The Idli Podi that inspired a cooking journey…
When an old friend, an enthusiastic cook himself, wrote in to ask for a recipe for Idli Podi, I was thrilled. I was excited because we had grown up to stories of how Ayah’s love for cooking was inspired by her father’s podi idikkurathu – the powdering of the spicy condiment made of lentils and spices slow roasted to perfection. I have always been amused by its nickname, gunpowder, apt though, considering its explosive spiciness. So, this week, we share with you not just the recipe for Ayah’s special podi, but some memories of her childhood as well.
I’ve said before that Ayah grew up in Kandanur, a remote village in Chettinad. Ayah grew up under rather modest circumstances, the fifth of seven children, the eldest of whom was married off even before Ayah was born. Growing up in a joint family meant that at any one time there were enough children in the house to make up a cricket team and a half - thankfully the Chettinad mansions of yesteryear were large enough to house all of them. The elders of the three families living in the house were too busy earning a living or having babies or running the large household, and didn’t have time to look after the motley gang of children ranging in age from newborns to mothers of newborns. So by default, the eldest child in residence was responsible for the wee ones, whether they were siblings or nieces and nephews - a state of affairs that my nuclear brats are most amused with. Must have been quite the riot!
While she inherited her capableness from her mother, who was the epitome of efficiency and ran the family with a firm hand, Ayah’s earliest influences in the kitchen were, I believe, from her father. Ayah’s father’s story was typical of a middle-class Chettiar of that generation. In what was the norm those days, he was adopted at the age of eight to an heirless family with some land and money lending businesses in South East Asian countries. To maintain the familial relations and protect the family wealth, he was married off a few years later to his maternal uncle’s daughter. Unfortunately, much of the wealth was lost to political circumstances caused by World War II and independence movements in the region, and he returned home to a host of jobs and a modest living. A familiar story in most Chettiar families.
While my grandfather, who passed away when I was only a few years old, had many admirable qualities, the ones we heard about the most were his coffee addiction and his obsession with podi idikkurathu. The former was the reason Ayah abstained from coffee, or for that matter any caffeinated beverage, all her life. The seven siblings, Ayah included, were on a roster to make him coffee by the hour. I’m not sure how the other siblings felt, but Ayah, tired of making coffee by the gallon and at the same time realizing she herself was becoming as addicted to caffeine as her father was, decided enough was enough and gave up the drink entirely. Ayah being Ayah, she went one step further, and ensured that the darling daughters abstained from caffeinated drinks as well. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason I can’t for the life of me make a decent cup of coffee!
Image courtesy: Tamil Wikipedia
Coffee addiction aside, podi making, at least in those days, called for patience, and every so often, the man would roll up his sleeves and get ready to slow roast the lentils and spices to make the oh so spicy condiment. Now mind you, this was before the advent of the blender, so the concoction had to be painstakingly powdered in the gigantic ural (large wooden mortar and pestle used for rice pounding) – hard work, but rather therapeutic, I daresay.
This podi, along with her garlic pickle and malli thokku (a podi made with coriander leaves), was a staple in Ayah’s oversized suitcases when she visited us overseas. A recent fridge cleanout by the better half resulted in the discovery of a treasure – a more than 8-year-old batch of the condiment, possibly the last Ayah made, at the back of the fridge. The vacuum sealing had preserved the flavour, but, now that it has been opened, sadly, I’m sure I’ll have to discard it soon.
The great grandson of the podi making stalwart, aka the apprentice, has inherited the family’s obsession with a well made podi and committed to trying out Ayah’s recipe particularly when the pandemic put paid to the annual supply of his favourite podi from Madras’s own Grand Sweets & Snacks. The young man who believes the only accompaniment to any South Indian breakfast item, be it idli or dosai or kuzhi paniyaram is, you guessed it right, Podi, delivered his expert verdict - it was hard to get the roasting right and it does not taste like the Grand Sweets version.
Well, this is definitely no Grand Sweets podi, but the family secret recipe for a Chettinad idli podi which inspired Ayah’s cooking journey. My favourite way to have it is sprinkled on a lightly toasted slice of buttered bread or on an English Muffin with a slice of cheese. Whether you do that or sprinkle it liberally on your idlis or dosais, either straight up or with just that dash of ghee or nallennai, or fry up a batch of Podi Vendakkai (lady’s fingers spiced with podi, another of the young man’s favourites) with it, you’re in for a fiery delight.
