North to South - The Tale of a Watering Mouth

chillibreeze writer — Hemant Kumar Sharma

As a pucca (diehard) North Indian and a devout non-vegetarian, my impression about South Indian food had to be biased. To me, South Indian cuisine was what it was to the rest of my family -- something to be eaten when one had an upset tummy.

Also, unlike North Indian khana (delhi lingo for food) it was more of a snack consisting of light-weight vadai, rice idlis, paper-thin dosais, and a ‘soup’ called saambhaar. All this was in the mind. As far as the palate was concerned, much of my North Indian gang— including milk-loving Jaats, paraantha-happy punjaabis, poori-frying UPites, sweet-toothed gujraatis, and other eaters of the rough and coarse breads of the North— loved South Indian snacks. We never really wondered what South Indian food would be like.

It all started when I got hooked to my schoolmate Menon's lunch-box, which was heavily loaded (every morning of those wonderful years) with home-made dosai and that ‘chilli-cious’ gun-powder chutney. Now, after years of separation, when Menon, my long lost friend and I are obliviously living our own lives (that we cannot share like we did our lunch-box), I have understood how a tiny morsel can bridge the gap between two cultures and bind the people of the many Indias thumping and boiling in the kitchens of the great peninsula.

Apart from our common Hindu mythological heritage (which is again fraught with differences between the Aryan and Dravidian versions of the same myths), there seems to be little in common between the cultures and peoples of the North and the South. It is interesting to see how food becomes a part of our identity— so much so, that a family living in a metropolis like Delhi for ages is still referred to as South Indian or North Indian depending upon their cuisine.

There is a funny twist to all this talk about food and identities. As everywhere, here in India too—and more so in India, considering the diversity constantly challenging the unity principle— different states and their communities boast of their respective cuisines as being the best among the "Indian" spread. It would be absurd to figure out which cuisine represents "Indian" food best. One has to work with a growing sense of the limitation of talking about Indian food, only in the context of the North and South.

Moreover, the phrase 'South Indian food' just like the phrase 'North Indian food,' when used as an umbrella term is highly misleading. In the North as well as in the Southern parts of India, individuals are very conscious of the great differences between cultures. This consciousness extends to the subject of food too.

Quite often, a North Indian finds the South Indian br'other' too timid and blames it on the food. The South Indian on the 'other' hand may find his foil too boorish and crude. The fault in this case too is ascribed to the food. This, I feel, is the right place to start talking about the differences in food.

In the big cities of the North and the South—for instance Delhi, Chennai or Bangaluru—one will come across languishing foodies craving for their favourite North or South Indian food. Imagine a Sikh software engineer in Bangalore having to live without makke ki roti and sarson ka saag and having to settle in for a plate of rawa dosai with rasam to substitute a glass of sweetened lassi, heavy on curdled cream. A ‘Tam-bram’ is equally at a loss when confronted by rows of steaks and kebabs or even lusty paraanthas floating in butter (Please exercise a willing suspension of disbelief.)

A typical North Indian meal comprises of staple elements like tawa roti (bread made on crude iron pans), daal (spiced pulses), subzi (spiced vegetable), saag (a green leafy stew), raita (salty yoghurt with a dash of cumin and ground pepper), and aachaar (very spicy pickle). Most North Indians are omnivorous, though some of them spend an entire lifetime crying murder. The latter do so either in the wake of animal rights activism or due to age-old (brahminical?) traditions. There are a rare few who spend their lives vacillating between fits of guilt and surfeit.

I shall now try to look at the above mentioned elements one by one and later go on to talk about their South Indian counterparts though both cuisines have items that may not have any "counterparts".

The title of a popular film of the 70s or 80s "Roti, kapda,aur makaan" i.e. bread, clothes and a house says it all. Roti or bread made of whole-wheat flour is the lifeline of the Northern belt, and is prepared in every household at least once a day. It comes in many variants depending upon the kind of flour or food grain used to prepare the dough, which is almost always kneaded with bare hands.

