
newspapers — all invariably The Hindu. A utility for the newspaper that I never dreamt of!
HOW IT’S MADE
Ingredients
Eggs 12 to 15
Cashewnuts (Some recommend 1/4 kg)
Sugar 1/2 kg.
Method
Powder
cashew nuts, set aside. Crack eggs and separate the whites ensuring not
a single drop of yolk falls in. With an egg beater, whisk the egg
whites in a large bowl. When they turn frothy, start adding sugar little
by little while continuing to vigorously whip up egg whites. Keep
beating till the mixture rises into stiff peaks. Gently fold in the
powdered cashews. Scoop batter into a stiff paper cone and squeeze cone
to shape pointed macaroons. These macaroons are generally baked in
firewood ovens, but baking them in electric ovens at 70 degrees may also
achieve a similar result.
Keywords: Thoothukudi macaroon, Food safari column
1 comment:
Abi MacroonnsMarch 25, 2013 at 4:59 AM
Now Thoothukudi macroons are available in air sealed packets in chennai at 45587772
Reply
