Madhur Jaffrey, 82, has written more than 20 books, including the mammoth World Vegetarian in 2002, but her latest, Vegetarian India, is the first time she has focused exclusively on the nation's meatless cooking. To hear her tell it, this is the book she has long wanted to write. Among the Eastern countries where vegetarianism thrives, "only India has a robust history of it that covers the diferent classes and regions of an entire subcontinent, from pauper to billionaire and from the mountainous Himalayan peaks in the north to the lush tropics of the south," she writes in the introduction. More pointedly: "Indian vegetarian foods are perhaps the most flavorful and the most varied in the entire world."
A taste of Vegetarian India
Stir-fried orange pumpkin
How did your interest in eating and cooking vegetarian food begin? Did your family eat vegetarian when you were growing up in Delhi?
From the turn of the 19th to 20th century to about the 1600s, the north was ruled by Moguls, by Muslims, and the men in my family worked in the courts: everything from prime ministers to clerical staff. The men all learned the etiquette of the Muslim court, and the food of the Muslim court, which was a lot of meat.
We lived in what was called a joint family; there was my grandfather and grandmother at the head of the table, a huge table, but there was another table attached to it and another table, and soon it became benches. My grandmother and grandfather sat way at the other end, and I never knew that my grandmother was vegetarian.
Later, I began to realise that there were two styles of cooking going on in the household: The men all knew Muslim culture. The women read the Indian religious books, and they were very often vegetarian. They cooked the food for the men. Some of them ate it. But the rest were vegetarian in the old style of a Hindu family. We had both these things going on at the same time.
I learned to be a bit of both. I can be all vegetarian, which I am now most of the time, but I can also eat meat, because my father ate it.
I wanted to do a world vegetarian cookbook, years ago, and I was told, "No, you stick to your little cubbyhole and stick to Asia."
What were you trying to do with Vegetarian India that's different from all the other books you've written?
When I started writing about foods, I was told in no uncertain terms, I could write about Asia, I could write about India, but I couldn't write about Europe. So if I'd been to Italy 15 times, and a New York Times critic had gone once, she could write about Italy, but I couldn't. So it became a thing of great anger within me.
I wanted to do a world vegetarian cookbook, years ago, and I was told, "No, you stick to your little cubbyhole and stick to Asia," so I did that. Then when I was able to do what I wanted to do without constantly being told I couldn't, I wrote World Vegetarian. But the Indian one, because that's what I knew they expected of me, I never did. It was waiting to be done. Indian vegetarian food, as I say in the book, is the best in the world.
Nobody can know everything about India. It's an ancient subcontinent with little crevices here and there, and the food is different from home to home. Entirely different. The religions, the communities, the individuals in the communities, and each cooking in an individual style handed down from their grandmother and great-grandmother. That is what I wanted to capture in some way in this book. And also I wanted to give a background to these foods: How do people eat?
There's a part of India in the south, called Coorg, that the British call the Scotland of India, because it's misty and mountainous and cool. I was there because I had heard that in the rainy season people eat what they can forage from the forest, and what they get are the most incredible mushrooms. You don't associate mushrooms with India, even though we have everything. There are wonderful mushroom dishes in this region. These big mushrooms are grilled over wood fire, and then they're served with squeezes of lime juice, salt and crushed chilies.
India is the size of Europe, and the difference between each state is like going from Italy to Spain to France to Greece. There are certain techniques in common, certain ingredients in common, certain styles, but the food varies entirely.
One of the misconceptions about Indian food is that there's such a thing as "Indian food," wouldn't you say?
Exactly. India is the size of Europe, and the difference between each state is like going from Italy to Spain to France to Greece. There are certain techniques in common, certain ingredients in common, certain styles, but the food varies entirely. I can go into most kitchens in India, and smell, and know: This is in Kerala, this is in Benghal, this is in Kashmir. Because the smell from the oil - one will use mustard oil, one will use coconut oil, they roast spices differently.
How would you suggest newcomers to Indian cooking dive in?
Look for what strikes you as interesting, but don't overwhelm yourself. Don't try to make too many things at the same time, because you'll get exhausted, and you'll never go back. Let's say you make the mushroom curry, which has coconut in it. Serve it on some very nice toast with salad for the first time. So you've made one dish that takes 20 minutes to make, and it's easy, and you'll have it simply with something familiar. The next time you'll add one or two things to it. But get the spices for only one or two dishes. Limit yourself to two or three things you want to make, and have it in a Western way. I often serve Indian foods with salads. Try that as a beginning.
When it comes to ingredients, I was particularly taken with your description of poha, which seems like something everyone who likes rice needs to know about. How is it made and used?
It is flattened dried rice. What they do is take rice grains and, with the hull and the husks on, give them a very brief steam over a little water. They steam all the good properties of the hull and the husk into the grain, so it retains them. It's actually the ancient Indian technique of making parboiled rice, somewhat like Uncle Ben's. They dry it, then roast it - and every village in India that grows rice does this - then it's pounded lightly, so the hull and the husk fall off, and what you have is a flattened instant rice.
In ancient times, travelers would carry it in their knapsacks, and all they needed to do was add a little water. What you do, if you're in a rush and somebody drops in, this is what you serve. You hydrate it. It takes two minutes. Meanwhile, you stir-fry spices with onions or potatoes or any vegetable that you want, but for Indian taste it should be nice and spicy, with salt. I always like to put green chilies in. Now you put the rice in. You've squeezed out the water, and you mix it together, and it's done. You eat it up.
Mad about Madhur? Here's more:
Goan pork vindaloo with potatoes