A very common variant of roti is the celebrated and immensely popular paraantha, cooked in the same way as a regular roti, stuffed with fillings of vegetables, pulses, cottage cheese, and even mince meat and fried in ghee or clarified butter. This obviously heavy and scrumptious round bread finds its way to the breakfast tables of millions. Improvisations of the roti include the rumaali roti, tandoori roti, naan, sheermaal, and baqarkhani. Make do with a word picture before you actually dig into any of these:

Rumaali Roti: An elaborately and dexterously prepared ultra thin bread made on a huge and hot convex metal pan from finely ground wheat flour. It is a treat to watch one of these being prepared with great flourish by skilled cooks. The Urdu word rumaali literally means a kerchief.

Tandoori Roti: A relatively thick bread ranging from an elastic to a crispy consistency, baked in a cylindrical earthen oven at a sometimes amazing speed by aggressively fast cooks at roadside restaurants and eateries. The Urdu word tandoor means an oven.

Naan: This is a thick bread, softer and richer in texture and consistency than the tandoori roti. It is made from finely ground wheat flour kneaded into a very elastic mass. The roghni is a special treat for lovers of mughlai and awadhi cuisine. This extra-ordinary bread is prepared with a rich mixture of cream, sugar, wheat flour, butter, and essence. The taste is rich and elegant— just perfect for the awesome curries of the mughlai cuisine.

Sheermaal and Baqarkhani are two sweet sister breads that accompany the rich and filling aromatic quorma (gravied chicken or mutton).

My favorite territory in the North Indian platter - the mughlai, derives its name from the great mughals of India. It was born in the royal kitchen hundreds of years back and is a legacy still kept alive by stalwart chefs and the shahi rasoiyas (royal cooks) of Delhi.

The cuisine is primarily non-vegetarian and extremely rich (packed with a tempting and molten layer of lip smacking grease, rarest spices in a closely-kept secret combination, dry-fruit, essences, and flavors) as is befitting for any cuisine that fed kings and emperors. It appeals to all the senses and comes closest to defining cookery as an art rather than a discipline. This masterly affair could hardly be contained by geographical and cultural boundaries.

Over the centuries, mughlai cuisine has found its way into the kitchens of Southern India, especially in Hyderabad where the art flourished and reached new heights with the perfecting of the Hyderabadi biryaani. This sumptuous feast, in which the essences of flora and fauna mingle as if magically in the union of choicest rice and tenderest mutton, is truly a feast for the kings. However, the quest for the "original" Hyderabadi biryaani is still on.

Tandoori is a word that every one living in Northern India is well acquainted with, be s/he rich or poor, vegetarian or otherwise (though roasting/grilling veggies in an oven is not my cup of tea). This roasted fare (street style) is one thing you are sure to miss while in the south. Tikkas or steaks of roasted mutton, chicken, lamb, or even fish are bound to bring out the predator in you, but you don’t need to cool your heels/vegetate in a corner if you are a veggie. You can simply gnaw at veggie steaks made of cottage cheese, potatoes, capsicum and mushrooms. This is also the best bet for calorie conscious diet freaks.

When speaking of vegetables, one is addressing another important section of the North Indian food fundas. This one is called subzi or subji by the most fun loving, material, earthy, and flamboyant of North Indians. The quintessential North Indian or Punjabi loves to eat roti-shoti; daal-shaal, subji-wabji; pneer-shneer ki sabji; daal-shaal/mooli-shooli/gobhi-shobhi/aaloo-shaloo/methi-shethi waala prontha-shrontha besides butter chicken, roasted murga-shurga, bakra-shakra etcetra. Sabji-wabji, actually sabzi, in plain Urdu or Hindustani is made with vegetables and spices. The same vegetable can be cooked in a variety of ways and still be called sabzi or tarkaari. On subjecting ordinary pulses to similar treatment, one gets what is called daal (only actually) in the North.

