I had a craving last noon. It was a serious one to say. A craving that cracked me crazy. In a long time I reminded myself and yearned for a morsel of it. Just a morsel that would satisfy me and feel at peace. May be it was the dreary weather or miss of my daily dose of conversation over phone with amma-appa, ever since they whisked far away to explore the greener pastures of Europe for their annual holiday. But it kicked me hard in my stomach. So hard, that I reached out to my husband on a frantic phone call to make a trip down to Indian stores that very evening, in every sense of urgency. 'Twenty-eight miles just for a coconut? Can it not wait? Wasn't it two days ago we had been there?', he zapped in midst of Monday morning chaos at work, composing his thoughts over matters more important than a mere coconut. Damn! Who knew I would hanker so much for a simple bowl of huli! For a craving that has least sense of timing or inventory (could I just not do with the leftover sweetened coconut I used here?), but had to be appeased.

Truth to be told, the past three months never saw a day with fresh coconut. We never bought one here. The Indian store we shop at barely stocks one or two sad looking coconuts, often sleeping on the verge of their expiry bed. The packaged grated coconut is a bigger risk to buy. What if it tuned out to be rancid? After all, with no packaging date on it whatsoever, I wonder for how long it has been sitting there. The brand new blender I bought, advertised it could churn blocks of ice to granita in seconds. It broke out within days with a nasty burnt smell while attempting a simple fruit-date smoothie. That, enough was a hint for me. It could not stand the heavy duty grinding of Indian spices and coconut.

Coconut chutney, tambli, gojju, paladhya, menskai did not feature in our menus. Otherwise the usual course of tip-toeing and balancing myself between Northern and Southern cooking, here I was, survived mostly by chopping copious batches of onions, brewing gallons of tomatoes to broth, throwing mounts of red chillies and garam masalas in almost every fare I made, cooking basic Northern dishes much to my husband's delight and satisfaction. I did make occasional saar that didn't call for coconuts, served dosas with coconut-less-chutneys and palyas that went without the mellowed sweetness from the much-desired-generous-garnish of fresh coconut. The pre-packed coconut I had bought long ago assuming would be good for curries was so sweetened, that it was consumed in desserts and occasionally bitter-gourd stews.

The little Southerner in me craved for the real deal.

So it had to be. A day I called for huli. Made the way my mother makes it, smashing whole tondekayi (known as tindora in hindi / ivy gourd in English) and tossing them in a delicate coconut based curry infused with garlic tempering. Little toiling and more satisfaction of finally accomplishing it - done, served and relished. In feeling of worth and delirious joy like none other. Of clinching rice between fingers, mashing them through huli and drawing morsel by morsel of it with fingers to satisfy the insatiable desire of being home. Of savoring comfort food that reminds me of my mother. Of swaddling in spices that brings aromas of her kitchen into mine. Deep satisfaction. Simple joys.

TonDekayi MeNasina HuLi | Ivy Gourd in Spiced Coconut Curry

INGREDIENTS

20-24 ivy gourds( also known as tondekayi/ tindla/ tindora)
1/2 tsp. turmeric powder
Salt to taste

Grind to Paste:

1 cup grated fresh coconut
1 tbsp. thick tamarind pulp
5-6 red chillies
1 tsp. jaggery

For Tempering:

2 tsp. coconut oil
1 tsp. mustard seeds
3-4 garlic pods, smashed
A twig of curry leaves

DIRECTIONS

Wash the ivy gourds in running water and clean them on a kitchen towel. Snip off the tips at both the ends (as shown in the pic above). Using the wide bladed knife, smash the ivy gourd down against the blade, putting just enough pressure using the palms of your hand to smash it. We generally use a pestle to do this. A heavy rolling pin works fine too. What you get is a rough smash of ivy gourds that is still in tact and not broken apart. Transfer the smashed ivy gourds into a pressure cooker along with turmeric powder and salt and just enough water to cover the vegetable. Pressure cook it for 2-3 whistles. Meanwhile, while ivy gourds are being cooked, proceed to making the coconut curry.

