A good part of my childhood was spent in the company of tamarind trees.
If you’ve lived any time at all in the southern states, or even travelled through them, perhaps yours was, too? Because these grand trees are like monuments, and possibly the fact that we believe things about ghosts in tamarind trees, they’re less in home gardens and more in public areas. Along roadsides—the route from anywhere to anywhere else marked by tamarind trees. That unmistakable canopy shading your path. That painted trunk doubling as reflector. So many that when tamarind trees are felled for road-widening, the price of tamarind goes up!
Their public presence means also that they’re perfect for foraging. Pick the tender leaves which are rich in Vitamin C and that timepass nibbleable sourness. [In your adult life, you’ll learn that they’re used to make dal, a seasonal Andhra delicacy.] Play under the broad branches. Gaze up at the sky through the slits made by those frilly leaves. Wait, wait, wait impatiently for the fruit. Find stones to knock the fruit down or grab it any way you can. Then stick a stick in its body, and roast it over an open flame until its meat is runny and this intense, pucker-face-inducing sour. Go home late, dusty, and with the sort of deep satisfaction that allows you to counter your mother’s great irritation with impunity.
None of this is to speak of chintapandu/ ripe fruit escapades! As my father would tell it: take some salt, some chilli powder or molagai podi, go out with a band of friends, find ripe tamarind, mash all these things together with a stone, and make balls to eat. We called it “nokatambuli.” All of these things were done without the knowledge of our parents. That was the real pleasure.
But in the late fall-to-winter months when the tamarind trees are beginning to push out new leaves and fruit, nokatambuli is but a promise of things to come, a memory of hot summer days not yet arrived.
For now, there are only the green fruit and so the chaaru you see pictured here is that taste of that seasonal set of childhood memories, delivered to you in a little eeya chombu—because eeya chombus are perfect for tamarind-based rasams.
Some chintakaya chaarus are made by cooking the tender tamarind first: a technique that might work well if the raw tamarind you have is thicker-than-ideal and starting to seed. That route makes a perfectly good rasam, but if you want the raw taste of young tamarind to blaze through as I did, you’ll want to pick the tamarind while it’s still very thin, green and snappable — makes a clean break when you snap it! — and use that for a “chutney” which then gets thinned in cooking. Some of the ones I have in the images here are already plumping up with seed.
You need a handful of chintakaya for this rasam, not much more or it’ll get too sour.
I made a pounded chutney out of the raw tamarind first, adding in some dry red kanthari chillies, garlic (though truthfully, I prefer it without), and salt–and adding that to simmering toor dal. With some jaggery to balance out sour-sweet tastes, a combination of rasam powder and some roasted-powdered cumin and black pepper, all topped and finished with a good tempering, really this chaaru is done.
The little red kanthari chillies you see glimpses of in the image above and the video below come from Sudhakar and Noushadya’s Papanasam farm; their farming, experimenting, thinking, striving is nothing short of inspiring. I’ve heard that “kanthari” refers to the Khandahari origins of this variety, now lost in time, though I’m not sure if that tale is creative interpretation or a credible account of migration. Still, it’s more exciting a historical evocation than just “bird’s eye” chillies as we know them, rather too literally descriptive.
The turmeric powder was a kind gift from my friend Bela, in a thoughtfully composed package that arrived shortly after my father died, reminding me to eat and relish the life I still have left to live in all the ways I love.
Such things are treasures for me and I’m as deeply grateful for them as for the childhood I had — & which has led me now to this interpretation of essence, this rasam, this saaru, this chaaru.
Here’re the written-out and video versions of the recipe one below the next, perfectly suited to the season, sitting by a window, reflecting on bygone times and carefree play while it pours and pours and pours.
Set to Raga Amritavarshini, for certainly someone must be singing it vigorously to bring us all this rain.
Chintakaya Chaaru
Ingredients
- ¼ cup toor dal, plus a spoonful more
- ½ teaspoon turmeric
- A handful of tender/raw green tamarind, cleaned and stalks pinched off
- 3-4 hot dry red chillies
- 2-3 pods garlic [optional]
- ¾ teaspoon rasam powder
- ½ teaspoon jeera
- ½ teaspoon black pepper
- 1-2 teaspoons of jaggery or to taste
- Salt
- Tender tamarind leaves to garnish
For the tempering:
- ¼ teaspoon mustard seeds
- ¼ teaspoon jeera/cumin
- a broken red chilli
- a pinch of hing
- a sprig of curry leaves
Instructions
- Cook the toor dal in a pressure cooker for 4 whistles or in a large heavy-bottomed pot by covering with 2 cups water and simmering until very soft. Use a spoon to beat the dal so it disintegrates and creates a thin-ish stock.
- While the dal is cooking, prepare the raw tamarind “chutney” by breaking the tamarind and either pounding it with a stone or pulsing it in a blender jar until it’s a semi-smooth paste, along with the garlic (if using) and dry red chillies. A few chunks and a little texture are good things! Remove any visible fibres.
- Once the dal is cooked, transfer to an eeya chombu or other heavy-bottomed pot. Add more water until the eeya chombu is about ¾ full [you should have ¾ litre of liquid, total]. Bring this to a boil on a low flame.
- Add scant ½ teaspoon turmeric
- Add the chutney paste. Wash the grinding stone or mixie jar with a little water and add this, too.
- Roast the jeera and black pepper lightly, and crush into a coarse paste. Add this to the chaaru along with the rasam powder.
- A generous chunk of jaggery goes in next, followed by salt.
- Keep the heat on low and continue cooking until the chaaru begins to foam and froth.
- Then work quickly to temper. Heat a spoonful of ghee in a small tempering pan. Once it’s very hot, drop in a ¼ teaspoon each mustard seeds and jeera, a pinch of hing, a broken red chilli. Let these splutter and pop. Follow with curry leaves for a few seconds, and pour this finishing oil directly on top of the foaming rasam.
- Turn off the heat and mix well.
- Garnish with a few tender tamarind leaves or coriander
- Serve with a soft white rice and a potato or yam poriyal. Fried raw banana works well, too!
