As soaring prices turned my kitchen into an onion-free zone, I rememberedAmmaji, my great-grandmother, who had all her life preached against thebulbous vegetable. She passed away a decade ago, without any hope that heradvice would be heeded once. Brought up in a traditional Kashmiri panditfamily, Ammaji had never tasted onions or even garlic. During thestory-telling sessions, we children would try to corner her.Why was the onion not a vegetable? When you can eat lamb after slaughteringit and get away with the sin, why hate onions? Her splendid memory formythological tales came in handy as Ammaji set about illustrating how onionsand garlic were forbidden since these aroused baser instincts in a humanmind: these were tamsi foods. Not that our mother used onions liberally, butat least she would fulfill our demand of cooking rajmash (kidney beans) inonion-garlic-tomato gravy Punjabi style. When Ammaji stayed with us forsix months to escape the harsh winter of Kashmir, the rajmash curry wouldbecome rather bland. We children quietly resented this.
Strange was her logic for categorising foods. Lamb and fish were okay butchicken and eggs should not even be placed inside the kitchen! I rememberthat, for six months, we cooked omelettes in a separate pan, which would bestored contemptuously in a dingy corner of the kitchen cupboard. With Ammajiaround, onion and garlic had no place in the vegetable basket.
With onions becoming unaffordable, I have begun flipping through my memoryto try Ammaji's culinary formulae. She would cook hakh saag (green leavyvegetable) in a simple water-oil emulsion with a dash of green chillies. Thedish of sap-green leaves in pale soup has always been an instant hit withmost of my guests. Once an anglicised Bengali guest wanted to `drink' haakand gravy in a soup-bowl. When she cooked roganjosh, a special Kashmirimutton dish, the aromas of condiments and mutton juice would fill theair.
Brinjals coated in a thick sauce of tamarind juice and masala were oftenmistaken for a tangy pickle. Ammaji never used onions and garlic even whenshe could prepare at least ten major mutton dishes and about 30 vegetarianones for a festive occasion.
She was amused at the sight of pressure cookers. She never used one in herkitchen as she thought this was a device used by bad cooks to camouflagetheir flaws. She preferred earthen handi or bronzeware. For some foods,Ammaji would insist on using charcoal fire. To her, onion-garlic-paste-basedcooking was a cut-and-paste formula which robbed food of its originalflavour and identity.
For her, each food was distinct, like a human being, and needed a differenttreatment. Green leafy vegetables should be cooked in their own juices on amedium heat. Different combinations of condiments had to be used to enhancethe flavour and taste of mutton dishes. The most enjoyable part of Ammaji'skitchen routine was the serving of the food in brass thalis. And, shecelebrated the end of the cookery session with a song.
Ammaji's cookery tips suddenly became my kitchen mantras in this onionlessera. ``Oh! how much I relished that nadroo yakhni (lotus stems cooked inyoghurt)'', cooed a staunchly mutton-eating friend on telephone the otherday. She was talking about a dinner held at my place, and the complimentmade a case for jotting down a few onion-less delicacies on phone.
Before I had penned down this ode to my grandmother's memory, a saltscarcity was hitting the headlines. Oh, no, I don't think even Ammaji couldhave handed out any tips on how to get over this one!
Copyright © 1998 Indian Express Newspapers (Bombay) Ltd.