People in the North clearly have a sweeter tooth than their Southern counterparts and this is evident from the range and variety of sweets available and consumed in the North. The same can be said for other milk products too.

At least two Northern states have an obsessive compulsive desire to consume as much milk as possible and I have more than a hunch that due to the lack of a sense of history the Northern tribes have conveniently forgotten the occurrence of certain milky wars that had been fought between them in the ages that have gone by their milk-fed slum. Barfi (more than seven types), gulaab-jaamun, kalakand, rabdi,dhoda, laddu, peda, milak-cake (read milk-cake), rasgulla, cham-cham, jalebi and imarti to name a few are regular consumables.

The Southern cuisine too has its staples in the dosai, vadai, idli, saambhaar, rasam, and uttapam to name a few. The great difference between North Indian and South Indian food springs from the use of certain basic ingredients that are particular to each of them. The former relies heavily on the use of the wheat grain and milk (these have always been found in abundance in the great Northern plains of the Yamuna and Ganga, fertile enough to support double crops of both wheat, rice and even maize and millet).

On the other hand, Southern cuisine shows a marked preference for rice, which has always been abundant in the Southern belt. Coconut and tamarind are the other important ingredients and form the backbone of the Southern culinary tradition. Most of the dishes are prepared in coconut oil and grated coconut finds its way into most dishes, be they salty or sweet. The Northerner may not find this very compelling, but the taste seems to grow on one with time.

Most South Indians relish clarified butter (especially with rice), butter milk and curd too. In fact, no meal is considered complete without a course of rice with butter milk, pappadam (called papad in the north) and rasam. South Indian food is relatively spicier than North Indian food though Rajasthani cuisine seconds none when it comes to a fondness for red chillies.

Spices that add to the uniqueness of South Indian cuisine and that are used ritually are asafoetida, tamarind, mustard seeds, and red chillies. Vegetarianism is common in most parts of South India with the exception of people living in the coastal regions (especially in Kerala); hence, it is a virtual paradise for vegetarians. On a more serious note, it seems to make sense given the spiritual and philosophical traditions of the South that are manifest in a generally pacific and intellectual Southern temperament.

The dosai is not just an answer to the robust and protean Northern roti; it is, if not equally versatile, then more elegantly so, with a distinct personality. Indeed, the limited scope for metamorphosis is more than compensated by its delicate taste and light wholesomeness. The street versions can be pretty oily but one is sure to find a good South Indian restaurant that serves the right stuff in almost every Indian city. Here is what the dosai is all about:

The regular dosai is made from a heady mixture of parboiled rice flour and ground urad dal that has been fermented overnight. The greater health benefits are thus immediately understood when compared to the inert roti (though the roti too has its healthy variant in khameeri roti made from fermented dough; this however is rarely cooked in North Indian homes. Fermentation increases the nutritional value of cereals manifold by fortifying them with friendly bacteria and yeast and is used extensively in all major south Indian dishes such as vadai, idli, utappam and rasam. Across Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, the dosai comes in different styles, but is most often served with sambhaar and chutney:

Plain dosai: This is the regular one without any fillings, served with sambhaar and chutneys (coconut, tomato-garlic, and coconut-mint) of various kinds.

Masaala dosai: This one is the healthier and lighter counterpart of the North Indian aaloo ka paraantha and is stuffed with a lightly spiced, mashed potato mixture.

Rawa and Rawa-masaala dosai: These two are very similar to the two mentioned already, excepting the fact that they use rawa (semolina) instead of rice flour, making them even easier to digest, besides giving them a delectable crispness.

Mysore Butter Rawa-masaala dosai: This is an absolute treat and just right for the gourmet. Very rich and buttery, this dosai is a must have for every foodie worth his salt.

The list above is obviously not exhaustive and there are other variants of this grand Southern roll, depending on the kind of filling and proportions of the batter used. Alternative fillings (gunpowder chutney, cottage cheese, mushrooms, even keema or mince-meat for instance) can increase the range considerably and target foodies from across the spectrum.

