Chutney - Derived from the Hindi word for “lick,” chutney in India has a function similar to salsa in Mexico, describing any flavorful suspension of mashed, crushed or pulverized vegetables or fruits, often bolstered by the addition of hot or pickled peppers. Really, it denotes any type of sauce, with the essential focus that such sauces are either used for dipping or combining with a main dish, rice-based or otherwise. They generally fall into one of two different categories - sweet or pickled - although many straddle the line between the two. I wasn’t able to identify any discernible pattern in styles during my trip, although I did notice that this thin coconut version seemed to be the most common. It's worth noting that Indian Chutney is substantially different from the British iteration, which is actually just the adaptation of Indian pickling methods onto traditional English canning, and thus generally involves the use of native produce like the damson, the apple or the onion.
Dahi Papri + Dahi Bhalla - Derived from the same root etymology as Chutney (sometimes spelled “Chatni,”), although not directly from the word itself, comes the Chaat, an upstart street food melange that’s gone from humble Northern roots (supposedly in the environs of Uttar Pradesh), to mass proliferation all over the country and beyond. They’re now popular enough outside of India that they’ve spread out of emigrant enclaves to standalone restaurants and Smorgasburg stands, and so much so in-country that the wedding I attended had a fresh chaat station set up during cocktail hour. The highlights of the station, which also featured two other alphabetically disadvantaged items I’ll be covering further down this massive list, included these two incarnations, bolstered by spiced boiled potatoes and generous nivean floes of yogurt (Dahi in Hindi). Both of these chaats seem to originally be products of Delhi street trade, differentiated by the different types of fried bits that sit beneath the masses of common ingredients: papri refers to crisp fried crackers, bhalla apparently points to black lentil or mung bean vada fritters softened via marination. Both are then layered with sev, green cilantro and tamarind sooth chutneys. The latter is also served cold, as noted here. As for local chaats, Kerala doesn’t seem to have any strong contenders for national prominence, although I saw something similar to this Tamil specialty served on the beach in Kovalam one night.
Dal Tadka - Few Indian dishes are more basic than the Dal Fry, a bare-bones preparation seemingly endemic to the entire country. In Kerala, its localized through the addition of coconut paste and dubbed “Parippu Thalichathu.” The meaning of “Parippu” here is easy; it’s the Malayalam word for lentil. I’m a bit stumped by "Thalichathu," however, especially considering that the ‘chathu’ ending seems like a common one for food words, yet I can’t come up with any explanation as to what this suffix designates. As for Parippu Thalichathu, I came across it once, packed in among a dozen other veggie dishes at a Sadya wedding feast. In my experience, however, the more commonly served version, even here, is the Northern Dhaba version, which is accordingly punched up with a “Tadka,” a whiz-bang tempering of ghee and spices, which swoops in at the end of the cooking process to liven things up. Tempering often serves as a flavor base in Indian cuisine, with spices simmered in oil at the bottom of the pot before other ingredients are added, although in some cases that mixture is then set aside and splashed over the top of the dish to finish it.
Ela Ada - I ate these sweet Indian tamales at the Kochi airport. Nearly as sugary as Cinnabon, infinitely more fulfilling, with none of the tooth-melting, stomach-cramping guilt afterward. The word Ada(i) seems to actually designate a separate class of dosa, as does the Uttapam, a prominent menu item at Southern Indian restaurants in New York, but one I didn’t actually notice anywhere in Kerala.
Erissery - An omnipresent pumpkin and lentil stew, working off a base of grated coconut, chilis, mustard seed and turmeric. As with most staple dishes, other ingredients are often involved, from different starches (yam, unripe plantain) to legumes (cowpeas, kidney beans, etc.) and so on, ad infinitum. Basically, in the mold of a thousand other one-pot dishes whose core attributes are infinitely modifiable to suit the tastes and supplies of the cook. Eriserry is also a Sadya standby, often served on the occasion of the Onam festival, although it’s widely available outside of it as well. Also known as Elissery.
Filter Coffee - Like Indian tea, the coffee here tends to be super sweet and milky, the byproduct of local tastes and a process that involves adding hot frothed milk to brewed coffee powder. The problem is that fresh coffee powder is often swapped out for plain old instant coffee, a shortcut that’s apparently easy to spot for those familiar with the taste of real Filter Coffee, but was pretty much impossible for me to detect under the intense pall of sugar that dominated these morning brews. I can’t say with any assurance whether I ever drank a real version of this, but can report that chicory is apparently a primary ingredient, often making up 25-30 percent of the final coffee powder mixture. The local instant coffee brand is prepared for this, incorporating the root into its pre-packaged blend.
