Chile Peppers

by Dave Dewitt

  In some regions, chiles totally dominated the food. In Christie’s chapter on Bengal, for example, 22 of 23 entrées contain chile peppers. In the Madras chapter, the count is 11 of 13, and in the Kashmir chapter, 7 of 8 recipes call for hot chiles in various forms, including fresh green and red plus dried red pods and powders.

  Christie’s recipes from some regions, such as Punjab, are not nearly so hot, but still it is evident that in 400 years chiles had completely conquered the cuisines of India, a land already rich in spices. They became an essential ingredient in both vegetarian and nonvegetarian cooking—imparting color, flavor, heat, and nutrients.

  CHILES CONQUER A SUBCONTINENT

  Today in India, the chile is even more prevalent than it was in Christie’s time, primarily because of increased agricultural acreage devoted to growing the crop. The most recent figures I could find for Indian chile production were for the year 2013, when India was the top producer of dry peppers in the world, producing 1.4 million metric tons. Their cultivation is widely scattered throughout the country and the amount of consumption varies from state to state. The central and southern states of Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Tamil Nadu grow and consume the most chiles. India exports nearly a thousand metric tons of red chile pods and 35 metric tons of ground red chile to the United States each year.

  The most commonly grown chile is Capsicum annuum, of which the New Mexican and cayenne types are most common. Farmers in some locales plant and harvest the chiltepín-like C. annuum var. glabriusculum, known locally as bird’s eye chile. The Tabasco-like frutescens species is grown primarily to be a green chile in India. Some chiles are harvested in their green stage and taken directly to produce markets, but most are allowed to dry to their red stage, harvested, and then spread out over sand to dry. Near Madurai in southern India, red chiles in the process of drying can be seen covering a vast area of dozens of acres. After they are sun-dried, the chiles are tossed into the air to allow the wind to blow away sand and straw. Then they are bagged and taken to spice markets where they are sold as whole pods or as various grinds of chile powder.

  Spices in general and chiles in particular are so important to the Indian kitchen that they are purchased in maunds, a unit of 90 pounds. Once in the kitchen, they are stored until the cook is ready to use them in freshly ground spice mixtures called masalas, which vary greatly from region to region and are designed for specific applications. The masalas generally combine red chiles with cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, cumin, coriander, and black pepper. However, ginger, mustard seeds, fennel, mace, poppy seeds, nutmeg, and saffron also make an appearance in various incarnations of masala.

  Chilli bajji food stand. The banana peppers advertising the food stand are called chilli bajji and when battered and deep-fried are a popular street-food snack with the same name. Photograph by Shijan Kaakkara. Wikimedia. Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

  Whichever spices are chosen to blend with the chiles, they are first roasted separately and then ground together in a chakki, a stone mill, or in a kootani, an iron mortar and pestle. The dry masala can then be stored in airtight containers or used immediately in cooking. When the dry masala is mixed with water, garlic, and fresh ginger, it becomes a “wet” masala. This paste is generally cooked by itself before adding the vegetables, meat, or fish to the pan.

  If the masalas and their culinary use seem familiar, it is because Western cooks often use such spices but substitute commercial curry powder for the freshly made masala. However, such commercial curry powders are not recommended. According to Indian-food expert Dharam Jit Singh, “Curry powders are anathema to Indian cookery, prepared for imaginary palates, having neither the delicacy nor the perfume of flowers and sweet smelling herbs, nor the savour and taste of genuine aromatics.”

  In India, homemade masala preparations vary from region to region, cook to cook, and dish to dish. They usually contain chiles but occasionally do not. Variations may be thick or watery, or colored white, yellow, green, or red. Whatever kind the cook prepares, it will always be made from freshly ground and mixed spices. I believe that commercially prepared blends of curry spices mask the natural taste of the dishes and make all “Indian” dishes taste the same.

