The differences in regional tastes are so pronounced that they translate into foods from other culinary cultures. In Bombay, a Maratha Hindu street vendor serves ‘Chinese’ lunches to office workers on Narima Point. But before preparing the food he assesses the regional origin of his customer and adjusts the flavour accordingly. For Gujaratis he adds some extra sauce to sweeten it; for the Punjabis he adds extra chilli.6
The range of culinary styles within India means that authenticity is more accurately tied to a region. But the regional subdivisions of Indian food are complicated by local patterns of consumption, as Francis Buchanan discovered when he was travelling across southern India in the early nineteenth century. He was observant of the minutiae of everyday life and noticed that in each locality people relied on a different grain (rice, wheat, millet, sorghum) as the mainstay of their diet. ‘Habit,’ he wrote, ‘seems to be able to render every kind of grain sufficiently wholesome.’ But the peasants were unable to adapt to a different grain and when ‘compelled or induced to try another’ their digestions became disordered. This was brought home to him by his servants, all suffering miserably from stomach complaints due to the constant changes in the staple grain as they travelled. Buchanan was surrounded by gloomy Indians homesick for their customary foods.7
The staple food of each locality still ties people to their land and their community today. Indians from Bangladesh to Tamil Nadu believe that the local qualities of the soil and the water are absorbed into the grain crop. When the grain is consumed it imparts these qualities to the population, giving them their strength. In Bangladesh, rice grown on village land is valued as more nutritious and more filling than rice bought at the market. Eating local-grown rice fills the villagers with the nature of their home and binds them to their community. Before setting out on a journey a traveller is required to eat large amounts of village-grown rice, to fill him with the essences of home.8
Each of the religious communities on the Indian subcontinent is distinguished by its particular food taboos, especially with regard to meat. Thus, for example, Christians will eat virtually any meat or fish; Muslims will eat most meats, including beef, but avoid pork; Jains are usually strict vegetarians, and sometimes even avoid red foods because they are the colour of blood; Hindus will not eat the flesh of the sacred cow. Under certain circumstances, however, these apparently rigid restrictions on diet are ignored. Phillip Ray was a police officer in India from 1939 to 1946. He worked with a mixed force of Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs. On one occasion he had taken his men out on a training exercise in the countryside. Each group had been given its own rations, but when he lit a fire and started cooking his sausages and bacon all the men gathered round to share his food. Back at work the next day, nothing was said about it.9
Below these broad religious divisions there are a myriad different communities, castes and religious sects, each with its own particular way of preparing and eating food. Different groups are distinguished by particular customs and habits. For example, the Daudi Bohras of Bombay, members of a Shia Ismaeli sect, are known for the way in which they like to alternate between sweet and savoury dishes throughout a meal.10 Under the umbrella of Hinduism there exists great diversity in eating practices. The people we label as Hindus come from many different cultural backgrounds and have a variety of food taboos and culinary styles. The Hindu food of Rajasthan, for instance, includes both the frugal vegetarian dishes of the Marwari Banians (merchants) and the Rajput cuisine of roast meats.
In theory, Hindu food consumption is governed by a set of purity rituals. This is due to the fact that eating makes a person particularly vulnerable to pollution. Sharing food with someone who is immoral, or eating in an impure place, can transfer these impurities into the diner’s body. Ideally, a Hindu should eat after a bath and while wearing clean clothes. Men and women should eat separately, the women serving the men, before eating themselves.11
The actual preparation of food is also a delicate and potentially dangerous operation. The moral qualities of the person cooking the meal can be transferred into the food and imbibed by the eater. This is especially true of kacca foods, such as boiled rice, which are prepared with water. Water softens the food, opening it up to contamination. Pakka foods are fried in ghee, a product of the sacred cow, which makes them less open to pollution. Pakka foods can therefore sometimes be eaten even if they have been prepared by someone of a different caste.12 Meat is regarded as an impure food, while grains and vegetables are higher ranking foodstuffs.
These rules represent an ideal of good practice. By following these principles an individual can strive to achieve a state of purity. However, in practice, individual Hindus adapt these rules according to their circumstances and lifestyle.13 Thus, a normally vegetarian Brahman might well drink a strengthening meat broth when suffering from a debilitating illness. Brahmans in Kashmir have adapted notions of purity to suit their food preferences. Although they avoid onions and garlic, they happily eat mutton. Similarly, Bengali Brahmans eat fish.
In theory, the caste position of a particular group is determined by the amount of impurity they encounter while working in their traditional occupation.14 Thus, as scholars and priests, Brahmans occupied the highest position on the scale, while leather workers and sweepers (garbage and sewage collectors) were classed as untouchables. Indian villagers in Uttar Pradesh informed the anthropologist McKim Marriott that the higher caste position of the Brahmans, Jats and Banians living in their villages was reflected by their diet. He was told that they maintained their purity by eating only the finest pakka foods, while the lower service castes such as washermen and barbers ate ordinary kacca foods, including meat. But when he investigated further he found that ‘all castes prepared and consumed food of both types on the same sorts of occasions’. He also found that Brahmans frequently washed only their hands and faces before sitting down to a meal. Rather than being based on the actual observation of purity rituals, caste position in the villages was based, in practice, on the exchange of food. An accurate social map of all the different groups in the village (including the Muslim as well as the Hindu groups) could be constructed by working out which groups gave and accepted food from each other. Those giving food occupied a position superior to those who accepted it. Even then, kacca food was seen as an inferior food, not so much because it was open to impurity but because it was not prepared with highly valued ghee.
