“If it’s going to swim upstream, it will be quick,” wrote Mr F, who “also called it” a “brave thing”. They should know. He met those breathtaking, misty hills long before Salman Khan and his tribe Mechuka. d His way to the Lost Frontiers of Arunachal Pradesh. The “it” in question was no upstart carp with Olympic ambitions, but rather a light, bright, raw fish soup that sometimes drove carp-dies through the unsuspecting mainland. Except, it was too late I was at Namsai and sifting my way through the nose-deep, dicey bowls of Glory, a Tai Khampti delicacy that has since become a cold favorite.
The point is that even the best of us, who have knowingly or accidentally discovered the joys of eating in indigenous kitchens across the country, sometimes find ourselves at the crossroads of taste testing. It doesn’t matter whether the pig’s curls or snails, fresh buckwheat leaves or camel’s milk have been previously consumed with great gusto. At the pearl gate of new culinary discovery, we can only stop for a fleeting second, before crossing the ‘other side’. But foot-dragging and cooking blindness are not the same cuisine.
Sometimes, I wonder, if India has more culture for us, then it is good for us. Consider the statistics: We have over 700 indigenous communities, which account for about 8.6 percent of the population, or 104 million people, more than all other countries on at least one global index. And yet, ask almost anyone at a dinner party in Delhi to name an indigenous dish they’ve tried, or loved, and most of them will sound stunned; As if they were called to collect red ants for chutney. Quick aside: red ant sauce has become a poster dish for the inexhaustible wealth of indigenous food cultures that we know so little about, yet so crude and confidently condensed into one ‘tribal cuisine’.
It is therefore somewhat reassuring to stumble upon more and more conversations in mainstream digital dining rooms today on the virtues of indigenous food in this time of pandemic. From local chefs to permaculture farmers, from heirloom millet to #uglidelicious tubers, indigenous ingredients and their Insta champions are clearly having their moment now. Even the matrons or patrons of Palghar Pendra (divine jasmine) of the Kurumba community are roaming the new urban tribes daily.
And then there are those who work with forest-dependent communities across India to sustainably harvest and market forest produce for urban audiences; Reminding us that conservation of local ecosystems, traditional livelihoods and indigenous knowledge go hand in hand. Organizations such as the Center for Animal Husbandry (CfP) work with nomadic and semi-nomadic tribes to identify and protect native breeds of livestock, and promote non-bovine dairy—mostly goat and camel milk which seem to have many takers globally, but few in India, where it is plentiful. Now that camel milk available in Tetrapack is yet to become Amul Cool, weaning Indians from cow and buffalo milk has proved easy but easy so far, but Vasant Saberwal, director of the CFP, has a tasty plan. With more than 30 types of high-quality cheese in the making, he says milk, like wine, should celebrate its locality, offering a sense of place and flavor that distinguish Himalayan feta from kutchi. , or Van Gujjar’s Kalari Paneer. From Chhurpi of Monpa tribe of Arunachal, Jammu.
Soft peepal leaves and sycamore kebabs
It is a different matter that every time it is foraged, harvested or milked by an enlisted tribe, it finds itself on the high tables of urban taste, with its qualities almost always linked to good health and a good life. It seems that anything located two degrees south of our comfort zone should always be validated by the presence of omega 3 acids or polyphenols. If that’s not ‘exotic’ enough, then why, it must be a superfood, honey! In an experience economy, when gastrotourism is no longer confused for wandering down the small intestine, why should the treatment of constipation or bronchitis be the only incentive to eat the flowers or fruits of the mahua tree—a constituent forest community side across central India. and taste? Have we ever thought about the health benefits of Meen Moily and Alu Posto before having dinner?
Growing up in Jamshedpur, I knew more about dhansak – our city and my class had a large population of Parsis, thanks to Tata – than about dhuska, deep fried balls of fermented dough. Even my friends, whose names end with Toppo, Kujur, Murmu or Mahto, used to bring tiffins that looked like me. Sandwiches and cakes, parathas and vegetables… Nobody told us that the Mundas, who are called nisha-dasa or turmeric-eaters in the Vedas- named many of the ancient Indian fruits and vegetables that we still find. Huh. Our plates are Kadali (Banana), Panasa (Jackfruit), Narikela (Coconut), Nimbuka (Lemon), Haridra (Turmeric), etc. Or that the Santhals had pitha, sweet or salty, non-vegetarian, for every season.
And so I decided that I liked Aruna Tirkey, a former development professional who founded a project four years ago in Ranchi to mainstream Oraon, Santhal, Ho, Munda and Kharia cuisines and create jobs for local women. Rare restaurant. He named his place Azam Emba, or tasted great in his mother tongue, Kurukh. Like a woman who travels 200km for her adventures, Tirkey talks tirelessly about the navel connection between taste, tradition and indigenous identity. Her recent journey into the forests near Gumla, in search of kukhri and ragda – the seasonal fungus that her mother used to cook during a 10-day window every June – has only fueled her resolve to resist the ‘gentrification’ of indigenous kitchens. has strengthened. A champion of microlocal flavors, she’s creating a black book of recipes that few people have seen before. Relying on aromatics and seasonal produce rather than spices, such as jute flowers for Kudrang chutney, freshwater fish such as buddu and ghetu, and ‘coarse grains’ (or coarse grains, from PDS, are constantly replaced by wheat and rice). Tirki is extremely traditional in its cooking.
A few years ago, perhaps to cure my childhood myopia, or to make the most of a lockdown spring, when the world was busy making banana bread and dalgona coffee, I made wild Indian cluster figs and sycamores from pleasantly sour peepers. Make kebabs. The vegetable Unlike the Baiga women of Mandla and Dindori districts of Madhya Pradesh, I had never celebrated the rare, ephemeral flavors of this mango tree’s tender pink leaves. But now I look forward to cooking it every March. Not because it cures fever, dysentery, heart disease, constipation, mumps and (but, of course) sexual debility. But because it’s there, and it’s delicious.