Vadai (plain, masaala and medu) is a healthier alternative to the deep fried North Indian pakodas and are served with steaming hot sambhaar and/or chutney.

Idlis are a big hit with people in the North just as the dosai and the vadai are. These fermented rice cakes are steamed rather than baked or fried and make a very healthy breakfast. Idli-sambhaar is definitely a tasty and healthier alternative to the heavy fatty North Indian breakfast, commonly comprising of paraanthas, pooris, or the famous old Delhi nahaari.

Likewise, Utappam comes in three wholesome variants – onion, tomato and vegetable. This South Indian dish beats the North Indian paraantha twice over in taste and nutritional value.

Tomato rice and lemon rice are finger licking Southern rice dishes packed with nutrition and taste.

Sambhaar is a pulse-based, spicy vegetable curry with a dash of tamarind. Other variants include the simple but yummy onion sambhaar.

Avial is a semi-dry, mixed vegetable dish served with rice, sambhaar and papaddams, making an ideal combination that will never be too filling, even though you are bound to indulge yourself on it. Unlike North Indian cooking, though they are quite high on spices, the vegetables are not over-cooked and greasy.

Rasam and butter milk serve as wonderful appetizers. The former is a very spicy and tempting pulse and tomato based soup that I prefer to regular tomato soup for its taste and punch.

South India's non-vegetarian cuisine – though it does not meet the challenge offered by the grandiose mughlai tradition - impresses with its wide ranging array of sea-food. Moreover, the legacy of the kitchens of the legendary nabobs of Hyderabad more than compensates the rampant vegetarianism.

Hyderabadi biryani is nothing short of popularity when compared with the mughlai curries famed all over the world. Sea-food is best had in the coastal regions of Kerala and Goa. The latter in fact provides a fascinating blend of European (Portuguese, French, English) and native cuisines.

Northern Indian cuisine suffers from an obvious lack in terms of sea and river fish food. There are in addition to sea-food, some rare Konkanese delicacies to boot. Konkani cuisine has many meat dishes, mostly with coconut-based gravie; these are a welcome change to anyone cloyed with the usual mughlai and Chinese fare. Chettinaad chicken is a bonanza for non-vegetarians and so is the fish moilee cooked with thick, coconut-based gravy.

The spicy Goanese chicken vindaloo is a good bet for all who venture southwards to the sea. Marinating techniques used in the South and the North are very different in that the former uses vinegar and wine, whereas the latter uses curd and spices besides raw papaya. Marination is largely a foreign introduction, coming to the north from the Muslim world via the Hindukush and to the South from Europe via the sea-routes.

Desserts include kesari pak (halwa in the North), kesari bhath, kajji kaayalu (very similar to the U.P ghujia), coconut based sweets and pal payasam (kheer in the North). These, I feel, lag behind North Indian sweets and desserts in that they are too limited and the taste of coconut oil, which complements other dishes, seems far too overpowering in sweets. One cannot fail to compare these to the North Indian nariyal ki barfi which tastes out of the world. However, food habits and cultural influences go a long way in determining a person's preferences in matter of taste and are therefore never authoritative.

Our food habits define us in ways more than our outward personalities. It fuels the body, the mind and the spirit. On the other hand, our temperaments, character traits, propensities and work profile determine our food habits to a large extent. The Northern states historically faced frequent attacks and aggression became a way of life for those living here. The South enjoyed relative peace and flowered through the ages of strife in the North.

Food in the North was consequently aimed to fuel aggression and physical strength, while in the South, 'food for thought' (understood literally) might have been sought after. This of course is not an original hypothesis, but one that I have developed from pre-existing theories about South Indians being more inclined to thought and intellectual activity on account of their food habits.

As for North Indians hooked to dilli ka khana and chaat-paapdi, the South is an ever expanding frontier of culinary delight to indulge in and explore more and ever more with the added hope of getting wiser!

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Hemant writes for Chillibreeze.

North to South - The Tale of a Watering Mouth

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