The taste of winter

The pollution may have destroyed the Delhi winter; but there are still some treats to enjoy

There was a time when I used to be ecstatic at the thought of the approaching Delhi winter. There were bonfires to organize on cold evenings, sunny afternoon brunches to attend, picnics to enjoy with family and friends. Walks in the gentle afternoon sun were a particular delight. And there was something particularly life-affirming about getting up on a chilly morning and sipping a steaming cup of coffee while watching the mist clear.

 

Those days are long gone. Now I dread the arrival of winter because it is the season when pollution levels in the capital reach stratospheric levels. And instead of heading out to enjoy the great outdoors, I have to hunker down in my room with two air-purifiers on at full blast to make sure that my asthma doesn’t get triggered by the foul air. The smog outside lasts through the day with the sun barely managing to peek through, and heading out for even a brief period seems like a punishment rather than a pleasure.

 

So, are there any joys left of a Delhi winter? Well, since you ask, the only thing that makes the season worth its while is the food. I have always been a great believer in seasonal eating and this is the time when my perennial favourites hit the market. Here, in no particular order of importance, are just some of them:

 

·       Sarson da Saag: It is always a momentous occasion in my household when I make my first sarson da saag of the season. It requires copious quantities of ghee and ginger; lashings of the creamiest white butter; leavened with the heat of some dried red chillies in the tarka. The makki di roti that accompanies it is softened with some grated mooli and gobhi in the dough. And it’s served up with some good old-fashioned gur. I usually make enough saag to last us a week; and then, I just rinse and repeat until the sarson season is over.

·       Alu Methi: If I had to choose a favourite vegetable, it would be methi, without a doubt. And there is no denying that alu and methi is a match made in heaven: the plump softness of the potato takes on the slightly bitter edge of the methi to create an earthy dish that is truly satisfying in the bitter cold.

·       Bathua: Some people like making a saag of this leafy vegetable, but I like it best in a creamy raita. Just boil the leaves with a pinch of salt until tender, squeeze the excess water out, add it to some salted dahi with a dash of red chilli and freshly roasted and ground cumin (onions are strictly optional). 

·       Moongphali and santara: There is something magical about sitting in the winter sun – no matter how weak it is! – and slowly unfurling an orange from its peel, removing the strings until its glistening core is revealed, and then popping every segment into the mouth where it explodes like a flavour bomb. Every mouthful of orange should ideally be alternated with a handful of freshly-shelled peanuts roasted in sand so that they have a salty edge to them. That mixture of sweet and salty is, for me, the taste of a Delhi winter.

 

Seasons of plenty

With most fruits and vegetables available through the year, are we losing out on the joys of seasonal eating?

I can never understand why people wax eloquent about mangoes at a time when litchis are flooding the market. Mangoes are all well and good: juicy flesh, voluptuous sweetness and whatever other nonsense that people spout about them.

But how can you possibly compare them to the loveliness of a litchi? The prickly skin that comes off in a tantalizingly thin layer to reveal the beautiful ivory flesh underneath. Flesh that is so full of juice that it’s an art in itself to leave it unscathed when you peel the fruit. The rush of sugar that goes straight to your brain as you take the first bite.

Litchis. There can’t be a better fruit in all of creation. Well, at least, I think so. And putting my mouth where my money is, while the litchi season lasts my dinner consists of a large – well, okay, very large – bowl of litchis which I consume slowly over the course of the evening to make the sweetness last just a little bit longer.

If there is one bad thing about litchis, it is that the season is so brief. And even before you have had anywhere near your fill of them, they disappear from the market without so much as a by your leave.

So while they last, I look for them wherever I go; but without much success. Hotels will send a fruit platter to your room with every exotic fruit from Thailand or even New Zealand. But litchis, that are available in such profusion locally? Perish the thought. Ask for litchis instead of mangoes as a dessert option in restaurants and waiters will look at you as if you are mad. Or worse, they will produce a plate of the tinned variety, which is to the real thing what Styrofoam is to blue cheese.

Partly of course, it is that the litchi is such a fiddly little fruit. It takes a lot of effort to cut up and serve. But partly it is that we have lost the art of eating seasonally – both in our homes and outside. Yes, I know, we all make much of the ‘mango season’. But such is our impatience that we try and pre-pone the season as much as possible by artificially ripening the fruit (no, it doesn’t taste anything like the real thing). And then, when by the laws of nature the mango season should be long over, we keep flooding the market with a late-ripening crop (yes, they taste pretty rubbish too).

It is the same with such seasonal vegetables as methi (fenugreek to all you Masterchef afficianados). It tastes best during the winter when it is in season; and that’s when you are supposed to have it: for breakfast, lunch and dinner if you are as much of a methi enthusiast as me. If you still pine for the flavor during the off season then you should pick the leaves, dry them and stock up in airtight containers for use during the rest of the year.

Well, at least that’s how it should work in a world that believes in seasonal eating. But alas, we no longer live in such a world. Methi now seems to be available pretty much the year around, if you are willing to pay more money for poor quality. As, indeed, are most other seasonal vegetables and fruits.

