Vishwam Iyer was to come home for lunch and Thaathi was in a fix. The Iyer man was quite a perfectionist and getting him to approve of a meal was never easy. In the past, whenever Vishwam Iyer had come home to dine, he had always found some reason to berate the food. "The spice could have been a notch down", "You should have fried the lentils before you ground it" or some such suggestion was bound to arise.
After much thought, Thaathi decided to throw caution to the wind. There was no more 'trying to please the neighbour'. Her husband had also warned her not to stress out this time. Anyway the rest of the party always had such good words for her cooking. So, she chopped up two slices of pumpkins and quarter kilo of okra with a resolve. She was gonna take Mr.Iyer for a ride! Tossing the okra lightly in oil, she let a quarter kilo of taro root boil on the side. She peeled the taro and chopped them into halves.
She extracted tamarind puree from a lemon-sized ball dissolved in hot water, threw in a pinch of salt and turmeric(always kills the germs!) and let the vegetables cook in the broth. As little Kunju, Chochi and Lallu ran into the kitchen, she issued a friendly warning saying she will throw them also into the sambhar she was making. As her grand kids giggled and ran out in mock horror, she grinned, finally at ease in cooking for the hoity-toity Mr.Iyer.
She scraped a head of coconut, sautéed a spoon of tuvar dal(split red gram), half a spoon of fenugreek seeds and six dried red chillies and ground them all together on the huge stone that lay in her verandah. The sun was up and she could hear the cowherd delivering milk in the neighbourhood. Calling out to Raman to get their pail, she went back into the kitchen. She scooped out the ground paste and added it to the boiling broth. After sputtering some curry leaves and mustard seeds in ghee, she gently let them slide into the now-ready sambhar with a hiss.
Rice and beans curry were prepared alongside. Some Kerala poppadams were fried. A payasam that even Mr.Vishwam Iyer had once grudgingly accepted was 'not bad' was made. Thaathi was now ready for war!
***
What followed is now a family legend! Vishwam Iyer loved Thaathi's sambhar so much that it began to be called the 'Vishwam Iyer Sambhar' in his honour. Generations later, even today, when someone is lost as to what to cook that day, a Vishwam Iyer Sambhar is whipped up, much to the delight and appreciation of all.
A memorable and atypical recipe, this sambhar has passed on hands and families and I believe originated in the humble kitchen of my thaathi (or great-great-grandmother). Although the story may have been spiced up to add interest, the crux of it remains true to the events that transpired.
And yet again, a recipe becomes a story!
Picture Courtesy: http://elayarajaartgallery.com/g-painting.php
Picture Courtesy: http://elayarajaartgallery.com/g-painting.php
After a quick look around, we almost wished we had stopped by for dinner, if only to see how breath taking this place is at night. We began lunch with an orange popsicle, looking as if it landed on our plates straight out of the school-side ice cream carts, wrapped in a transparent polythene cover – an odd choice perhaps, but we were glad for its sharp citrusy flavour.
What had us asking for more, however, were the salt and pepper prawns – a winning combination of fiery prawns cooked with plenty of piquant spices and finished with a spritz of lime.
The Chicken lasagna (Rs 400), though was a meal by itself. Thanks to the generous serving size, we happily tucked in to the beautifully seasoned chicken baked just the right balance of cheese.
On the whole, Azzuri Bay definitely is a good place to eat, topped with courteous service and a wonderful ambience. Head there when you have plenty of time on hand and can lounge over lunch and lengthy conversation on a sunny afternoon.