Grind to paste the grated fresh coconut along with tamarind pulp, red chillies, jaggery. Add little water to enable smooth grinding. Set aside.

Release the pressure off the cooker and transfer the cooked ivy gourds along with the water into a steel vessel. Add the ground coconut paste, stir well and bring to a rolling boil. Adjust salt and more water depending on your preferred consistency. Simmer and let it boil for 5-7 mins for the spices to be absorbed.

Prepare the tempering by heating coconut oil in a small kadhai / wok. Add mustard seeds to it. As it begins to splutter, add smashed garlic and curry leaves. Fry them till the garlic turns golden brown. Add this to the prepared huLi. Serve hot with steamed rice.

How to make BasaLe Soppu HuLi| BasaLe Soppu Kodhel | BasaLe Soppu Sambhar

Homely, rustic and vastly organic. This is the kind of comfort food we grew up eating, often made from easily available farm grown wilds and greens fetched from aunt's estate, grandma's gardens and at times home-grown. I made this dish to bring back fond memories of a part of my childhood spent in the serene small town where convenience to such wild greens was in sheer abundance and was often subjected to lack of appreciation. And so much more to apologize myself for hating this dish through my growing up years. I remember disliking these greens in particular, eating them with puckered brows every time they made an appearance on the table, because my mom never spared cooking even those thick stalks of these creepers every time she lay her hands on them. I have seen dad relish them with relentless penchant. They were probably their favourites, rest assured they were not mine.

But now, it seems like ages since I had a chance to taste BasaLe Soppu or commonly called Malabar Spinach. The Malabar Spinach, also known as Red Vine Spinach grows abundantly in humid weather conditions. It has wide heart shaped leaves with soft-stems that grow into creepers. Despite my dislike for them through my growing up years, I missed them ever since I moved to Bangalore. I have never seen them around here where we live. If someone offered me this dish now, I would probably tag them 'exotic'. As kids, we were told these are healthy and have a great source of nutrition. But it's only now that I have learnt to appreciate those thick stalk-y chews of these wild creepers.

(Pictured above, a lone creeper of Kempu BasaLe Soppu in midst of home-grown mint leaves)

A while ago, I grabbed a budding Malabar Spinach plant from a nursery on our trip back home. A handful of budding leaves on a stalk is all it stood with. Before I could let them grow and spread their wings, my impatience to revive my childhood memories with this dish took control over me and I went on a chopping spree. What remains now is a single barren short stalk that is making its way to climbing, twining, and creeping along another stem. As I patiently watch it grow to nurture new leaves, which will probably take a couple of months, I have a strong sense of excitement of using these home grown leaves in this home styled traditional recipe today. I hope you enjoy them as much as we did.

Basale HuLi

INGREDIENTS:

1/2 cup Basale soppu (Malabar spinach / Red Vine Spinach)
1/2 cup togaribeLe / tuvar dal (pigeon peas)
1/2 tsp. turmeric powder
3 tbsp. kottambari beeja (coriander seeds)
10 + 2 Byadagi red chillies
1 tsp. hing (asafoetida)
1 tsp. jeerige (cumin seeds)
1 tbsp. kadale bele (split bengal gram)
1/2 tsp. menthya (fenugreek seeds)
1/2 cup grated raw coconut
Lemon sized tamarind
1 tsp. coconut oil
1 tsp. jaggery
1 tsp. mustard seeds
A sprig of curry leaves
Salt to taste

DIRECTIONS:

Wash and cook the togaribeLe/pigeon peas in pressure cooker along with turmeric till they are soft and mushy.

In a thick bottomed pan, dry-roast the coriander seeds, cumin seeds, methi seeds, split bengal gram, hing with about 7-10 red chillies till they are fragrant. Remove from heat and allow them to cool. Grind them to a fine paste with a handful of grated fresh coconut and tamarind. Set aside.

