The water and soil of a place are said to impart a special taste to the dishes that are prepared there. Pushpesh Pant dives into the flavours to find out why these can’t be replicated elsewhere
A few years back, I was on my way home from Delhi to Bageshwar in Uttarakhand. We had started early without breakfast, determined to hit Almora by lunch, but we lost time steadily and pangs of hunger became unbearable just after we crossed Haldwani. This is when my son suggested that we take a detour and have lunch at Naukuchiyatal, where he said he had once tasted dal, which was out of this world. To cut a long story, we reached this dhaba and were fortunate to savour the sublime lentils. The shop owner, who doubled as the cook, modestly deflected all praise by informing us that the magic was worked by the soil where the lentil grew and the water from the spring used to boil them. Of course, the freshly ground turmeric, coriander seeds too had contributed their bit. Ever since I have been intrigued by the query what role do soil and water actually play in shaping the flavour profile of any dish — an internationally renowned ‘signature delicacy’ like Hyderabadi Dum ki Biryani, Galauti kebab in Lucknow or street side snacks like Banarasi chaat and local sweets lesser known than Bengali chhena-based ones?
Geographical indicators are usually exclusive tags for produce unique to a region, be it vines, whiskies, tea or coffee. In the Indian context, fruit and betel leaves, too, qualify for this distinction. Terroir is the French word that defines the micro climactic region where the soil and water combine to impart a distinct personality to the produce — grapes, aromatic rice and more. While most of us are ready to concede this, when it comes to cooked food, the answer is not easy.
So much depends on the recipe — traditional or improvised — skill of the person cooking, vessels used and the supporting cast of sweetening and souring agents, aromatic substances and spices common or exotic. Indian cuisines create a symphony, combining different notes and micro notes, that draw a hard to pierce veil over ‘soil and water.’
Take for instance the Bikaneri bhujiya or Jodhpuri mirchi bada or kachauri. Can one be certain that their allure is engendered solely by soil and water? Deep frying skills handed down generationally are an integral part of producing the irresistible sev. The recipe for namkeen resembling Bikaneri bhujiya changes in Ratlam in Madhya Pradesh and Bhavnagar in Gujarat. It is more than the change of place that transforms the taste. The master craftspersons have played around with cloves, peppercorn, tomatoes or a blend of spices to carve out a separate niche for their products. Of course, no one from Indore will admit that the deep fried Girode and oh so sweet Makke ki kees can be enjoyed anywhere else where the climate is different from their beloved Malwa. Down South similar claims are made on behalf of lighter than a whiff idli in Udupi or karimeen polichattu in Kumarakom harpooned as per demand in the Vembnad Lake.
The seduction of myriad Hyderabadi biryanis is overpowering primarily due to slow cooking in tightly sealed utensils over charcoal-fired stoves and using choicest cuts of well-marinated meat — kid not lamb. Long-grained rice and aromatic spices are all imported not locally grown.
It’s the same story with the melt-in-the-mouth Awadhi kebab. The finely minced meat is smoked, tenderised and cooked on a lagan aka mahi tawa. Not to forget the trade secret proprietary spice mix used both to flavour the patties and sprinkled over to enhance the experience.
Sweets are no different. Surely it’s the quality of the full fat milk or curds that exert the decisive influence on how the peda, barfi or kalakandi is going to taste. Almora in Uttarakhand boasts of a singori that essentially is kalakand wrapped in a delicately fragrant leaf of a tree that grows on the hillside nearby. Old timers also claim that the ‘original’ singori owed all its fame to unadulterated khoya supplied by the villagers in Lodhiya. One may argue that the fragrance of the leaf and the granular texture of the khoya were the gifts imparted by the local soul and water but that we think would be like stretching the rubber band to breaking point.
Food has a complex relationship with memory. Personal nostalgia of a time and place as well as delicious delights shared with agreeable companions many moons ago impart unique qualities that are not necessarily based on fact. We allow ourselves to be mesmerised by the spells caste by legend and lore about the extraordinary properties of special soil irrigated by special water to return to that fabulous dal from Naukuchiyatal Tal. It was cooked in a brass pot with a narrow mouth and the spices were lovingly ground by hand on a slab of stone. Water undeniably contributed a lot to the lentils as it does in other locations to Scotch and Darjeeling being brewed but let’s not forget the oak Sherry casks and the quality of the first or the second flush hand picked “two leaves and a bud” by experts. Doesn’t Milton remind us so aptly that “They also serve who stand and wait,” remaining invisible most of the time.
Courtesy: Exotica, the lifestyle and wellness magazine of The Pioneer group
