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| Ingredients for the tempering Ghee: 1 tsp Mustard seeds: ¾ tsp Red chilli: 2 Fenugreek seeds: ¼ tsp Asafoetida powder: a small pinch Chopped fresh coriander and a few fresh curry leaves: To garnish Method Heat ghee, add the mustard seeds and splutter, add the red chillies, fenugreek, asafoetida and curry leaves. Pour over the hot sambar, finish with fresh chopped coriander and a few curry leaves. | Ingredients for a vegetable sambar Use vegetables like drumstick, eggplant, capsicum etc. cut into bite-sized pieces and cook in the tamarind water. To the boiled vegetables and tamarind water, add the mashed dal and the sambar masala. Heat and boil for a couple of minutes. | Ingredients for the sambar masala Chana dal: ½ tsp Coriander seeds: 1½ tsp Red chillies: 2 Fenugreek seeds: ¼ tsp Fresh grated coconut: 2 tbsp Method Fry in a little oil the chana dal, coriander seeds, red chilli and methi seeds in that order. Grind together with fresh grated coconut. | Ingredients for tamarind juice Tamarind — a small ball the size of a medium lemon, soaked in hot water Turmeric powder: ¼ tsp Asafoetida powder: a small pinch Salt to taste Water: 2 glasses Method Squeeze the tamarind and take out the juice, add the turmeric, asafoetida, salt and water. Heat and bring to a boil. |
Victim profile
Sex: Male
Age: 5 years
Complexion: Wheatish
Height: 3 feet and 4 inches
Weight: 22 kgs
Here’s what happened. It was a chilly weekend, and as is the case in many Indian families, Sundays were southward bound. The family brunch menu was simple and yet designed to warm the cockles of our hearts. Fresh steamed idlis, adai, daal vadas, dosas made to order and the onion uthappam on special request. Grandpa laid out the chutneys — coconut-coriander-garlic and spicy tomato, and a six-tin range of gunpowders in colours ranging from black to brown to red and yellow — spoils of his frequent southern raids.
Granny brought in the hot melted ghee — the ingredient that brought everything so magically together, marrying the spirit and cuisine through culinary nuptials performed at the altar of the family dining table. A beautiful saffron Rava Kesari silently waited in the wings to give the brunch a grand finale.
Two crisp dosas down, I was merrily skipping through the brunch. The dining table was happy and the conversation was spicy yet subtle. My individual regard for South Indian food was on the rise. I had discovered a wonderful muse — the drumstick. Dad showed me how to gently prise one open to reveal its soft seed-pods, and how these could be easily collected by running a spoon along their length. The wicked textural voodoo that they performed in the mouth was amazing and I wasn’t giving up on just one.
Besides, you could chew the tough outer covers for more juicy rewards. The drumsticks had caught my fancy. I asked for more. Mom spotted an opportunity. Two pieces of drumsticks came with a ladleful of sambar and instructions to finish both. I rebelled — if I wanted drumsticks, then that’s all I would eat. A seemingly light-hearted threat followed. “If you don’t finish the sambar, it will be poured on your head,” said Mom. I ate only the drumsticks. For what followed, please read the victim profile at the beginning.
There are, of course, better ways to taste a sambar than having it poured over your head. Believe me, I have been there and done that!
The writer is the executive chef at The Park, Hyderabad
