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Hobbies

Sambaar Podi: Our Family Recipe


I’ve not been very fond of sambaar, especially the ones served in restaurants, which seem to serve something quite ghastly. My husband, on the other hand, loves it.

In traditional TamBrahm households, each meal typically consisted of three courses of rice. Course one, sambaar with rice, course two, rasam with rice, and course three, curd with rice. Every course has its share of accompaniments (poriyals, pachidis, pickles, appalam etc).

That’s all great during wedding festivities, when there’s an army of cooks to prepare (and serve) such elaborate meals. And of course, one must earn the right to enjoy such meals through intense calorie-burning activities.

In our mostly sedentary modern city life, so many courses and elaborate meals are both unnecessary and impractical. My mother adopted a very practical approach: two courses and one vegetable accompaniment. She’d make rasam (which I always preferred over sambaar), and include the lentils in it. Thakkali sambaar (tomato sambaar) we’d always tease her. The second course remained the universally enjoyable thayir saadam (curd-rice).

The Family Sambaar Recipe

I never learned to make rasam or sambaar (or any dish, for that matter) before I got married. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my mother’s part, but rather my rebellion at being forced to learn “womanly” skills to be eligible for marriage. Fortunately for me, I did find the most suitable husband who knows how to cook! So I learned to cook mostly from him and his parents. Unfortunately, he also loves sambaar, and being a North Indian, has no idea how it’s made!

Over the years, I’ve attempted to make sambaar at home with varying degrees of failure. Each time I’d call my mother to ask for her recipe and note it down somewhere, only to misplace it and call her again the next time.

My latest attempt, however, seemed moderately successful. And funnily, it seemed like an absolute breeze, which convinced me to make it more often. So, this time, I’m saving the recipe here for ready reference.

Step 1: The Sambaar Podi

The key to sambaar lies in the powdered spice mixture, aka the podi. Once ground, the batch lasts a surprisingly long time. Given how infrequently I make sambaar, my batch has easily lasted a few years, but I wouldn’t recommend keeping it around for that long!

“Take note of the order of these items and it will be easier to remember the proportions,” my mother advised.

“One of Urad,
Three-quarters of Toor,
Half of Chana daal,
Half the quantity of Chana daal for Pepper, and
Half the quantity of Pepper for Methi.
Take three of Dhania.
Roast everything, cool and grind to a powder.
One spoon of sambaar podi is half this powder and half red chilli powder.”

Sambaar powders available in the market typically include red chilli powder. But my mother’s sambaar powder skips it so that she can reuse the same mix for both rasam and sambaar! In our household, it helps to not add red chillis so that we can tweak the spice level for my in-laws who aren’t comfortable with red chilli powder.

Here’s a detailed table with the proportions and ingredients.

ProportionItem (Tamil)Item (Hindi)Item (English)
3Kotthamalli VithaiSabut DhaniaCoriander seeds
1UlanthuDhuli UradSkinned Black Gram
3/4Thauram paruppuArhar daalSplit Pigeon Pea
1/2Kadalai paruppuChana daalSplit Chickpeas / Bengal Gram
1/4MilaguKaali MirchBlack Pepper
1/8VenthiyamMethiFenugreek

The sambaar podi is as simple as roasting these items till they are aromatic, and then grinding them to a powder. Store for use later.

Step 2: Prep the Elements of Sambaar

The essential elements of sambaar are (for 1 litre):

  • Arhar / Toor daal (3/4 cup)
  • Tamarind water (use 1 medium-sized lemon a reference for the quantity of tamarind)
  • One vegetable (aka the taan). Potatoes, Moringa, Capsicum, Okra, Eggplant, Ash Gourd, Radish. Anything goes. Heck, if you like the restaurant variety, use beans, carrots and onions. Just don’t serve that to me.
  • The spices (1/2 spoon of sambaar podi, 1/2 spoon of red chilli powder, a pinch of asafoetida, a sprig of fresh curry leaves)
  • The Thalippu / Tadka (1/2 spoon mustard seeds, 1-2 dried red chillis)

The key to making sambaar fast is multitasking. Let the multiple gas burners do the heavy lifting by simultaneously doing the following:

  1. Pressure cook the Toor daal with a little turmeric powder.
  2. If the cooker is big enough, you can place the hard vegetables in the same cooker. For soft veggies that cook easily, pressure cooking may be a bit too much. You can add those in later.
  3. Boil the tamarind in water for a bit and let it cool.

With everything already partially cooking, and while you’re waiting for the tamarind water to cool, you’re free to prep any other dish, or perhaps do the dishes, or just take a little nap.

Step 3: Bring Everything Together

  1. Once the tamarind water has cooled enough so that you can touch it, extract the juice/pulp and remove the rind and seeds, if any. Mash with your fingers or use a spoon and a sieve.
  2. To the tamarind water, add the sambaar podi, red chilli powder and a pinch of asafoetida. Boil this solution for a couple of minutes.
  3. If your vegetables haven’t yet been cooked, add them to the tamarind water and cook them.
  4. Once the vegetables are cooked, add the cooked toor daal (with the water). The daal already has turmeric, so no need to add that in.
  5. Add salt.
  6. Pinch/crush fresh curry leaves with your fingers and add them in right at the end.
  7. Finish the sambaar with the sizzling, satisfying sound of the tadka: Heat 1-2 spoons of oil/ghee and add the mustard seeds and dried red chillis. Once the seeds crackle, add them to the sambaar.

