Society

Launga Elaichi Ka

Indian cuisine in totality can come together only on a menu. But a quest for convergence on a national dish can result in mouthwatering debate.

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Launga Elaichi Ka
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India doesn’t have a national dish. Have you noticed? We have exuberant regional fare that turns the simple fish into an aromatic, coconut milk-soaked, curry leaf-flavoured moily. We have rich biriyanis that layer tender meat with saffron, raisins and cashewnuts. Our techniques range from a painstakingly assembled modak or momo to an impromptu chaat. We use coal and fire in our jowar rotis; blood, sweat and tears in our kababs served with freshly diced onions; and a healthy dose of old-fashioned love in all of our mothers’ cooking. Healthwise, our dishes epitomise the six tastes prescribed in ayurveda and then some: sweet kheers, sapid pulaos, salty cured fish, sour mango pickles, pungent curries, astringent cucumber kosambris, and bitter gourd chips. We have crunchy namkeens, hearty rice pongals, comforting shorbas and an entire range of dishes that combine tastes, such as the sweet-sour Gujarati dishes.

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Yes, Indian food can dazzle. Like our flamboyant national bird, the peacock, our dishes too are exuberant examples of our national identity and diverse character. Yet, our cuisine isn’t merely about showy displays that tease and titillate. Indian dishes—particularly the ones we make on religious holidays—are as much about restraint and simplicity as they are about bravura techniques. Whether it is the simple medley of fresh fruits and jaggery that make up the panchaamritam served to Lord Muruga; the lightly flavoured lentil ‘sundals’ that Tamilian women serve during Navratri; or the shrikhand that Maharashtrian women make for gudi padwa, festival foods reveal the soul of Indian cooking. Most are specific. Go to a Christian home in Bangalore in December and you will be greeted with the aroma of Western spices, punch and plum cake. Go to a Hyderabadi Muslim home at Iftar during Ramzan and you can partake of delicious haleem. Go to a Goan home during Easter and you may never leave the dining table.

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In spite of this exquisite specificity in religious cooking, it is not as if our cuisine is static. Au contraire, Indian food has evolved through the ages into its current, still-changing avatar. Just go to any Delhi wedding with its plethora of counters and you will see how Indian cuisine is enfolding not just Chinese but also Thai and Italian into its welcoming embrace.

But still we don’t have a national dish. Russia has borscht and kasha; Germany has sausages and sauerkraut; Hungary has goulash; Japan has sushi; and America has its Fourth of July dishes such as fried chicken, potato salad, and apple pie. Sure, there are many countries without a national dish—China springs to mind as do the countries in South America and Africa. But choosing a national dish either happens as a matter of course (as is the case with Russia’s borscht), convenience (Fourth of July dishes are usually outdoor picnic ones), or conscious thought. India falls in the third category.

Some might argue that a culinary landscape as diverse as ours doesn’t need a national dish. But indulge me with this playful foodie exercise. If you had to choose a national dish or more, what would it be?

I called some chefs and asked them the same question: which dish(es) and why. I tried to get someone from different parts of the country. I called the big chains because they have a more pan-Indian orientation than the stand-alone restaurants that I personally prefer. They cater to a wider swathe of Indians. Here is what they said. See if you agree.

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Nimesh Bhatia, executive chef, The Lalit Ashok, Bangalore: In the UK, chicken tikka masala is the national dish because it has high acceptance amongst the Brits. Similarly in India, my criterion for a national dish is high acceptance. Considered this way, vegetarianism surpasses non-vegetarianism. I think the dish should be something like a dal which is most accepted and is part of our daily meal across India. Commercially, the dal makhni is very popular. If you go deeper and remove the commercial requirement, I would say yellow dal should be the national dish of India. It is simple, easy to make and has high acceptance across all strata of our society.

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Manik Magotra, The Oberoi Udaivilas: In India, the water, cuisine and culture changes every ten miles. How can you have a single national dish?

Ananda Solomon, corporate chef, Taj business hotels: I don’t look at a national dish politically, but historically. India is a very diverse land in terms of geography, language, culture, climate and customs. So I would divide the country geographically into Middle, South and North India. Regionally, there is too much variety. Goans will take balchao or prawn curry. Gujaratis may take kadhi or undhiyo. Bengalis, posto and machher jhol; South Indians will say the idli-sambar is indispensable but even within the South, you have Chettinad and Kerala cuisine which are quite distinct and divine. So I would say that we should choose a “king” dish from each region and then unite all these regional “kings” to produce a national feast.

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Sharad Dewan, executive chef, The Park, Calcutta: I look at it in three ways. Worldwide, nothing is more popular than tandoori chicken, chicken tikka and dal makhni. Second, if you look at an Indian dish that is served everywhere but hasn’t been bastardised or tampered with, it is the idli-sambar and dosa-sambar. Third, if you look at one dish that takes many incarnations in different parts of India, it would be the chaats: phuchka in Bengal, panipuri in Bombay, golgappa in Delhi and so on. They take different forms in different states but are all Indian. So depending on your criteria, I would choose the national dish.

Chalapathi Rao, executive chef, ITC Maurya, New Delhi: I really don’t want to name any dish as our national dish. Our cuisine is so rich and diverse and regional. Choosing one dish is like asking a mother to choose the best among her children.

My take: Being vegetarian, I agree with chef Bhatia about the ubiquitous yet humble yellow dal being a strong contender for a national dish. I like chef Dewan’s three-side prism of looking at the notion of a national dish. I can understand and relate to chefs Solomon, Magotra, and Rao’s views. But when it comes right down to it, you have to make a call. As any advertising guru would say, the ‘Indian National Dish’ brand has to be catchy and have a zing to it. How about Dals R’ Us? Or the more dignified Lentils R’ Us?

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How about this: Idli, saffron chicken and palak kababs—all served together in a pristine white plate? Ring any bells?

(The author is a food columnist and writer.)

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