Thuvai Suvai Snake Gourd Seed Chutney [Pudalangai Thuvaiyal]

In these days of nose-to-tail eating, here’s a post on cooking the innards of a garden snake.

Thought I really meant a garden snake? Well, I did, but not the kind you imagined. The “Snake gourd” is an immature trichosanthes cucumerina, a climbing annual vine whose fruit twist and elongate into snake-like forms. Typically, we snip ends, split the gourd lengthwise–and remove and discard the gourd’s soft-spun interior fibres and young seeds, using only its emptied flesh in poriyals (பொரியல்: dry, lightly fried vegetable dishes–you can follow the same recipe for the mulaikeerai poriyal here) and kootus (கூட்டு: dal-based vegetable dishes–recipe and taxonomy coming soon).

But that’s where the genius of this chutney comes in: it sees possibility in ignored interiors. The Indian cookery I grew up with was careful, methodical, and concerned about not wasting that which could be used. Nose-to-tail models come to us from meat-eating worlds which discriminated between “choice cuts” and “offal”–with implications for what people could afford, and what classes had to settle for what, and hierarchies of people based on what they had to eat. But no such distinctions exist quite so forcefully in the vegetable world. Here there is just that which can be eaten, and that which cannot. And the point is that there is a lot which can be eaten.

Technically, this preparation from snake gourd seeds is not a chutney, but a thuvaiyal (துவையல்), as it’s lightly cooked and incorporates roasted dals. (Sometimes “thuvaiyal” gets pronounced colloquially as “thogaiyal,” but the two are one and the same sort of chutney). And this matters because really speaking, thuvaiyals are best eaten with hot rice and ghee. You can spread ’em on toast and eat them with dosas if you wish, but the natural accompaniment to the thuvaiyal is really hot, soft rice with a touch (or more!) of ghee. There are never any left-overs when we have it that way.

There is nothing generic about Indian categorizations and terminologies. “Chutney” is a catch-all term everyone understands, but it tells you little. The instructions and the insights all come with the more specific descriptors–which hint at content and act as guides to consumption. The tremendous specificity of Indian cookery is a large part of its great fascination. Snakegourds are diabetic-friendly, and used in the treatment of worms and jaundice. They say the seeds can cause flatulence if eaten too much — but tender snake gourds have few and immature seeds anyway, so this is moot. As the Tamil saying goes, உணவே மருந்து, மருந்தே உணவு, unave marunthu, marunthe unavu: food is medicine, medicine is food. Nothing is random. Everything has a target, a purpose, a season, and a place. 

You start the process by chopping your snake into manageable lengths. Then split each, like so:

With clean fingers or a spoon, scrape out the soft fibres and any seeds that reside inside, and collect these. Save the gourd shells themselves for a poriyal, perhaps.

In a skillet, gather together 1 tablespoon bengal gram dal, 1 tablespoon urad dal, 2 tablespoons of either peanuts, sesame seeds, or fresh grated coconut (or some combination of the above, roughly equaling 2-3 tablespoons), and as many red chillies as you can stand (I use 3-4).

Note: There’s not much point making chutneys and pickles and thuvaiyals child-friendly; you may’s well make your child thuvaiyal or chutney or pickle-friendly. I’m here to tell you it can be done, though it takes well-near a decade of gentle, consistent insistence to get there.

Roast all these but fresh coconut in a bit of oil, until the dals are turning golden. Then add in your coconut (if using) and saved snake gourd innards–if these are too little, you can supplement with a few chopped snake gourd pieces. I often do this. Use the equivalent of a cup, or thereabouts. Roast again, until the gourd seeds seem like they’re steaming.

(I added a few curry leaves, too, while roasting the dals as you can see).

Now wait for the pan to cool slightly and then dump the whole thing into a blender, along with a 3″ bit of tamarind, a teaspoon full of powdered jaggery, and salt to taste. Whizz — stop — taste — adjust tamarind/salt/jaggery as you wish. Transfer the thuvaiyal into a serving dish. But for seasoning, you’re done.

Seasoning is with all the usual suspects: 1 scant teaspoon urad dal, 1 scant teaspoon mustard seeds, 1 broken dry red chillie, ping of hing/asafoetida, and curry leaves. Drop the urad dal and red chilli first into a tablespoon of hot oil–let these brown slightly. Add the asafoetida and follow immediately with mustard seeds–let them snap-crackle-pop better than any rice krispie ever did. Add the curry leaves to calm everything down. Stir slightly, and pour this lovely crackling redolent seasoning over the top of your thuvaiyal. Leave it there — or stir it in as you please.

Serve with hot rice and ghee.

Want more on chutneys? Here’s the whole story of confusions and clarifications:

And here’s the recipe in stand-alone form.