That said, the entries which will follow here involve a particular focus on Kerala, where I spent nearly two weeks, with a smaller pair of posts dedicated to Mumbai, where I only had 3.5 days, and thus got nowhere close to decoding its labyrinthine culinary system. It’s worth noting that each of these dishes/items/snacks could easily merit its own post. Befitting the hectic, vivid craziness of India, and in the interest of preserving my own sanity, I’m smashing them all together as one.
Achappam - These coconut-tinged honeycomb cookies align neatly with the proud Indian tradition of fried dough snacks, but may also have a more perplexing origin. Connected, at least in shape, to Scandinavian rosette cookies, they also share an apparent link with the Christmas holiday among the country’s Christian community. Why so many of these recipes stress that they are “eggless” (the version of these I’ve procured was made with eggs) is another puzzle, especially since a search for “eggless Christmas” seems to mainly yield Indian results on Google. I can't figure out the exact explanation here, but in terms of etymology, I can say that the name comes from the Malayali words for iron mould (acha) and bread (appam, more on this below), which may connect them to the Turkish version of the treat (demir tatlisi), also named for the pan in which they’re shaped. While it’s fun to imagine the spread of rosettes as the handiwork of enterprising Swedish missionaries, traveling across Western Asia and leaving a trail of cookie pans in their wake, the proliferation in fact appears even broader. This makes it pretty unlikely that the spread was due to the concerted effort of any single group.
Achappam also appear as ‘kokis’ in nearby (but not especially culturally connected) Sri Lanka. This island has a significantly stronger Dutch influence than Kerala, which I imagine would explain the nominal relationship to the Dutch koekje, the forerunner of the modern cookie. Somewhere in between lies Achu Murukku, which seems to be the same confection but employs a Tamil word (Murukku), which means “twisted.” As for the achappam I purchased, they have a familiar zeppole/beignet taste with the added bonus of a hint of coconut, and retain the hard, not especially greasy character endemic to this family of Indian snacks. The bag I bought, full of beautiful little rosettes jingling together in yellow plastic packaging, was crushed in my luggage on the way home, leaving behind a series of sturdy little rings (reminiscent of snipped sections of plastic six-pack packaging) and a few larger chunks that resemble brass knuckles. All ended up in the same place.
Alhinho - The entire west coast of India is marked by a heavy Portuguese influence, the legacy of repeated attempts by this colonial power to take control of this astoundingly plentiful trove of valuable spices and rich soil. They were somewhat successful, although battles with the Dutch and then later the British cut into their share of the spice trade. In Kerala, I noticed the greatest Portuguese imprint in Kochi, fitting considering its one-time status as a major spice port and international trading post. Here I tasted Shrimp Alhinho, a fundamentally Portuguese dish (the name refers to the garlic, or alho, which serves as an abundant seasoning) that gets a slight modification via the addition of Indian aromatics and coconut milk.
Al-Faham Chicken - This dish, frequently advertised on signs for shops dedicated to the local spin on Middle Eastern food, is likely a recent import from the Arabian peninsula. The layering of Bezar (an Emirati/Omani spice mix) upon a char-grilling technique redolent of “Islamic”-style cooking smacks of a hasty adaptation of exotic flavors into something easily approachable, similar to America’s embrace of Middle-Eastern cooking via the entry points of shawarma and falafel. Drunk food, fundamentally, although it’s unlikely that the devout Hindus and Muslims who make up much of Kerala’s population are tippling (more later on the state’s byzantine alcohol system). Al-Faham’s preparation further recalls some familiar Northern Indian, also popular in the region; many restaurants here have a tandoor on the premises, although it’s just as often used to roast fish as kebabs.The popularity of dishes from the peninsula is likely related to a long history of cultural cross-pollination, and especially the recent practice of Keralite emigrants spending time in the Middle East for work or other reasons.