Notes:
There are few nuances, unique to Ayah’s version of the podi, some I have followed, some I have modified in my testing. Read on to understand what they are and feel free to experiment and create your own version.
1. This version of Podi requires a liberal amount of curry leaves. If you are not a fan, you can reduce the amount or omit entirely.
2. Ayah used double the amount of oil in her version, particularly when she brought it overseas. This meant that you could eat it as is, without the addition of ghee or nallennai. I, however, have halved the amount of oil used. Again, personal preference.
3. If you do not have gingelly oil (nallennai), you can substitute with any neutral flavoured oil like canola, sunflower or vegetable oil.
4. For a slightly different flavour, you can substitute half the toor dal with channa dal (Bengal gram dal). Just roast all the dals separately as they have different roasting times.
5. I have only tested this recipe using 1 cup of dried chillies and it was plenty spicy for us, but I believe Ayah's father used up to 2 cups - I'm not game enough to try that, but if you are, feel free to. Let us know how fiery it gets. One thing is for sure, you will get a beautiful deep, dark red coloured podi.
6. This version uses a liberal amount of asafoetida and has a touch of sourness because of the tamarind and a hint of sweetness because of the jaggery. All these flavours were very important to Ayah, but not typical of a Chettinad podi. So, again, feel free to adjust the quantities or omit as required.
7. Ayah insisted podi had to be coarsely ground - the crunchiness of the roasted dal, in contrast to the fluffy soft idlis, was part of the attraction for her, as it is for me. However, the texture is also a personal preference, so if you want it finer, blend a bit longer until you get to a consistency you are happy with.
8. You could add 1/4 cup of roasted flax seeds to the recipe to include some added fibre.
Ingredients:
½ cup curry leaves
About 4 tablespoons gingelly oil (nallennai)
½ cup split urad dal (black gram dal / uzhundam paruppu)
½ cup toor dal (pigeon peas / tuvaram paruppu)
1 cup dried red chilli (increase up to 2 cups if you’d like it more spicy)
1 tablespoon asafoetida (hing / perungayam)
½ teaspoon tamarind paste / dry seedless tamarind
1 teaspoon rock salt or 1.5 teaspoon regular salt
About 1 teaspoon powdered jaggery
Method:
1. Wash and dry the curry leaves for about an hour before you make the podi.
½ cup curry leaves
2. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in the pan. Add the urad dal and roast on low heat, until golden brown. Keep stirring else it will burn.
About 1 tablespoon gingelly oil (nallennai)
½ cup split urad dal (black gram dal / uzhundam paruppu)
3. Repeat the process for the toor dal with another 1 tablespoon of oil. Set aside the roasted toor dal once golden brown.
About 1 tablespoons gingelly oil (nallennai)
½ cup toor dal (pigeon peas / tuvaram paruppu)
4. Next fry the red chillies with another tablespoon of oil until lightly browned and you can smell roasted chillies. At this stage the chillies will look less shrivelled. Add the asafoetida as well and stir for a few seconds till well mixed. Transfer to the bowl.
About 1 tablespoons gingelly oil (nallennai)
1 cup dried red chilli (increase up to 2 cups if you’d like it more spicy)
1 tablespoon asafoetida (hing / perungayam)
5. Heat the last tablespoon of oil. Add the curry leaves and roast on a very low flame until the leaves become crisp. Make sure you keep stirring as the leaves will burn otherwise. Remove the curry leaves and set aside.
About 1 tablespoons gingelly oil (nallennai)
Ah, the crackling of perfectly roasted curry leaves!
6. Allow the roasted to cool down to room temperature.
7. Once cool, in a blender, add the dried chilli-asafoetida mixture. Blend until the chillies are coarsely blended, like chilli flakes.
8. To this, add the two dals, the curry leaves, jaggery, salt and tamarind. Blend until you get the desired consistency. I like it coarse and so blend for less than a minute, but if you like a fine powder, blend a bit longer until you get the powdery consistency.
½ teaspoon tamarind paste / dry seedless tamarind
1 teaspoon rock salt or 1.5 teaspoon regular salt
About 1 teaspoon powdered jaggery
9. Taste the podi – if it needs additional salt / jaggery / tamarind, add and blend or pulse again for a few seconds till the additional seasoning is mixed in.
10. Store the podi in an air container for 1-2 months in a cool, dry place or up to 6 months in the refrigerator.
Makes: 2 cups
Apprentice Rating: Hard, it takes patience to get the roasting and texture right.
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