  Chile peppers not only transformed the masalas of India but also the chutneys, the primary condiments of the country. “Chutney” is an Anglicized version of the Hindi chatni, a word that refers to licking the fingertips, which were the utensils originally used to eat this mixture of chiles, fruits, various vegetables, and spices. Originally, the making of chatni was a method of preserving ripe fruits in the tropical climate. Today, Indian cooks prepare fresh chutney just hours before each meal by mixing fresh ingredients and then chilling them before serving.

  Indian cooks are not impressed with Major Grey, the famed brand of bottled relish. They say that this commercial mango preserve bears no resemblance to homemade chutneys because it is too sweet and not hot enough. Also, the prepared chutneys contain too much vinegar and ginger but not enough of the other ingredients that make homemade chutneys superior: mixtures of different chiles and “exotic” ingredients (for bottled chutneys) such as tamarind, bananas, chopped green tomatoes, fresh coriander, coconut, and freshly ground spices.

  Tomato chutney. Photograph by Shashimangu. Wikimedia. Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

  Despite these complaints, the British and now the Americans are quite fond of the commercial chutneys and serve them with dishes prepared with commercial curry powders. Such a practice is mystifying, especially considering how easy it is to prepare much better-tasting chutneys from scratch.

  Tandoori chicken with oven. Photograph by Nitinmaul. Wikimedia. Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

  In addition to their use in masalas and chutneys, chiles also appear as part of various styles of cooking such as vindaloo and tandoori. In vindaloo cooking, meats such as pork, goat, lamb, shrimp, or chicken are marinated for hours or even days in a mixture of vinegar, fiery chiles, fruit pulp, and spices. Then the meat is simmered in the same marinade, a process that melds the marinade with the meat juices and the chiles and reduces the entire mixture to an extremely powerful sauce.

  The other style of cooking, tandoori, is very popular in Punjab and also uses chiles as a marinade ingredient; however, the method of cooking the meat is quite different. Instead of being stewed, it is baked in the intense heat generated in a tandoor, a clay oven that is sunk vertically into the ground. The chicken is first scored and then slathered with a yogurt-chile-lime paste. Then the bird is marinated for at least 12 hours in the mixture before it is skewered and inserted into the tandoor.

  Cooking the chicken in the intense heat of the tandoor causes two delicious things to happen. The marinade dripping onto the coals below produces an aromatic and pungent smoke, and the dry heat of the oven causes the skin of the chicken to become very crisp while the meat beneath becomes succulent. Combining chiles with yogurt tempers the heat of the chiles while improving the taste of the yogurt. Cooking a whole skewered chicken in a tandoor takes only 20 minutes.

  During festival times in India, chiles take center stage—virtually every important dish from every region contains them in great numbers. In Bengal, a whole fish is covered with a paste of chiles, turmeric, and mustard, and then baked. By the way, seafood-chile combinations also figure prominently in festival foods of the state of Kerala; meen vevichathu, fish in a hot red chile sauce, is a favorite there, as is meen molee, fish in a creamy green chile–coconut sauce. A leg of lamb roasted with chiles and coriander is a popular festival dish in Rajasthan.

  Chilli workers destemming the pods in Guntur, India. Photograph by Idrees Mohammed. Shutterstock.

  IS GUNTUR THE HOTTEST CITY IN THE WORLD?

  The fact that chiles occur in the majority of Indian entrées, side dishes, snacks, and festival specialties is not really surprising. In India it is said, “The climate is hot, the dishes
are hotter, and the condiments are the hottest.” This saying supports the legendary Indian tolerance for hot chiles. In southern India, a typical meal for four persons can include the following amounts and types of chiles: a handful of soaked and drained whole red chiles, two tablespoons of cayenne powder, two tablespoons of freshly chopped green chiles, and a bowl of whole green chiles on the table for snacking. These chiles are, of course, in addition to the masalas and chutneys that are also used.

  In fiery south India, there is another saying, “Heat plus heat equals cool,” an allusion to the gustatory sweating caused by hot chiles. The southern state of Andhra Pradesh is the chile capital of the entire country, and, according to the Wall Street Journal, the city of Guntur is the hottest city of that state and is another location competing for the title of the hottest city in the world. In 1988, the Journal sent reporter Anthony Spaeth to India to investigate rumors that chile peppers had completely conquered the local cuisine. His report was shocking, to say the least.

