On occasion I come before a mountain I can not climb, a slump I can’t get out of. I can push ideas around yet not get off the floor with that lack of inspiration. I feel that more often with my words. I have so many in my head but sometimes I see nothing but blank paper. This is when I know its time for a remedy only found in the memories of my mother’s aromatic kitchen. It’s time to put down my pen and tap into a simple happy flavour and a place where inspiration never ran dry.
Most people reach out to hot buttered toast, gran’s rice pudding or even chocolate. But I reach out to what was the dreaded meal. A dish most people from the sub-continent associate with being sickly, always your bed-ridden subsistence. Its’ composition stodgy, mashed up rice with a dollop of ghee, disbursed with anaemic onions. The abhorred meal of growing up in a country where a dish devoid of spice, flavour and meat was punishing….
But my memory of Khichri has altered with time and is reminiscent with love and flavour. The art of adding this flavour to such a blank canvas without altering its’ ‘medicinal‘ purpose, is what defines my memory. A quick mix of lentil and basmati rice, cooked until just soft, enveloped in butter or ghee, with added softened onions, cumin and garlic – it is indeed simple when in comparison to much of our cuisine, but it is that simplicity which nurses the convalescing. Maybe its the comfort of its modest constitution, the way my family makes it, where the rice and lentil wasn’t mushy or maybe it was just the nurturing of mothers’ pure love with which it is made. Either way, my memory of it has never been tainted by it’s sickly reputation but rather by the safe aromas of earthy rice, daal and the warm scent of cumin as it releases its magic in hot butter.
Known to be the inspiration behind Kedgeree, created by British during the Raj, with an addition of fish and the ubiquitous curry powder; this Khichri is not to be confused with this Western version. Nothing can be more sub-continental than Khichri, with many variations, there is no other dish that can conjure up such diverse emotions….. We each have our own memory attached to it, be it good or bad – mine is one of finding peace, warming family love and inspiration in a bowl of pure comfort.
As I sit to savour that first bite, I am reminded of why this isn’t just a food for convalescence. It is a simple sensory experience that begins with a warm spoonful of textures disbursed by a topping of cool buffalos’ milk yoghurt, that buttery blandness of the mix, that earthiness of cumin mingled with the soft bite of the onions …Suddenly, I find that as if by magic or design, my thoughts and words find a home on that blank piece of paper.
Best made by a rough estimation…for up to 2 people:
5 handfuls of basmati rice
2 handfuls of husked moong daal
Salt to taste
1 garlic cloves, sliced thinly
1 small red onion, cut into rings
1 tbsp butter mixed with a teaspoon of oil or 1/2 tbsp of ghee
1/ tsp cumin
Method:
1. Begin by mixing the lentil and rice and giving it a good rinse. Then soak for up to an hour (minimum 30 minutes)
2. Drain the rice and lentil. They should look like the photo below after being drained. Now pour into a saucepan and add enough tap water to cover it.
3. Bring to a boil then leave to simmer until cooked. This should take about 4-5 minutes. The rice shouldn’t be mushy and the lentil should still have bite. All the moisture should leave the pan. take of the heat.
4. In a small frying pan, heat the butter and oil or ghee, once piping hot add the cumin until they splutter, then the garlic until it’s slightly crisp and finally the onions and stir until soft.
5. Pour this flavoured butter/ghee over the rice and stir. Serve with some plain greek yoghurt, full fat natural yoghurt and if you’re lucky to find this; thick buffalos’ milk desi yoghurt!
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