The times when our menus changed seasonally are over. Now, if you feel like it, you can pretty much serve the same menu throughout the year (and most hotels and restaurants do just that). The produce may cost a little (or a lot) more when it is sourced from other continents, indeed other hemispheres, but the same dishes can grace your plates come rain or shine. You can start your day with a methi thepla. You can have gobhi-mutter for lunch. You can feast on strawberries and peaches at tea-time. And you can have mangoes or litchis for dessert.

Yes, you can eat whatever you like whenever you like. But where is the pleasure in that?

You will never know the happiness of sniffing the aroma of the first aloo-methi of the season. You will never experience the joy of biting into the first tender mooli of the year. Or, indeed, of biting into the succulent flesh of the first mango of the summer, if that is your thing.

The truth is that everything tastes better when it is in season, when it arrives on your dinner table at a time that nature intended. And you appreciate it much more when you are eating it after a while.

An orange tastes most delicious when you are eating it after a gap of months. Apples are at their best when they are fresh off the tree. If it’s summer it must be watermelons, mangoes and, of course, litchis. If it’s winter, then nothing hits the spot quite like an orange.

It’s all about delayed gratification in the end. And the ineffable joy of seasonal eating. There is a reason why the Italians make such a fuss about porcini mushrooms and the English about green asparagus when they are in season. A pity we don’t treat the luscious litchi with the same respect.

When winter comes...

It’s the gastronomic delights of the season that I love the most

The most annoying thing about winter in India is that it ends no sooner than it has begun. Just as you’re beginning to enjoy the cool winds, the balmy afternoons and the chilly, occasionally misty nights, the weather turns on you. The sweaters start to feel a bit scratchy, the feet begin to sweat in those heavy-duty boots, and the trench looks like overkill rather than a dashing fashion statement.

But it’s not the lack of opportunity to show off my winter wardrobe that annoys me the most about the transience of the season. No, it’s the fact that I never get a chance to indulge in winter gluttony as I would like to, having fantasised about it for the entire year.

Truth be told, what I love most about the Indian winter is the gastronomic opportunities it presents. So much so that (and yes, I know it makes me sound pathetic) I often while away hot summer afternoons, thinking of all the gourmet delights that the cold weather will bring.

I guess we all have our favourite seasons when it comes to food. There are some people who live for the summer and its gift of ripe, golden, juicy mangoes (though I would rather gorge on lychees instead). And then, there are people like me who count the days down to the winter, to feast on the goodies it brings.

So, here, in no particular order of importance, are all the things that exemplify the taste of winter to me.

# Sarson da saag: What can I say? I am a Punjabi and for me winter never truly begins until the first batch of sarson da saag has been cooked up in the kitchen. Needless to say, it is made in industrial quantities because it always tastes better a day or so later. All you need to do to refresh it is re-heat with a generous blob of white butter added. Spoon it up with a softly-crisp makki di roti, for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bliss!

# Makki di roti: Yes, if sarson da saag has made an entry into the kitchen, then the makki di roti cannot be far behind. This is a match made in gastronomic heaven. The golden hue of the roti is a perfect counterpart to the deep green of the saag, feeding your eyes as well as your taste-buds. I always grate a bit of gobhi into the makki atta while kneading it. The moisture left by the gobhi makes the roti just a wee bit softer and sweeter, to balance out the slightly bitter taste of the saag.

# Methi: There is nothing to match the taste and smell of the winter’s first methi. The leaves are green and tender, wilting quickly under heat, and releasing the most heavenly aroma that perfumes the whole house. This is a versatile leaf, which can be used as a vegetable, an herb, or even a condiment. I like it best as a subzi, sauteed quickly with par-boiled potatoes but you can experiment with it as you will. Add it to theplas or parathas and it adds an extra dimension of freshness to the dish. And if you love it as much as I do, buy up loads while it is still in season, air-dry and store in jars to use through the year. It is guaranteed to bring a whiff of winter to the hottest of summer days.

# Oranges: There is something so meditative about peeling an orange, isn’t it? Especially when you take care to peel it slowly and carefully so that it comes off in one long whirl, curling and curving seductively as it reveals the inner core of the fruit. Then, you remove the long fibres still clinging to every segment so that just the quivering sliver of pulp is left. Plop into your mouth and let the flavours explode on your tongue. That sweetly acidic attack? That’s the taste of winter for me.

# Peanuts: The first sign of winter in the north of India is when the rehriwallahs start doing the rounds of the streets, their carts laden with mounds of unshelled peanuts. When you buy some, they heat up the moongphali on the spot, on a small fire that stays burning amidst the piles of nuts, and hand it to you in a paper bag. If you have any sense, head straight for the nearest spot of sun, settle down with a good book, crack open the shells and pop the warm peanuts into your mouth, one at a time. It really doesn’t get better than this.

# Paranthas: Yes, I know you can have them all the year round. But why would you want to eat them in the sweltering heat of summer or the cloying humidity of the monsoon? Winter is when parathas really come into their own. You can stuff them with the winter vegetable of your choice: mooli or gobhi. Or you can stick to the tried-and-test aloo version. But whatever the stuffing, you can’t go wrong with white butter, full-fat dahi and loads of achaar (try the winter combination of gobhi, shalgam and gajar; it’s brilliant!).

# Gajar ka halwa: It must have taken a genius to think of transforming the boring carrot into a delicious dessert with the judicious addition of sugar and milk (and many, many hours of cooking). Whoever she was, God bless her soul. And while the winter lasts, bon appétit to you all!