  “In Guntur,” he wrote, “salted chiles are eaten for breakfast. Snacks are batter-fried chiles with chile sauce. The town’s culinary pride are fruits and vegetables preserved in oil and chile, particularly its karapo pickles: red chiles pickled in chile.” Another popular snack is deep-fried chiles dipped in chile powder.

  Hot and spicy food is so predominant in Guntur that the agricultural market in town sells a single commodity: chile in its myriad forms. Legend and lore about chiles figures prominently in the culture of Guntur. The people often dream about them, and they believe that hot tempers arise from heavy chile eating and that chiles increase sexual desire. Children begin to eat chiles at age five and quickly build up an incredible tolerance. In addition, the burning of red chile pods is said to ward off evil spells.

  In Guntur, as in other worldwide hotbeds of chile consumption, those who do not eat chiles are viewed with concern, if not suspicion. The people of Guntur attribute the abnormal avoidance of chiles to several causes: the offenders have lived abroad, are from out of town, or have married someone from a less fiery state.

  THE MIGRATION OF HEAT

  Southern India was the starting point for the dissemination of chile peppers north to Nepal, Tibet, and western China; northwest to Pakistan and Afghanistan; west to the Middle East and Central Europe; and east to the Spice Islands and Asia. There is little doubt that the spread of chiles throughout the Indian subcontinent and beyond was along established spice-trade routes. However, chiles were unique among the spices traded—they could grow virtually anywhere. Other spices such as black pepper, ginger, cardamom, nutmeg, and cloves were restricted to certain climactic and geographic zones.

  The adaptability of the capsicums led to their quick adoption into the cuisines of the other regions surrounding India. To the north, mountainous Nepal and Tibet adopted not only chiles but another important Andean-mountain food crop combined with them from ancient times: potatoes.

  Nepalese food tends to be spicy as well; a popular breakfast chile dish is khuras ko anda, eggs scrambled with green chile, onions, tomato, cilantro, and ginger. In another example of parallel cookery, khuras ko anda is virtually identical to the Mexican scrambled-egg dish huevos revueltos. In Nepal and northern India, dozens of different kinds of lentils are grown and other popular sources of starch are rice and wheat, which are usually served with a fiery dish such as masma, a mixed vegetable curry, or sungor ko tarkari, curried pork with chiles.

  The Pakistanis’ love affair with chiles would seem to be never ending. There is no vegetarian tradition in that Muslim country, so chiles are most often served with the meat, fowl, and fish of choice, which is grilled, roasted, curried, or steamed; lamb, chicken, and beef are the main meats served. The cooking of Pakistan is as closely related to the Middle East as it is to India, so grilled kebab dishes are very popular.

  In the Middle East, chiles appear only occasionally in the main dish itself but often in condiments. In Yemen, a powerful sauce called zhoug is considered to be not only a condiment; it is said to ward off disease, warm the people in the winter, and burn off calories. Zhoug is made with small green chiles, garlic, fresh parsley and coriander, cumin, and olive oil.

  Since chile heat on the Indian subcontinent is greater in the South than in the North, perhaps it is not surprising that Sri Lanka has gained the reputation for the hottest cuisine of the region, although the people of Guntur would surely protest this claim. In this island nation south of India, it is not uncommon for cooks to use as many as 30 large dried red chiles to heat up a dish that serves between six and eight people!

  Sri Lanka’s reputation for heat rests with its red, white, and black curries. The color of the red curry is derived, not surprisingly, from a preponderance of red chile pods of varying shades. White curries are considerably milder because the chiles are tempered with coconut meat and milk. But it is the “black curries,” with dark-roasted curry spices, that give, according to Sri Lankan cooks, better aroma and flavor.

  Typically, a Sri Lankan black curry is made as follows: coriander, cumin, fennel, and fenugreek seeds are roasted separately, then combined with whole cinnamon sticks, cloves, cardamom seeds, and leaves from the curry tree. This mixture is then finely ground with mortar and pestle. The finishing touch is the addition of no fewer than three types of chiles. Medium-hot yellow wax chiles are ground together with bush-ripened, dried red chiles called valieche miris plus the tiny but deadly hot bird’s eye chiles, a form of chiltepín.