Fish (Meen) Moilee - This is perhaps the best example of the other dominant method of preparing seafood: drowning it in a flavorful broth. Here, in one of Kerala’s most famous dishes, cubed pieces or ragged chunks of fish (often Kingfish, another form of large mackerel) are steeped in a dense coconut milk stew, resplendent with spices. Like many sauces in Kerala, it’s finished off with a healthy dose of curry leaves, and generally takes on a color that ranges somewhere from a pale yellow to a burnt, reddish orange.
Garlic Chicken - Another entrant in the voluminous Indo-Chinese canon. The Northern reaches of the country seem to have their own incarnation of this dish, yellow-tinged and more traditionally kebab-ish in character, but the Southern version seems to have been exclusively inspired by the East, spackled with a sweet brown sauce and deep fried. As with many Chinese-influenced dishes, the preparation ranges from a nearly dry American style Chinese to one submerged in a thick brown curry sauce.
Fruit Beer - Saw this advertised, but was unfortunately unable to snag a cold one.
Idiyappam - The odd bird of the extended Appam/Idli family has to be Idiyappam, also known as String Hoppers, rice-flour formed noodles that look like they’ve recently emerged from the back end of a Play-Doh Fun Factory (is this a coherent reference in 2016?). The local name for these is actually Nool Puttu, fitting since the preparation for these seems to involve an initial steaming in a puttu canister and then pushing through a special mold to form the strings. I ate these twice, both times at breakfast buffets, served with an assortment of light chopped vegetables and glazed with grated coconut. The experience of eating noodles for breakfast was a bit strange, and not helped by the fact that the dish wasn’t really comparable to anything else I ate here, closest to thin Chinese noodles in terms of texture. There also appears to be a more colorful version, made with the local red-hued rice, and if these photos are any indication, than its more common for idiyappam to be served plain, like their idli and appam brethren, with outside flavorings to be added at the eater’s own discretion.
Kaalan - Another Sadya item, basically curd buffed up with coconut and tubers. Pale yellow in color, and quite thick. I cannot say for a fact whether I ate this, since my one big Sadya / first few thalis in country were all kind of a blur, marked by a decided lack of labels on specific dishes.
Kadak Laddu - As I learned during a museum visit, one of the three primary forms of Ganesh (here described as one of 32 total forms), is holding a laddu ball (or several), representative of the sweetness of life. Ganesh is one of the bigger deities in Kerala, an area where elephants are native, still roaming the countryside (or attached in labor capacity to rural villages or temples) and still important to traditional culture. The balls, however, are national, and the packaged version I had wasn’t even produced here (it came from Goa). Kaddak Laddu doesn’t seem to have any specific regional designation either, and tastes sort of like a jawbreaker made of mix between cereal and birdfood, its dangerously hard center studded with a crust that can be ground off as you chew your way to the middle. More commonly called Boondi Laddu, from the Hindi word for raindrop.
Kappa Meen Curry - A traditional ”homely” (the local term for “home-cooked”) pairing, curried fish and yucca, which I often saw labelled as “tapioca.” I was lucky enough to eat this in an actual home, a farm somewhere on the road between Periyar and Munnar, and it was definitely in the running for best thing eaten on the trip.
Kerala Paratha - aka Malabar Parotta. The local fried bread, marvelous in its layered greasiness, but ultimately hard to distinguish from other varieties of paratha/parotta/parantha.
Kichadi - Another Sadya standby. This one is a bit easier to differentiate, since its basically a Southern raita, only served in a slightly pastier form ideal for eating by hand.
Kootu - And another!
Konju Varutharaccha - aka Kerala Shrimp Curry. A nice broth of coconut milk with spices, once more showing influences picked up from other parts of East Asia. At some point it becomes hard to differentiate all these similarly spiced curries, and trying to do so feels like splitting hairs.
Kozhukattai - Steamed rice balls. Another odd offshoot of the appam/idli family.
Kumsi - Keralan sponge cake. Strangely tempered in its sweetness, especially for India, although the fixation on tooth-blasting sweetness does seem to be a bit less pronounced in the South.
Kuttanadan Fish Curry - Part of the handsome spread at the wedding I attended. Apparently a “boatman’s” curry, which is fitting since I (somewhat backwardly) was served a very similar chicken version of this during a backwater houseboat tour the week after. More on that in the next post.
Lemon Rice - Not content to enjoy rice by itself, Keralans often dress it up with lemon juice, in addition to a few other ingredients. I also saw Tomato Rice and Mint Rice, although I did not have a chance to eat them.