Tirunelveli Okkarai

We spent last Deepavali with my parents, just ahead of one more grueling round of chemo-radiation that stalled things, would that we’d known it then, barely for another year. That last time we were all together, thatha–pati–ponnu–maapillai–perans [grandfather-mother-daughter-son-in-law-grandsons] all squish-squashed around a tiny dining table, my parents were speaking of okkarai, ஒக்கோரை (or ukkarai, உக்காரை). I don’t know whether it was because someone sent some over or whether they were recalling their Tirunelveli days or speaking of this as the classic frugal Deepavali sweet—or all of the above.

But that’s what okkarai is: in contrast to all the heavy deep fried bhakshanams/snacks and ghee-drenched sweets that otherwise define the Deepavali season, okkarai is chana/ kadalai paruppu + jaggery + cardamom + paccha karpooram/edible camphor + maybe some sukku/dry ginger, a few nuts, all roasty-toasty in cold pressed sesame oil, with maaaaybe some ghee for flavor, but it’s really chekku/cold pressed sesame oil that distinguishes this dish. These days, the Tamil mamis making okkarai are likely to use ghee instead of sesame oil, but I think that’s because we’ve become affluent and have left humbler village kitchens for abroad ones, frugality becoming more of a lifestyle statement thing than a necessity of daily living. Or because chekku yennai, the really good quality fresh-pressed local oils are harder source reliably and have grown expensive themselves, displaced by gluts of refined oils.

Nonetheless, if the point here is to make something other than the typical ghee-based sweets, and to keep it simple, even vegan, sesame oil is important. It imparts characteristic taste. Don’t settle for substitutes.

The other distinguishing element, at least of Tirunelveli okkarai, isthe exclusive use of kadalai paruppu/ bengal gram dal. Okkarai has perhaps travelled elsewhere from Tirunelveli and found new swaroopams or forms where it has landed. In the Andal temple in Srivilliputhur, it is prasadam, but made with a mixture of mung and chana dals. Any okkarai that uses both dals has derived from that.

Texture is universally what makes okkarai unique. It’s a little like puttu in texture: powdery, dry-but-holding-together-if-pressed, or a bit like a laddoo that’s fallen apart. This texture is achieved by cooking technique: grinding soaked kadalai paruppu with no water, and then cooking it on low heat by pressing with a flat-based spatula or dosai-thippi and turning, pressing-turning-scraping, pressing-turning-scraping–thecchu-thecchu-thecchu–and so exposing all the ground gram surfaces to heat and allowing them to cook through. Then a jaggery syrup is added in and the press-turn-scrape process continues until the mixture is rid of all moisture, held together by sesame oil, and crumbly when cool. The secret to okkarai’s texture is in getting the dal-sweetener-sesame oil together in the right proportions, and by the controlled methods of slow cooking by thecchufying!

“We have eaten all these things so much,” said my mother. “Andha simple life—poye pocchu paaru?” That simple life, it’s just gone, see? Pangs of regret and loss. In the same breath, she spoke of pazhaiya sadam [fermented old rice], kanji, koozh, Indian almonds from the tree by the cow shed in her childhood home—and okkarai.

Perhaps we can bring some of it back, Amma, I replied then. And so this year I did.

My okkarai is made Tirunelveli style, but since I so love the sandy texture of gaund ki laddoos, and since okkarai is in some sense a bit like a laddoo that fell apart—I’ve sweetened it with a mixture of jaggery and powdered panam kalkandu [palm sugar candy] for a light crunch.

For my mother’s nostalgia, the only nuts added in are Indian/wild almonds—Terminalia catappa, which we found growing, reassuringly perhaps, in the car park of Amma’s new home, alongside maramalli or tree jasmine [Indian cork tree, Millingtonia hortensis], equally a redolence of her father’s home and her youth.

How to make Tirunelveli-style Okkarai

You’ll need:

• Bengal gram dal/ chana dal/ kadalai paruppu and jaggery in equal proportions–I used a cup each
• about a 1/4 cup of sesame oil
• for flavoring: 4-5 cardamom pods, a pinch of edible camphor, 1/2 teaspoon dry ginger (optional)
• for crunch: broken cashew pieces, choppped almonds, small pieces of fresh coconut, powdered palm sugar candy or rock candy. Some folks use raisins, too. Go with what pleases you and what you have handy.
• Note: if you use fresh coconut, your okkarai will need refrigeration or will spoil faster.

• Lightly roast the dal until it’s barely browning and fragrant.
• Then soak the roasted lentils for a minimum of 3-4 hours, or until you can pinch one through and break it without any effort.
• Drain completely. Transfer to a food processor or blender and pulse until you have a smoothish paste. You may need to scrape the sides down a few times to achieve a consistent texture.

• Now heat a heavy bottomed pan and add a few tablespoons of sesame oil to it. Before the oil is too hot, transfer the kadalai paruppu paste to it, lower the heat, and start mixing: press-scrape-turn, over and over, exposing every inch of the soaked gram to heat little-by-little so that it all cooks evenly. [If it helps to see the process and hand movements, check out Archana Chandrasekaran’s video recipe here].
• Don’t be afraid to scrape the bottom of the pan with full vigor. Use a metal spatula, if it helps.
• Add a few more spoonfuls of oil, one spoonful at a time, if the mixture sticks too much to the bottom of the pan. I used about 1/4 cup in total, but you might be able to get away with less.
• Do all this on low heat, taking your time over it.

• On the side, set the cup of jaggery to heat with a little water. Allow it to come to a bubble. There’s no need to work towards a 1 or 2-string consistency; what you need is a thickish syrup.

• Also get the flavorings ready: a pinch of edible camphor, some cardamom pods. You can also add a 1/2 teaspoon of dry ginger, if you like. Crush these together well and add them to the jaggery syrup.

• When the okkarai is starting to look a little less raw (it deepens in color), much less pasty and a lot more crumbly, add the jaggery syrup, and continue thecchufying, pressing-scraping-turning to incorporate and then to ensure that any residual moisture evaporates.

• Continue cooking until the okkarai once again is starting to look slightly like a crumbly halva. The sugars in this will be hot and therefore somewhat liquidy; the mixture will become even more crumbly as it cools–so don’t overcook it at this stage.

• Once the okkarai has cooled, it should “udirify” or fall apart in crumbles. It should hold together briefly like a laddoo but then easily crumble apart. That’s its signature texture

• At this stage, you can add what nuts and flavorings you please: cashews are typical, as are small bits of coconut. I added wild almonds and a little powdered panam-kalkandu or palm sugar jaggery to give my okkarai a light gaund-ki-laddoo-like crunch.
• Toast the nuts in a small bit of sesame oil (or ghee, if you absolutely must), and mix in.
• Okkarai should store at room temperature for several days or in the fridge for longer.

It’s eaten as-is, with a spoon or just popped in by hand. Alternatively, you could use it as an ice cream or cream cake topping, for that nice desi touch and taste. Alternatively, stop the cooking a little ahead of time so you have moister laddoo-base, add fresh grated coconut–and make susiyam! More on that in an upcoming post.