Thus, caste rules and regulations are far more malleable than they seem. On a daily basis, the observation of rules of purity and pollution are used as a way of maintaining the social status quo. They can be disregarded in certain circumstances or ostentatiously observed in others, in order to exercise social authority or to demonstrate respect.15
What an Indian eats depends on his region, religion, community and caste. It also depends on his wealth. A vast proportion of the Indian population is made up of the rural poor who subsist on a diet which meets only about 80 per cent of their nutritional requirements. Many of the poor, unable to find work all year round, and therefore unable to buy food every day, have to manage their hunger by fasting on alternate days. In Bengal, the meals of the poor are made up of rice, a little dhal flavoured with salt, chillies and a few spices, some potatoes or green vegetables, tea and paan. Paan, which is an areca nut mixed with spices and rolled up in a betel leaf, is chewed after the meal. Although it seems a luxury, in fact, the poor use it to stave off hunger.16
There are clearly numerous ways of eating an authentic Indian meal. However, there are certain underlying principles governing Indian food. These are derived from Ayurvedic (science of life) medicine, which is still practised today in India and many other places throughout the world.
The founding texts of Ayurveda were two ancient medical treatises, known as the Caraka-samhita and the Susruta-samhita, first written down sometime in the first century BC.17 These medical texts outlined the principles governing a correct diet. They argued that the body needed to be kept in a state of equilibrium with
its environment. This translated into a recommendation that people living in marshy damp areas should eat hot heavy iguana meat and those living in the plains should eat the light and nutritious black antelope.18 Diet also had to be adjusted to the seasonal variations in the Indian climate. During the hot weather, when the body needed to conserve energy, the Caraka-samhita advised a diet of cold foods such as milky gruels.19 In the cold months, when the body could spare the energy to digest a heavy meal, it recommended a greasier diet of fatty meat, accompanied by wine and honey. The foods for each season were chosen according to a system of classification which divided foodstuffs into two principal divisions of either hot or cold. Within these categories foods were subdivided into six tastes (rasa). Hot foods, such as meat and pepper, were pungent, acidic or salty. They had to be treated with caution as they could induce thirst, exhaustion, sweating, inflammation and accelerated digestion. Cold foods, such as milk and most fruits, were sweet, astringent or bitter. They were far less dangerous as they promoted cheerfulness and a calm contented mind.20
The Ayurvedic physician needed to be a proficient cook.21 It was essential that he was able to choose foods with complementary properties, suitable for the time of year. The dishes were designed to bring out the therapeutic qualities inherent in the food and the principles of Ayurvedic medicine shaped Indian cookery across the regions. The staple grain (rice or wheat) was accompanied by a variety of dishes designed to heighten their taste and create a mixture of savours.22
The idea of mixing hot and cold foods to achieve a sublime blend of the six essential tastes (pungent, acidic, salty, sweet, astringent and bitter) still lies at the heart of Indian cookery today. The imaginative use of spices to create a range of flavours, the judicious balancing of salt with a little sugar in many vegetable dishes, the combination of black pepper with cooling yogurt, the addition of a little tamarind to cut a cloying sauce with a hint of sharpness, all these techniques are derived from the Ayurvedic principles governing the combining of foods. Thus, Ayurvedic medical law provides the basis for the principles of Indian cookery which ensure its delectable taste.
If Ayurvedic medicine provided a culinary foundation for Indian food, over time layer upon layer of various influences have been laid down on to this base. The Indian subcontinent has accommodated a great variety of immigrants, all of whom brought with them their own cuisines. The curries which we eat today are the product of India’s long history. Each recipe tells the tale of the different people who prepared and ate the dish.
In 1498, the first Europeans arrived off the Malabar coast, when the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama opened up the sea route to the Indies. Twenty-eight years later Babur, the first great Mughal, invaded India from the north. These two events were to have a lasting impact on India’s culinary culture. This book tells the story of how central Asian, Persian and European styles of cookery and ingredients were brought to the subcontinent, where over the next four centuries they interacted with Indian food to produce the Indian cuisine that we know today.
Chicken tikka masala
This restaurant curry should ideally be made with chicken cooked in a tandoor oven. You could buy ready-prepared chicken tikka pieces from a supermarket or try to simulate the effect of the tandoor oven at home by first marinating the chicken and then grilling it, or cooking it on a barbecue. The bright red colour in restaurants comes from food colouring, which is not included in this recipe. Serves 3–4.