And that’s it! Making sambaar involves several components, but proper planning makes it an easy dish to prepare.

Bonus Recipe: Rasam

Rasam is typically a thin, almost clear soup. The steps for a regular rasam are very similar to those of sambaar. The key differences:

  1. Instead of vegetables, we add tomatoes (usually cut into quarters).
  2. Instead of adding red chilli powder, we add black pepper powder and cumin powder. So, along with the sambaar podi, my mother keeps a separate powdered mix of black pepper and cumin.
  3. Instead of using the entire cooked toor daal, use only the water of the daal. That’s the “proper” way. But if rasam is your only protein source, as was the case in our household, just go ahead and add the whole cooked daal and make a thicker rasam.
  4. Instead of curry leaves, use fresh coriander leaves.

Every family has their version of the sambaar and rasam podis. And of course, there are variations of each dish too. Depending on what vegetables go in the sambaar, the recipe changes a little. The most notable one being a special fresh coconut-based bitter gourd sambaar.

Then there’s melagu rasam or milagu tanni (which the British famously appropriated as mulligatawny), which is a spicier variation (and for me, an absolutely soothing one!) There’s also a tamarind-free lemon rasam. Of course, I don’t know how to make any of these, but in my journey to learn our culinary heritage, I’ll hopefully get there soon. Let’s make one recipe at a time.

Categories
Stories

Recipe for Disaster – Part 3


Cascading_bridal_bouquet

A pinch of salt

I had never cooked a full meal by myself, and I had no idea where my mother kept the various ingredients in the kitchen. In fact, I didn’t even know the names for most of the spices stored in the jars inside the drawer. But I still had time. I flipped through a few cook books to find recipes that I could actually understand, with ingredients which would not raise suspicions.

I shadowed my mother, and found out the difference between baking powder and cooking soda – they were in different types of containers, and one had a label on it. But telling Jeera from the Ajwain was much more tricky. We were definitely not depending on either of those for our cooking.

It was the night before d-day. We said our good nights and slipped into our beds. Amma was still in the kitchen, keeping the last of the dishes inside. We heard the flick of the switch and all the lights were out. We waited another 15 minutes before sneaking out.

Capsicum, onions, tomatoes, paneer, orange food colouring, ginger, chillies, vanilla essence, eggs, cocoa, flour, curd… We had all our ingredients in place. But it wasn’t till we started washing the vegetables, that we realised the challenge before us.

Cooking, and especially the dishes we had decided to cook, were easy enough. But in the silence of the night, could we actually cook without waking up our parents? We couldn’t cook rice in a pressure cooker. No electric grinder for making the purée. No pounding the ginger, and no careless handling of utensils.

But we had taken this challenge, and we were going to pull it off. Anna beat the eggs and sugar as silently as he could, while I chopped the onions. We kept rice on the open flame, and cooked it like the way our ancestors did before the pressure cooker was introduced. We tossed the onions into oil, before it became warm and covered it up, to muffle the sizzling sound.

It was just when the cake batter went into the oven, that we heard something. We looked out of the kitchen. The bedroom light was on. Amma was up.

‘Here we go again!’ I thought to myself. Another plan botched up. But my brother wasn’t going to give up.

He ran towards the door, and stood in front of amma, waving his hands from side to side, blocking her view and preventing her from moving forward. I switched off the kitchen lights, and hid behind the door.

‘What are you doing up at this hour?’ amma asked in a half sleepy and confused tone.
‘Err.. I was thirsty! And… I wanted some warm water… I was just going to bed… What are you doing up right now?!’

Too tired to argue, she didn’t ask how the light turned itself off behind him, and how come he wanted warm water in the middle of summer. That could be done in the morning.’Good night. Go to sleep.’

We waited another twenty minutes before resuming. The tomatoes, capsicum and paneer were added to the onions. Red chilli powder, turmeric, garam masala, a dash of food colouring, and the kadhai paneer was ready.

We poked the cake with a spoon. It came out clean. We thanked our stars, and took it out. The rice had cooled down a little. We mixed up the curd with the rice and added fried mustard seeds, chopped chillies, and diced ginger.

It was well past midnight when we placed everything on the table, the paneer still in the kadhai, the cake still in the tin. The curd rice went into the fridge.

We placed a greeting card and a note on the table, and went to bed – tired, but content. Mission accomplished!

Please don’t wake us up in the morning. We slept really late. There’s cake, kadhai paneer, and curd rice. Wish you A Very Happy Anniversary!

PS. We didn’t put salt in anything.

* * *

Jeera = cumin
Ajwain = carom seeds / bishop’s weed
Paneer = cottage cheese
Kadhai = a type of thick, circular, and deep cooking-pot (similar in shape to a wok)
Image Credit: Cascading Bridal Bouquet CC-BY-SA-3.0