Wash the Basale leaves, along with their tender stalks. Chop them into small pieces. In a wide mouthed pan, cook the leaves and stalk in some water. As the leaves wilt and the stalks are cooked, add the cooked dal to this along with the freshly ground paste, a cup of water and bring to a rolling boil. Add a tsp. of grated jaggery along with salt to taste. Adjust the consistency of this huLi by adding more water to your taste and preference.

For the seasoning, heat a tsp of coconut oil in a wok. Fry the mustard seeds till they splutter. Add in torn curry leaves, hing and 2 broken red chillies. Fry for 30 sec and turn off the flame. Add this seasoning to the prepared huLi. Serve hot with steaming hot rice.

How to make Mum’s Cheat Vegetable Huli | Easy Vegetable Huli

In the small town where I grew up majorly, life was simple, time had a hold and things were slow. I had a blissful childhood in safe shelter of love, care and freedom. It was indeed the small town charm that made life simple and modest in a community replete of love and affection from all in the neighbourhood. Life there had an advantage and as kids, we enjoyed the proximity of our school to home, which brought us the perks of walking down home during the lunch time. As the clock stuck 12:30 PM, the school bells would ring for lunch break that spanned over an hour, which meant we had ample time to walk home, relish hot, home cooked meal, watch our favourite comedy series that we were hooked to (oh yes, we were hooked to Hum Paanch back then, to an extent that I could have given exams on it and topped them!) and get back to school on time for the noon classes.

Every afternoon as the school bell rang for lunch hour, we would walk back home midst the humid summer heat, soaking sweat in the navy blue pinafores that we wore for our uniform. Plonking ourselves under the comfort of fans and beating the blazing heat with tall glasses of chilled water, mum in all ears would serve us steaming hot rice, topped with either tove, saaru or huli and dollops of ghee on some days or tamblis with stir fried vegetables on other days. Happalas (paapads) and salivating homemade uppinakais (pickles) were a ritualistic part of our menu and always stayed on the table. I cannot ignore the joy of biting into crisp, fried, spicy sandiges served on days when tamblis showed up on the table. Mum was a strict believer in healthy, nutritious food and she ensured that the food she cooked with love balanced in taste, health and nutrition very well.

Our meals always ended with fruits for desserts. She would coax us to eat lots of vegetables and fruits as she does even today. She had a reasoning for what was cooked and she believed in them firmly. Like when greens were cooked, she would top them with freshly squeezed lime, because the vitamin C in lime aids in the digestion of iron in greens. Similarly, if a gravy was cooked with red chillies for the heat, the stir fry would then be cooked with green chillies, or vice versa to kill the monotony of flavours. Fresh vegetables and greens were a part of our daily diet, either in form of stir fries, or in huli, else in tamblis. And her love for organic food ran in her genes. Rustic vegetables like banana stems and flowers, drumsticks, raw jackfruits, gujje, basale soppu and doddapatre (brahmi) leaves that grow abundantly in wild during monsoons, produces that do not require intensive care, manure or added pesticides made up her favourites. On several other days, she broke the regime of traditional South Indian cooking with her delightful North Indian delicacies. On odd occasions, dessert during mid-week was in treat for us too. I was fortunate to have enjoyed the liberty of coming home to relish fresh home cooked meals for my lunches. It meant a lot – fresh, healthy, clean and nutritious. That was probably why I enjoyed food thoroughly even as a child, because it was simple, fresh and tasty.

With time as I grew up to being a mother myself, I realized that care and affection towards healthy food comes by instinct for your family. It means nurturing the tradition of cooking healthy, wholesome meals that can balance in taste and nutrition. Someone reading this blog may probably think that the recipes, mainly desserts shared here are all what we eat. But truth to be told, we do not eat banana breads every day, nor do we have tea cakes every evening. There’s a lot more healthier we eat than I can share here. But I don’t feature them here, least I dread this space would become tad boring.