500g chicken, cut into bite-size pieces
Marinade
2cm piece of fresh ginger, finely grated
5 cloves garlic, crushed
¼ teaspoon turmeric powder
¼ teaspoon chilli powder
1 teaspoon garam masala
½ teaspoon cumin powder
1 teaspoon coriander powder
salt to taste
juice of 1 lemon
6 tablespoons of yogurt
Combine the ginger, garlic, turmeric, chilli powder, garam masala, cumin, coriander and salt with the lemon juice and yogurt. Mix well and add to the chicken in a bowl. Make sure all the chicken pieces are coated in the marinade. Cover and leave in the fridge to marinate overnight (or longer).
Thread the chicken pieces on to skewers and then cook under the grill or on a barbecue.
Sauce
4–6 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
2cm piece of fresh ginger, finely grated
4 cloves garlic, crushed
¼ teaspoon turmeric
¼ teaspoon chilli powder
1 teaspoon garam masala
1 teaspoon coriander powder
1 tablespoon tomato purée
salt to taste
2 tablespoons ground almonds, mixed to a paste with warm water
2 tablespoons thick cream
fresh coriander leaves, chopped
Heat the oil in a large pan. Add the onion and sauté until browned. Add the grated ginger and crushed garlic, stir and fry for 5–8 minutes. Add the turmeric, chilli powder, garam masala and coriander powder. Fry for 1–2 minutes, stirring. Add the tomato purée, salt and the almonds. Fry for 1–2 minutes, stirring. Then add the chicken and leave to simmer gently for 15–20 minutes. You may need to add a little water to prevent burning. When the meat is tender, add the cream, and sprinkle on the coriander leaves just before serving.
Bakers
2
Biryani: the Great Mughals
IN THE SPRING of 1641, two Portuguese priests were taken to a gallery overlooking the principal reception room of a palace in Lahore. The palace belonged to Asaf Khan, one of the most powerful men in the Mughal Empire.
That evening Asaf Khan and his wife had invited the Emperor Shahjahan to a banquet. From their hiding place the priests looked down into the hall ‘adorned with rich carpets of silken silver and golden embroidery’. Ambergris, eaglewood and civet burned in perfume holders arranged around the room. At its centre was a fine white muslin tablecloth with cushions arranged around it. As they watched, the Mughal emperor, adorned with strings of pearls and chains of gold, entered the room, followed by his hosts and two other members of the Mughal family. The party settled themselves on the cushions and washed their hands in bowls held out to them by beautiful serving girls. Then ‘the dishes were brought in . . . to the deafening sound of instruments . . . not unlike our trumpets, but of uncertain and mournful tone’. The food was served ‘by eunuchs, richly attired in . . . trousers of different coloured silks and white coats of the finest transparent muslin’. They passed the golden bowls of food to ‘two most lovely damsels who knelt on either side of the Emperor [and] . . . placed the dishes before him, similarly handing him his drinking water and removing dishes no longer wanted’. The priests were surprised to observe that the Muslim ‘Barbarians’ possessed impeccable table manners. The meal lasted more than four hours. Once it had been cleared away dancing girls entered in ‘lascivious and suggestive dress’ and entertained the party with ‘immodest behaviour and posturing’. But Shahjahan was more interested in three vessels of jewels which were set before him. While the emperor was engrossed in examining the rubies and emeralds the eunuch, who had guided the priests to the gallery, returned to say that it was time for them to leave. ‘We got up and followed our guide, who, in order not to take us through the body of the Imperial guards, took us by subterranean passages until he put us on the road.’1
The priest who left us this description of the Mughal emperor at dinner was Friar Sebastien Manrique. His claim to have penetrated a Muslim nobleman’s palace is audacious. The private quarters at the centre of each palace complex were surrounded by high walls and guarded by soldiers. Muslim women were kept in strict seclusion and only members of the family and their servants were allowed to enter this sanctum. It seems extremely unlikely that a Portuguese priest would have been granted permission to enter to gaze upon the women of the household.
Manrique may have constructed the entire scene from st
ories circulating at the court. Seventeenth-century travel writers would often insert themselves into scenes as a device to assert authorial authority. Their readers derived a frisson from the sense that they, along with the author, had witnessed events that were strictly private. In this case, however, Manrique claimed that his adventure was made possible by the special relationship he had forged with Asaf Khan.
Manrique had been travelling across India on his way to Rome. He had stopped in Lahore to plead for a Jesuit priest who had been imprisoned by Shahjahan for over nine years. The nobleman who listened to his case was Asaf Khan, who, as well as being one of the most influential men at the Mughal court, was an uncle of the emperor. Manrique must have combined impressive negotiating skills with great charm. Not only did he secure the release of the unfortunate priest but at the end of their meeting the khan ‘ordered a eunuch to warn the door-keepers that I should be given free entry whenever I came to see him, which was no small favour’. As soon as Manrique heard that Asaf Khan planned to entertain Shahjahan he resolved to make the most of his advantage and sought ‘permission to exceed these limits’. Asaf Khan himself may have arranged for Manrique to watch the meal from the gallery.2 But even if he was aware of the priest’s presence, the secrecy surrounding the visit, the hidden vantage point from the gallery and the return journey through secret tunnels would suggest that the emperor had not been told.
Curry Page 2