  From India, chiles also spread east to Bangladesh and Burma, where they are often combined with seafood and poultry. In Bangladesh, whole fish are coated with a hot red-chile masala, then fried in hot mustard oil. In Burma, a dish known as naga pi has both Indian and Chinese influences. The spices and the curry cooking style are Indian; the addition of the soy sauce is an adaptation from Asia.

  In addition to their culinary usage, chile peppers have worked their way into the customs and traditions of the region to an unusual degree. Many people on the Indian subcontinent believe that the smoke of roasting or even burning chile peppers protects the house and gives a feeling of warmth and security. On the other hand, chiles can be an instrument of terrorism. In 1988, a gang of hoodlums boarded a train in India and began robbing the passengers. Anyone who dared to resist got a handful of chile powder thrown in the face and eyes.

  On a lighter note, as our final example of how ingrained chiles are in the cuisines of India, I offer the kitchen of the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel in Mumbai, which now serves Mexican food! Because this famous hostelry must cater to tastes of international guests, it now experiments with a cross-cultural cuisine known as Indian-Mexican food.

  In this cross-cultural cuisine, corn masa is replaced with yellow corn flour for making tortillas and tacos. In the tacos, lamb meat is spiced with ginger and turmeric, laced with a paneer salsa made with serrano-like chiles, and sprinkled with distinctive Indian cheeses. Nachos, the familiar snack of the American Southwest, are transformed with the addition of spiced garbanzo beans covered with a red chile sauce made with a combination of New Mexican–type chiles and the far hotter Japanese santaka variety.

  Such a collision of cultures recalls that of Latin America, where totally dissimilar foodstuffs were combined with spectacular results to produce coherent cuisines. At the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, 500 years after chiles were first introduced into India, history repeats itself. However, this time it is two completely different chile-based cuisines that have collided.

  Cross-cultural cuisines are inevitable as the world becomes more cosmopolitan, but that fact does not prevent a feeling of disappointment when we travel to an exotic city halfway around the world and are confronted by a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise. We can only hope that the adoption of foreign foods, such as tacos in India and hamburgers in Pakistan, does not cause the ethnic cuisines to be spoiled or completely lost.

  AT THE HUNTING LODGE IN UDAIPUR

  Mary Jane and I were about to leave for the cooking demonstration wh
en the roof of our room caved in—or sounded like it was about to. The noise was like a combination of thunder and a herd of water buffaloes, and room 15 at the Shikarbadi Hunting Lodge seemed to shake as if we were suddenly in the epicenter of an aerial earthquake.

  “Get the gun,” I yelled, imagining an invasion by scimitar-wielding bandits.

  “We didn’t rent one,” Mary Jane reminded me. Amazingly enough, back in 1996, rifles were available for rent at the front desk. That place really was a hunting lodge then.

  There was only one thing to do—confront the situation directly. My heart was pounding as I wrenched open the door and ran down the steps of the porch and into the trees. The noise was still deafening. I turned around, looked up to the roof, and saw them staring back at me: a troop of sacred langur monkeys jumping up and down on the tile roof and having one hell of a good time.

  As Mary Jane and I watched, laughing, one of the security guards came over and attempted to drive the troop away by throwing rocks at them. He finally managed to get them off the roof and into the trees, so, still laughing, we crossed the lawn beside the small lake and joined Pat and Dominique Chapman and the rest of our culinary tour group.

  We were nearing the end of our two-week culinary tour of India, a 900-mile bus journey that had taken us from New Delhi to Agra, Jaipur, Jodhpur, and finally to Udaipur. After today, we would fly on to Mumbai and from there back to London. Pat, our tour leader and England’s King of Curries, had booked us into the Shikarbadi because of its rustic beauty and its setting in the bush country outside of Udaipur. While walking to the cooking demo, we saw a wild boar drinking at the edge of the lake.