A tribute to Nature

I was fortunate that a rare combination of people occurred in the hierarchy who managed to see to it that I found it unwise to continue till my superannuation. Or else, I would have become “indifferently-abled” by then! I was left with enough ‘taste’ for good food.

Mangoes are the tastiest of fruits. That is how I feel. There is a small backyard at the ancestral large house where my spouse hails from. There was a call to inform that fresh-plucked ripe mangoes are waiting. I handed her a large carry bag, with lots of crumpled old news-paper bits to ensure that these mangoes do not sit tight-squeezed when filled in the bag. Each mango was ‘housed’ amidst overstuffed cushion of these loosely-squeezed newspaper bits. Just 3 of them tilted the needle of our domestic spring-balance to indicate 1.25 kilograms. I was thrilled to learn that the seed was quite small. The fragrance from the mangoes laid out with the care that a new born child gets, simply permeated all around the kitchen and its vicinities.

I decided to re-live the memorable taste of “Aam-Ras” (mango-pulp), that I had while in Maharastra(north India).

The largest and most fragrant of the mangoes were chosen, washed, dried, retaining the stem intact. Gently, I proceeded to squeeze the sides of the mango like we do with the rosy tender cheeks of a baby. It takes time, but the fibre and the juice blend right inside the ‘original’ factory and we start feeling the ‘baby’ turn upside down inside the womb. (Yes, the seed is freed from the fibre and rotates within quite freely!). Now, gently nip the stem, squeeze out the pulp into a bowl. Any additions to this to have an enhanced taste of this pulp should never be at the cost of diluting the mangoes original flavour. So the additional ingredients have to be bare minimum, and a carefully measured out dose. We can have a few grains of sugar, a little of thick multi-flower-yielded-honey etc. But the best addition comes from cardamom(just a little). I would love to have that huge truck tyre (like that monster-vehicle of “Terminator-II” carrying tons of nitrogen, with atleast 18 huge tyres) to crush the cardamom seed beneath it carefully placed in a polythene cover. But since it is not feasible, I compromise to roll the rolling pin over it several times to and fro, on the wooden stand that bears the brunt of it. The idea is that each molecule of cardamom seed is freed from its neighbour to liberally let out its fragrance to permeate into the juice when directly sunk right into the middle(to arrest the fragrance within) and then stirred. One more item can be added, but only at the appropriate time.

We now take liberal amount of chakki-fresh-atta (fresh ground wheat flour), spread it on a strong wide steel plate, make a small crater in the middle of the mound of that flour. Add a pinch of salt, a negligible quantity of turmeric powder (to give that faint yellow colour, without allowing any taste of it). Pour little water into the crater, allow the salt to dissolve while the little turmeric simply vanishes. Now gently bring the flour to blend well with water. Water should be added as if we are very miserly to part with it to a fellow traveler while in the middle of Sahara desert. Blending has to give way to tough kneading. The longer it takes, the better. It is helpful if we can remember our worst enemies, and punch the dough occasionally hard enough to ensure excellent molecule-to-molecule bonding. Water added little by little, to that thirsty dough ensures that each molecule gets soaked well, softens to its limits. Leave the kneaded dough aside for a while (say at least 15 minutes). Meanwhile, it is useful to pour out home-melted ghee out of cow’s milk/butter into a small bowl, and gently heat it to a melting point.

Use corn flour or that refined wheat flour called ‘maida’ to spread out the dough after making it into small balls of 1.5 inches diameter. The flattened dough in a circular shape ready to be baked on the iron plate is the primitive stage of chappati/roti. Dry baking it (without oil) is the best type to suit our present side-dish. So, the iron plate (tawa) gets heated up. The thinly spread-out dough is placed on this tawa for just 5 seconds. Turn over this chappati after 5 seconds. The second side heats up to form small blisters of air-pockets all around it uniformly. The second side also gets reddish tint below these blisters. Now use tongs to lift the chappati, remove the tawa aside, flip the chappati and place it on the flame so that the first side faces the wrath of the flame directly. Since the first side retains little extra moisture than the second side, the chappati would bulge out like the stomach of a person who dedicates his life entirely for eating. Within about 5 seconds, the chappati is ready to be placed aside away from the flame, the bulge not to be disturbed if possible. It is the turn of warm fragrant ghee to bathe this warm bulging chappati a liberal bath. So pour the ghee right on the peak of the bulge, allowing it to drip-flow to all sides.

Unless we are alone at home, it is advisable to take turns to prepare chappatis thus, so that everyone gets to eat it while it is still warm.

The mango pulp is waiting. Pour it out into a small bowl, place it in the middle of dining plate, and pour a spoonful of that warm cow-milk-ghee right in the middle of the bowl. Take care not to disturb the mango pulp here after. Take a pinch-sliced bit of that chappati, hold it folded gently between thumb and index finger, dip it where the ghee sank into the mango pulp. People with shaky fingers need not stir the pulp. Otherwise, a small nudge into the pulp would ensure the fresh (just a moment ago) exquisite blend of ghee and pulp to be painted liberally to that chappati bit. The only place this chappati has to go is to the tip of the tongue, where the taste buds have secreted enough saliva to dissolve the pulp-drenched-chappati. (I was initiated into ‘Aam-ras’ when I was 22 years young, so, that little left over of ‘human’ consideration surfaced only after I had at least 12 such chappatis, and I try to squeal out ‘I think I had just enough’ and offer respite to the grand lady who incessantly rolls out chappatis. But that was just the first quarter of my regular meal. Rice and its assorted layers of side dishes, pickles, curds are yet to follow.

Now, the only civility that has happened with age, is reduction in quantum of food intake. The insistence on quality has become barbaric. The only way I can offer tribute to mother-nature for having gifted these wonderful eatables(bring out the fullest flavour, taste, etc out of these fruits, vegetables, spices, grains etc, to the best of my abilities, eat them so leisurely that time seems to stand still).
Psn (10th May, 2010)