Like I said, we grew up eating huli, that is quite traditional to our cuisine. I don’t make huli often because I never attempted to make a good one that tastes like what my mum or grandmom make. While in my teens, my mum would often chuckle saying “A good Havyaka bride is known by the Huli she makes!” If I had to go by that saying, I would never fit that bill! One of the reasons why I featured this recipe here is because the version I share today is much simpler, the cheat kinds as taught by my mum.

Huli is a traditional Havyaka dish from the famed Mangalore-Udupi region, made from lentils, cooked often with vegetables, roasted spices and ground liberally with coconut and tamarind, balancing off the tang with a hint of jaggery. It’s the balance of spices, coconut and tamarind that make up a good huli, an art that takes years to master. While there are several names (also called Kodhel) and different versions of it, this particular version of huli tastes so close to the traditional one I've grown up eating, that my dad, an avid huli lover and a good cook by himself, believed that I went through the laborious task of roasting and grinding all the spices, while mum and I chuckle on sheepishly. Devoid of all that hassle, hence quicker and easier too, it’s flavoursome and delicious served fresh with steaming hot rice.

Mum’s Cheat Vegetable Huli

Recipe adapted by mum

INGREDIENTS

1 cup mixed vegetables (raw bananas, brinjals, pumpkin, mangalore cucumber)
½ cup split pigeon peas / tuvar dal ( togari bele as in kannada)
1 tsp. turmeric powder
Salt to taste

For the Huli arpa, grind to paste:

½ cup grated fresh coconut
½ cup tamarind pulp / lime sized tamarind ball
3 tbsp. sāmbhar powder (preferably Karnataka styled)
1 tbsp. jaggery

To temper:

1 tsp. mustard seeds
2-3 whole red chillies
1 tsp. asafoetida
1 sprig of curry leaves
1 tsp. coconut oil

DIRECTIONS

Wash thoroughly and pressure cook the split pigeon peas / togari bele along with turmeric and 2 cups of water on 4-5 whistles. For 1 measure of the dal I use approximately 3 measures of water. In a separate pan, cook the vegetables with 1 cup of water and salt to taste till they are cooked and just tender. While the vegetables are getting cooked and the pressure cooker is cooling down, prepare the masala paste (called as huli arpa in kannada) by grinding fresh grated coconut with tamarind pulp (lime sized tamarind kernel cleaned and soaked in ½ cup warm water for 10-15 minutes), sāmbhar powder and jaggery, adding water little by little, if required, till its smooth and comes to chutney consistency.

Using a wooden ladle, mash the cooked split pigeon peas / togari bele to a paste. To this add the ground masala paste / huli arpa along with vegetables, and their broth and bring it to a rolling boil. Add sufficient water to bring it to a consistency of your preference. Adjust salt to taste.

Temper by heating some oil in a small wok. As it heats up, add mustard seeds, followed by whole red chillies, torn curry leaves and asafoetida / hing. Fry for a minute, turn off the flame and quickly add it to the prepare huli while hot. Serve hot with steamed rice.

Notes:

Tempering with coconut oil is optional, but highly recommended as it gives an authentic and traditional taste to this dish. You may use vegetable oil instead of coconut oil. Alternatively, use clarified butter / ghee for a richer taste.

I’ve used mixed vegetables here. However you may use these vegetables individually. Traditionally, for weddings and festive meals, Mangalore cucumber is the most common vegetable used in this kind of kai huli.

Vegetables that go well with huli are raw bananas, brinjals, pumpkin, mangalore cucumber, yam, bottle gourd.

The color of this dish hugely depends on the kind of chillies being used in the sāmbhar powder. Typically, byaadgi chillies will give you deep reddish brown hints while guntur chillies render more spice and less colour.

While we call this as huli in Havyaka cuisine, it is also popular by the name of kodhel in some of the sects/communities of coastal Karnataka, especially among the Tulu speaking Brahmins.