Brined Mookuthi Avarai

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The really remarkable thing about the mookuthi avarai, or clove bean, Ipomoea Muricata—is not that it defies the logic of “morning glories” (often the common name for Ipomoea) and blooms in the evenings into this delicate light purple actinomorphic “moonflower” that twists itself by morning into what can only be described as a two-flavored soft swirl which I once mistook for a bud, such was its puckered perfection.

The vine tricked me into waiting for the blossoms one morning, and were it not for Sudhakar and Noushadya over at Vivsayee’s Life telling me that these are evening bloomers, I might have been sitting patiently there still, entirely duped, joke-on-me.

The remarkable thing is not also that this vine can grow and fruit all year round, unlike other beans or “avarai” [typically but not exclusively Hyacinth beans/avarakkai]–which is why it’s called nitya valli in some parts and nitya vazhuthana in others: nitya, the eternal, the constant. Maybe even a bit like me, constantly hanging about as the flowers came and went and the beans set and went to seed.

Unremarkable also is the fact that it grows very easily from seed quite unperturbed by pests and other garden hungries and might do well on small balcony trellises, or that it’s really tasty just steamed. Some folks say: eggplant-like, creamy-and-a-touch-bitter, and call it the kaambu kathirikkai, and i get the kaambu/stem part, because the “bean” forms below the seed capsule, like a stem, but I don’t really get the kathirikkai/eggplant part, possibly because we’ve only ever had these vine-plucked and tender and tasting just like themselves and no other.

But leave all that. The truly special thing about this bean is that someone once looked at it, and I mean really looked at it, observed that it resembled the structure and setting for a woman’s nose-stud, the mookuthi, like the ones with diamonds that many an aunt or a grandmother classically wore–and called it that. Of course others, English speakers, saw the resemblance to cloves and called it the “clove bean” and that’s remarkable, too, but I’m biased towards the Tamil name because it’s like we found a jewel or an ornament in the garden, not merely another fragrance or food. Like that, ornament and bean echo each other and the garden becomes a jewelry box from which I can pick to adorn myself anew.

Do you blame me for loving that?

These beans have been making something of a come-back around the southern states, and I got my seeds via friends who garden and share here in Auroville. Some photos in this post are from their gardens, as well as mine. Otherwise I believe they were mostly known in Kongunadu, the region around Coimbatore, and possibly further south, towards Tirunelveli, all those lovely regions hugging the eastern sides of the Western Ghats. And then in Kerala, where I understand they are far more common. There is at least another variety in those lands, a pink-purple mookuthi avarai, in contrast to the simple green-white I have.

A mookuthi is something a woman of any age can start to wear, says the matronly cook who senses my longing and knows my dilemma. Earrings, no. Mookuthi, yes. I can’t but smile. Instead, I lift each stone from its setting—those are the inedible (and some say toxic) seeds, which must be removed prior to cooking. It would be easier just to snip the tops off, but I like leaving the jeweler’s setting behind, such character in that.

Then there are a few possibilities.

Malayalis will love a mezhukkupuratti, a poriyal by any other name–but they get clove beans more plentifully, and can afford such luxuries. So, this recipe is for when you have at least a handful of mookuthi avarai to make a vegetable side. Dry red chilli, curry leaves, onions, prepped-chopped clove beans, turmeric, salt, and some fresh-ground black pepper. Temper, fry, cover to steam, add seasonings.
Dharani proposed a pickle: To a fresh batch of buttermilk (approx. 1/2 litre), she said, add ground mustard, turmeric and dry red chilli as powder or paste. Let the cleaned and prepped beans soak in this for a few days. When they are soft, they are ready to eat.
There is always just the prospect of adding them to a salad plate (and feeling glad that something-from-the-garden is represented in what you eat)
Sambars and other everyday dals are also always a simple way to use up small quantities of vegetables left behind, or small mookuthi avarai harvests
Or–and here’s the path that names this post–they can be prepped and tossed with salt, and allowed to ferment in that brine. This was Swati Iyer‘s suggestion, from Ayurvedic advice during a treatment period that did not allow the consumption of spiced pickles. Eshwari Kishore added to that by remarking that these do remarkably well in Mahali Kizhangu pickle brine, which is of course curd-based.

(1)-(2) need rather more beans than (3)-(5). Often, I’ve had just a few (thanks to the husband’s crowding, shading orchard, growl) but a few in these cases will do. Garden ornaments are like that, just such incomparable riches, and we have already Aladdin’s cave so I really cannot complain.

The Brining Process

This part is simple. For the handful of beans I had, I used about

1 teaspoon + 1 pinch more rock salt,
the juice of 1 small, ripe lime, and
1/4 teaspoon turmeric

I let this rest a day or two and then I added

a few teaspoons of liquid from my Mahali Kizhangu oorugai bottle sitting nearby

I let this sit for several days, fully knowing that the addition of the Mahali Kizhangu brine would either slow or completely stop whatever fermentation was going on with just lime+salt+turmeric–but that flavors would penetrate the beans and develop. After about a week, the pickle was ready, and the beans softened but not enough to become limp; they were still nice and crunchy. There’s a little spice that comes in with the addition of mahali brine, which, together with those classic mahali volatiles, makes this little pickle just delightful with curd-rice.

All you moota poochi naysayers out there? All you who think mahali kizhangu smells like bedbugs? [But really how do you know this??] Please. You’re seriously missing out.

After the beans are eaten, I intend to use the remaining brine to soak and then sun-dry green unripe manathakkali berries from the bushes nearby–Solanum Nigrum complex, to make varthals. That’s the classic way of treating these to remove toxicities, and then they are fried of course and eaten also with curd-rice.