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The South's own manna
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The humble curd rice has topped the nutrition charts all over the world. GOWRI RAMNARAYAN writes about the South Indian staple, its myriad avatars and uses.
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ALL TAMILS know the saying ``muttalukku morsadam'' (buttermilk rice for the blockhead) and ``daddhikku thayirsadam'' (curd rice for the clod). But of course what we mean is just the opposite. It is the proclamation of the curd rice eater's superiority over the rest of mankind, especially when he/she is based in the South Eastern corner of India.
The West has just found out that curd is the best thing for good health, and is holding conferences on the subject. The U.S Government has set aside $ 90 million for IIARYAP (The International Institute of Analysis and Research into Yoghurt and Allied Products). Our ancestors knew this 5,000 years ago when they settled down with their kamadhenus on the banks of the Vaigai and Cauvery, we shrug with amused condescension.
Another voice declaims, ``Modern stars are so short lived. But our Savitri and Padmini, Sivaji and MGR lasted as long as they did because they ate curd rice everyday without fail.'' His friend is all agreement, ``Take Venkatraghavan or Srikkanth. Could they have bowled and scored as they did without the daily dose of dadhiyonnam?''
Today, we see our women's magazines overflowing with recipes featuring curd in special appearances — to be boiled, sauted, fried, simmered, scorched and baked over log, coal, kerosene, gas, electric, microwave and solar stoves. Curd is the main ingredient in beauty tips galore — smear curd over the face to become fair and lovely, wash hair with curd cream for shimmer-n-sheen, apply yoghurt to get rid of scars and blackheads, drink buttermilk for a healthy glow, whey to lose weight... Now do you understand why all women are apsaras in South India? Or why Tamil Nadu makes the best dream girls for the Hindi screen?
With columnists of allopathy and homeopathy going ga-ga over it, along with beauticians and cuisine experts, the humble curd and homely buttermilk, not to forget their modern avatars, yoghurt and lassi, have now topped the nutrition, diet and gourmet charts as all time favourites.
For the Tamil born, these developments are a matter of ``we-knew-it-long-ago'' preening. Isn't his perfect health, record-breaking longevity, sophisticated culture, superb taste and superstar looks due to the regular intake of this cool, white ambrosia from childhood?
My earliest memory is of grandma standing before us at lunch time, with two different vessels in her hands, asking the inevitable question, ``Erumai thayir or pashun thayir.'' Your choice betrayed your nature and temperament, even presaged your future calling and achievements. ``Buffalo curd'' was thicker, creamier, richer... you could almost cut it with a knife. ``Cow curd'' was thinner, softer and altogether more for the epicurean palate.
Our choice was spooned out on top of the last course of rice, white and slender as jasmine buds on our green, fresh-plucked plantain leaves, to be eaten with some seasonal pickle. For the Tamil born, it is the taste of heaven. We are perfectly satisfied with an entire meal of curd rice and pickles.
Non-Tamils are invariably amused by such gastronomical naiveté. Easy too, they think, though of course Aavin and Heritage sachets have replaced the buffalo and cow, milked before your eyes, in the front yard. Pickles are no longer restricted to seasons. You can get any pickle round the year at any supermarket, with the additional odours of citric acid or vinegar.
But what they can't comprehend is the fact that curd rice is a complex affair, with as many variations of the process as there are consumers.
For starters, the balance of rice and curd differs with each hand that blends. Some like their curd rice to have a cake-like tautness, while others want it to dribble from the spoon sensuously. Some add milk to make it less sour, while others insist that the curd should be set to reach the right sour-sweet balance. Some grandmothers sneer at the practice of adding butter to the rice, ``The curd itself should have the feel of satiny cream.''
Watch people making curd rice and you will see how different their approaches can be. Traditional and avant-garde methods find their slots. An expert always mixes leftover rice with milk, adds a little curd, and leaves it overnight. In the morning, she seasons it with mustard, jeera, white ellu, urad dal and red chillis. ``My Arcot mother-in-law's recipe,'' she beams as she serves it for breakfast.
Tirunelveli or Madurai, Tamils have their own magic for transforming pazhaidu (rice soaked in water overnight) into a prize winner, topped with spluttered mustard, sauted green chilli and ginger, as also shredded onion(always the big vengayam, small is for sambar, they say).
The myriad methods of curd making require a thesis, no less. They include definitive details from the temperature of the milk, its colour, consistency, to the kind of vessel you use for setting (clay, metal, stone) or its shape (pan, jar, cup).
Likewise, the temperature at which the rice is deemed ready for its union with the curds is a matter of hot dispute. For some it has to be still warm (brings out the flavour or spoils the taste), for others ice-cold (smoother consistency or forms lumps). Debates centre around the variety of ingredients — spices, seeds, herbs, leaves, nuts, fresh and dried vegetables/fruits); the stages at which they are introduced in the process, whether into plain rice, or after the addition of the curd, or in successive stages between...
Curry leaves were always mandatory, but now we have coriander and even basil. Finely diced raw mango, mango ginger, carrot, cucumber, grapes, pineapples and pomegranates have become favourites at party time. The trick is to know just how many components should go in on a given day, and precisely how much. Too little makes for blandness, too much becomes bothersome.
Unlike grandma's days when everything was served from tavalai and chatti, modern buffets demand innovative visual effects. The curd rice is placed strategically on the table in china bowl or earthen pot, or shallower dishes, which accommodate decorations from sauted cashewnut to capsicum rings. I have seen curd rice making a calm sea, for cucumber boats rocking saucily on toothpick masts with sails of carrot ribbon. Or bordered with bushy sprouts on lettuce cups, speckled with olives and cherries.
An NRI visitor is never tired of boasting about his version of the Tamil nectar. ``Beat well cooked rice to a fine pulp but not to a mushy mass, add fresh thick curd and mix to idli dough consistency, with a little cold milk to bring out the flavour and texture.(!?) Add salt to taste and set aside. Heat til oil in a pan, splutter mustard, urad dal, split green chillis with seeds removed, diced ginger (mind, it should be tender, not stringy) and curry leaves. Fry manathakkali vatral, just a few for that little, subtle gastronomic surprise. Mix with the curd rice. Add asafoetida, not the odourless powder Chennai people have taken to using, it has to be a piece of gum soaked and rotated with your index finger in a spoonful of water; throw the gum away and pour the water into the rice. Take one large piece of narthangai (dried citron pickle) and cut it into tiny pieces. Shred a little lemon rind into strips (use a peeler so that you get only the yellow portion, not the white skin below). Now throw them in along with chopped coriander leaves. There you have it... authentic thayirsadam that any grandmother from Talaiyur-on-the-Cauvery, Thanjavur district, Madras Presidency, would have approved of.
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