“East Indian
Catholic?” asked Marianne, her fork suspended in the air.
“But I
thought you lived near Mumbai – and that’s definitely on the Western coast of
India.”
“Yes, you
are right. We live on the Western coast but we are called the East Indians” I
reply.
This is a
question we have had to answer many times before. So I rattle off – “You see, there
are a number of probable reasons why we are called East Indians although we
live in and around Mumbai. There are books and websites which would give you an
explanation. For us, the simplest explanation is that some of our forefathers
worked for the British East India Company.”
Marianne,
satisfied with the logical answer, goes back to her lunch. She is our guest
today.
“Yum...I
have never tasted curries like these. The combination of spices is so different
from other Indian cuisine.” Marianne is from Norway and loves Indian food.
“Yes, it’s
different because there is a combination of up to thirty-six spices in this
masala or spice mixture.”
“What is it
called?”
“East Indian
Bottle Masala.”
“Can I buy
it somewhere?”
“Well, every
family has its own recipe which is handed down from one generation to another,
especially to a favoured daughter or daughter-in-law. So the Bottle Masala from
every house tastes different. Some shops in our native town of Vasai do stock
it but this mass-produced mixture doesn’t taste the same as the original.”
“Is there a
procedure to make this masala?”
“Yes, in
earlier days, the spices were measured out accurately, then sun-dried or
roasted, and then stone ground. However, in modern times, women have careers
and cannot devote too much time in the kitchen so they sent the spices to the
mill.”
“Hmm” says
Marianne, as she polishes off her chicken curry with rice.
Then she
turns to the vegetables.
“Why is it
called Bottle Masala? Surely it doesn’t contain any bottles or bottle gourd?”
We both
laugh. Her question is amusing as this possibility never occurred to me before.
“After the
spices are ground, the mixture or masala is tightly packed into dark-coloured
beer or wine bottles. Most families make this masala in bulk in the winter to
last for one year. They stow away these bottles in cool, dark places to
preserve the freshness of the spices.”
“And do you
use it only for specific curries like chicken and mutton?”
“Oh no ...
there lies the real charm of the Bottle Masala. It is very versatile. We use it in
non-vegetarian and vegetarian curries. We also use it in pickles.”
Marianne is
now relishing the sweet dish. Then she asks the dreaded question.
“Can you
make it?”
I smile
awkwardly and say “Good question. The answer is no. I am yet to rise to the
position of a favoured daughter or daughter-in-law or niece to be trusted with
the recipe.”
“Then who
makes this masala for you?”
“It is my Mum
and Auntie Lucy who give me all the masala I need for one year.”
I can see
the longing in Marianne’s eyes.
“I would
love to have the recipe or the masala.”
“I know,
most of my non-East Indian friends feel the same. People in Mumbai say a man is
lucky to be married to an East Indian girl because he would get to eat such
great food all the time.”
“Really? Is
there no other way to get the recipe?”
“There are
recipes available on the internet. My cousin, Avanti, who is the culinary expert in
our family, has a good variation on her website – www.mhadesar.com. She has called it ‘meat masala’ and
has provided some recipes for curries along with it.”
As Marianne
gets up to leave, I give her a little jam bottle full of Bottle Masala.
The
following week, she invites me for a demonstration of the exotic Norwegian ‘Lefse’
and a cake made from wild berries she has picked herself.
Now that is
a ‘real’ cultural exchange.