Avalose Podi - A roasted rice and coconut powder. Coconuts are everywhere in Kerala, the green and brown and even orange orbs dotting treetops and roadsides, the latter representing a shade I had heretofore never associated with this sometimes shaggy fruit. AP offers a powdery use for them, functioning as a breakfast complement or a between-meals snack. With the addition of jaggery syrup, Avalose Podi graduates to Avalose Unda (podi means “powder” in Malayalam, while "unda" means ball). This is also a key ingredient in the sweet known as Churuttu, which I unfortunately did not encounter at any point. As for this podi, it sort of reminded me of farofa, and seems to occupy a similar place as an ingredient/food that’s natural to natives but borderline impenetrable to outsiders.
Avial - This vegetable coconut mashup is one of the fundamental elements of the sadya feast, a traditional meal so entwined in local food practice that I’m going to go ahead and give it its own post (coming soon, I hope). Avial is also a common sight at ordinary meals, lagging only behind the omnipresent sambar and the infinite different varieties of thoran in terms of frequency. It’s often hard to tell what vegetables are in this, although it commonly featured the drumstick, aka the Moringa, currently enjoying superfood status back in the states. Here it’s just another staple vegetable.
Bamboo Rice - I saw this advertised in multiple places (never anywhere I was actually eating, usually in bagged form) and so only afterward determined that it’s not actually rice. At least, that's what this source maintains, although most others seem to indicate that it’s just regular rice treated with bamboo juice during the milling process. For those curious, you can buy some on Amazon for a price roughly a hundred-fold of what it might cost in its native land.
Bhindi Fry - Okra (bhindi) is generally known as “ladyfingers” in India, a name that disguises how chunky and stubby these vegetables tend to be, more often segmented into lotus root-esque knuckles than served whole. I enjoyed two variants of Bhindi Fry in Kerala, the first a basic prep in which the okra are split, stuffed, dressed with a spice mix and then tossed in a pan. The second was supplemented with squishy, marvelously sweet hot peppers, which provided the dish with a great textural balance.
Boli - A sweet lentil flatbread that shows up most frequently near the end of the traditional sadya feast, plunked down on the plate and then topped with Payasam rice pudding.
Butter Chicken - As it is back home in New York, Punjabi food is popular in Kerala, even all the way at the lowest point on the subcontinent. The region, which represents one of the country's northernmost states (just below the embattled Jammu and Kashmir and to the west of Himachal Pradesh), and also juts off into Southeastern Pakistan, is apparently famous for producing long-haul truck drivers. Another New York parallel, considering the status of Punjabis as taxi drivers, not to mention pioneers in introducing Indian cuisine to the city back in the ‘70s, via the types of cheapo steam-table taxi stand joints that still dot Lower and Midtown Manhattan. It appears that, at least according to this article, Punjabis are also heavily involved in the trucking industry in America's neighbor to the north.
While tooling around the Indian countryside, I noticed that many “dhabas,” i.e. roadside restaurants, bore signs advertising Punjabi fare, although at this point in time the concept of the dhaba in Kerala has come to represent any roadside/truck stop/lunch spot and isn’t exclusively restricted to this style. Punjabi food has also entered the mainstream, in the form of dishes like butter chicken, which was supposedly invented in Delhi at the original Moti Mahal (I’m immediately suspicious of any claim of invention posed by an international chain, but who knows) and now appears all over Kerala, where it’s referred to by its English name rather than the Hindi “Murgh Makhani.” Butter Chicken may have also gone on to form the basis for Tikka Masala, although things get even more confusing once you head as far from Delhi as Glasgow (again, supposedly). As for other cuisines of the North, I also saw signs advertising Marwari food, which refers to a specific ethnicity of Rajasthan and may now serve as a metonym for the entire region’s food.
Butter Fruit - The local term for avocado, a designation which India appears to share with Vietnam and parts of China. I didn’t notice it incorporated in any meals here, which seems to echo it’s late entry to the local pantry, likely confirming that it’s still hanging out on the fringes.
Cafreal - Another Portuguese item, another Goan specialty popping up on Kochi menus. This one seems to also have roots in West Africa, although the circuit of influence running between these three continents is so entwined that it’s impossible to determine exactly what came from where (and when). I also noted the appearance of Cataplana, a stew that seems to lean closer to continental European preparation, at the same restaurant, which served perhaps the best seafood of any I enjoyed in Kerala.
