Once in a blue moon, amid the cluster of greasy spoons, latte louts and pan-Asian
pretension in namma Bengaluru, one is privileged to stumble upon a hidden gem
founded on the simple concept of grandmotherly wisdom.
Kappa Chakka Kandhari — the name draws its inspiration from the holy trinity of tapioca, jackfruit and bird eye chilli that symbolises Mallu food. Back in 2017, three Mallu guys Regi Mathew, Augustine Kurian and John Paul, were wistfully reminiscing about the food their Amoomas used to make. Fired by this shared passion, they spent over a year in Kerala sampling iconic dishes and swapping recipes with 85 housewives and 300 toddy shops before opening an outlet in Chennai and Bengaluru. This gem sadly downed shutters during the pandemic.
Europeans could well have “adjust maadi” with salt in their spice racks were it not for the Zamorin who exported pepper, cardamom and nutmeg through the backwaters of Kerala thereby transforming the kitchens of Europe. Formed by the 40 odd rivers that flow to the Arabian Sea from the Western Ghats, this intricate network of canals and estuaries is a Kerala icon: a lush expanse of emerald-green rice paddies fringed by coconut groves. The backwaters run parallel to the coast from Kollam in the South to Kochi in the North and as far East as Kottayam; if you haven’t been on a Mallu gondola (kettuvellam) with Mammooty on the speakers and imbibed the sights, sounds and aromas of God’s Own Country, just do it.
Thanks to Impy’s and Empire, a popularly held misconception is that Mallu food means parotas and biryani. Those afflicted by this delusion are in for a pleasant shock since there is nothing like kappa (tapioca) and meen vattichathu to expand the culinary horizons of the pretentious who bleat about a dash of fennel and a splash of wine in the fond hope that this implies sophistication. Mallu cooking involves a generous use of spice, a fearless approach to cooking and unsung heroes in the form of brilliant home cooks who take pride in their craft.
Most seafood lovers rave about Chemeen Varithittu, fried prawns but those with more refined palates will love Prawn Kizhi, shrimp smothered with a judicious blend of coconut and spice, rolled in a banana leaf and steamed to perfection: so good.
My favourite is duck roast or Duck Mappas where the gamey taste of Kuttanadan duck is tempered with a sexy blend of cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, pepper and star anise and coconut milk. Best eaten with iddiyapam, puttu or Ramassery idlis, which are so feathery, light and fluffy that they can stand up to the legendary “mallipoo” idlis of Tamil Nadu. Khushboo idlis are supposedly reminiscent of the actress: plump, soft and white, this is a compliment in Chennai, go figure.
But hang on, what about the vegetarians: what will gladden the hearts of those who have subsisted in the Gobi desert, or been butter paneer-ed into submission. Avial is the answer: a gorgeous medley of yam, raw banana, drumstick, carrot and pumpkin cooked in a subtle blend of fresh coconut with jeera, green chilli and curd.
Wikipedia insists that Bhima invented the dish going on to foolishly insist that he just boiled veggies and tossed in some grated coconut at the end. Fiddlesticks, avial calls for culinary skills of a high order and getting it right calls for rigid discipline. The Travancore Onam sadya is perhaps the ideal platform to experience the subtle gradations of this evolved cuisine.
First comes the banana leaf with its Dali-esque array of lime pickle, inji-pulli, a divine chutney made of ginger, tamarind and jaggery, banana chips, avial, pineapple pachadi, thoran, koottu curry and pappadam and just as you are admiring the effect, a moustachioed, mundu-clad server arrives with a steaming vatti (wicker basket) of rice from which he ladles a heaping mound in the precise centre of your leaf, topped with a fragrant spoon of ghee while his assistant follows through with a dollop of magnificently golden parippu.
At precisely timed intervals, servers armed with sambar, rasam, banana flower vadas, koorka uliyathirthu (Chinese potatoes) and vada kootu curry tempt you to discover the limits of your gluttony. In between you have the Travancore take on Crepes Suzette: the boli, reminiscent of a Mangaluru holige, mildly sweet with its stuffing of jaggery, cinnamon and grated coconut, served with a lashing of ghee. Of course, there’s more: the holy trinity of Ada Pradhaman, Kadala payasam and Paal Payasam.
Another simple yet elegant Kerala classic is the Mutte Roast: boiled eggs cut in half, fried and served in a lusty mélange of onion, tomato, green chilli, garlic and curry leaves which goes well with the vattayappam.
Much before the rest of the world woke up to the fact that jackfruit is a superfood, Mallus were using it for chips, curries and dessert. Traditionalists will love the nendrampallam, a delicious variety of banana only found in Kerala, served steamed and mashed or fried and served as fritters. If you are really adventurous, you could have it as a combo with buffalo curry. If that sounds OTT, try the Varathuracha Kozhi Curry, a chicken curry made with roasted coconut.
The Ellum Kappa is another great choice but if comfort food is what you seek, look for Pidi rice dumplings cooked in coconut milk, served with a simple, homely chicken curry. Marxists who identify with the working man should have the guts to visit the working men’s hostel in Thiruvanananthapuram where for Rs 25 you can order the Pazham Kanji, nutritious rice porridge best had with salt fish chutney and gooseberry pickle.
(The author is an old Bengalurean and impresario of comedy and musical shows who considers himself fortunate to have turned his passions — writing and theatre — into a profession.)