Chapati - These slightly chewy wheat flour breads, a form of roti, were present in profusion at nearly every meal I ate. Befitting their status as a staple, they come in a wide variety of sizes.
Carrot Halwa - aka Gajrela, another North Indian dish that’s gone national. Think of it as the hashed version of the usual super-sweet burfi cubes, although this apparently also comes reconstituted back into cube form as well.
Chatti Kulfi - Aside from the above item (and a few other notable exceptions) I mostly did not have room for dessert in Kerala, which caused me to bypass this “Chatti” (potted) version of Mughal Kulfi ice cream on the one occasion I saw it advertised. With any luck it will arrive in New York, joining several other versions, in due time.
Chicharrones - Not the porky Mexican variety, but it’s vegetarian cousin. I still have no idea what these were doing in India, how they got there, or if it was only a coincidence that these wheaty wagon wheels (the versions I had were slightly darker in shade than the above variety) bear such a resemble to the Mexican “durito.” I can assure readers that it was not some strange one-off, however, having been served the wheels as free pre-meal appetizers in two successive dinners, over 100km apart, in Munnar and then Kochi. A little digging (ok, a lot of digging) reveals that these actually seem to be wheel papads, a form of fryums snacks, which expand on the wheat chicharron concept via a wide variety of shapes and colors. I can’t even begin to conceive of the logical connection between Mexican and Indian versions of spoked wheat snacks, although it does seem like they’re a bit too similar for it to be a total coincidence.
Chilli Chicken - A canonical Indo-Chinese dish, the Chili Chicken I was served in Kovalam reminded me of old-fashioned American takeout Chinese (surprisingly mushy, lacking the bounce of both authentic Sichuan and its often strangely similar Keralan fried chicken dishes). Specifically, the dish recalled Kung Pao, another neutered version of a spicy Sichuan preparation. The green chilis that dotted the plate added some heat, and while many versions seem a bit drier (or even closer to Americanized Chinese), the one I had was so saucy as to itself classify as a curry.
Chizza - Despite an overflow of fresh local ingredients and a culture that still seems to prize the physical and psychological benefits of natural cuisine, Kerala is not free from the presence of fast food titans. Chief among these appears to be KFC, which despite a relatively small number of locations, seemingly restricted to malls and train/bus/air stations, has an ample advertising reach. Many of these ads trumpeted the latest Dadaist abomination, one which has not yet landed upon American shores, and which seems to have originally premiered in in The Philippines. This, of course, is the Chizza, a slab of chicken layered with a greasy slick of cheese and some miscellaneous toppings. I didn’t have the pleasure of glimpsing this dish in person (although I passed it on more than a few monstrous billboards, in addition to many for local KFC competitor MFC (apparently short for “Mr. Fried Chicken”).
The MFC acronym may have a deeper meaning here, however, as I noticed a few menus making reference to American-style Maryland Fried Chicken. In addition to its status as a small-scale US chain, "Maryland Fried Chicken" designates the eastern state’s proprietary fried chicken style, which basically comes down to frying chicken in the manner of a chicken-fried steak. We may need a breather after so many consecutive mentions of “fried” and “chicken” in that previous sentence, but let’s move on to the fact that the MFC label has developed a divergent meaning overseas. I’ve noticed it used often in Latin America (along with the catchier “Chicken Maryland”) to simply designate American-style fried chicken (as noted in the above Wiki’s mention of “Suprema de Pollo Maryland”), and the appellation appears to have also taken root in India, contributing to an odd situation where an obscure regional delicacy takes on a far wider significance outside its country of origin.
Chow Mein - Another popular Indo-Chinese item, somewhat similar to Hakka Noodles. Both are seen frequently on menus that don’t necessarily skew Chinese, usually in vegetarian form.
This series will resume next week with "India-dex #2 (CHU-LEM), covering "Chukku Kappi" through "Lemon Rice."