Enough and Plenty

Khichdi

If someone asks which two dishes are the most special in Marathi cuisine, the first unanimous answer will be puran poli. In Marathi culture, puran poli has a place of honour… in fact, it’s an inseparable part of our tradition. But although everyone agrees on puran poli, there will never be agreement on the second dish.

People from Kolhapur will vote for pandhra rassa or misal.

In Nagpur, they’ll think of pudachi vadi or vada bhaat.

The always-in-a-hurry Mumbaikars might agree on pompano fish or vada pav.

And the argumentative-by-hobby, “principled” Punekars will first fight endlessly over Ukdiche modak or Chitale’s Bakarwadi. Later, seminars on the topic will also be organised. Some Punekars will even recommend chakli or shrikhand...

Then someone will point out that shrikhand isn’t originally Marathi at all — it’s a Gujarati dish, brought to Maharashtra by Bajirao I in the third decade of the 18th century. Evidence will be shown too! And then another debate will begin — was it Bajirao I or Bajirao II?

Anyway… the point is: deciding what comes after puran poli is tough.

But according to me, after puran poli, the true Marathi speciality is — khichdi.

Khichdi?

Puran poli and khichdi?

You might think, “What nonsense! Where’s Raja Bhoj and where’s Gangu Teli?”

But listen…

Across the entire stretch from Jammu to Coimbatore and from Kolkata to Rajkot, after eating khichdi in various places, I have reached one solid conclusion: no region makes khichdi the way Maharashtrians do.

Whether it’s sabudana khichdi, moong khichdi or toor dal khichdi — this is truly our own delicacy. I say this with experience and conviction.

In North India, there’s a misunderstanding that khichdi is only for sick people. Honestly, the khichdi they make is of that standard.

 You must have heard Birbal’s khichdi story… frankly, Birbal himself probably didn’t know how to cook khichdi, and that’s why it never got cooked!...If Birbal’s khichdi had cooked properly and the Emperor had tasted it, I’m sure the Emperor would have immediately exiled him to Maharashtra to learn how khichdi is really made.

Once, I got a chance to dine at Delhi’s 5-star Taj Hotel with my brother-in-law. The waiter proudly said that the special dish of the day was khichdi. Hearing that khichdi was being treated with such respect so far away from Maharashtra, I felt a bit proud. So we ordered it.

Even today, I can still recall the taste on my tongue.

When I asked about the chef, he wasn’t Maharashtrian — which surprised me.

“How is this possible?” I wondered.

Then I learned that the chef hadn’t used Tarla Dalal’s recipe… but Kamalaabai Ogle’s famous recipe!

Since then my belief in Maharashtrian khichdi has become rock solid.

When we were kids, our grandmother used to tell us the story of a clever daughter-in-law who cooked khichdi after sending her mother-in-law off to a kirtan… and the khichdi she made was described like this:

“Kheechadim khichadi…

A whole plate of khichdi…

Papad broken, a trickle of ghee…

Sun-dried fritters crushed…

Slices of pickle…

A bowl of curd…

And what shall I tell you, dear daughter-in-law…

Even sweeter than the kirtan!”

Of course, in the story, the mother-in-law returns and gives the daughter-in-law a solid beating — that’s how the story ends!

Anyway, forget the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law… tell me honestly: who wouldn’t enjoy such khichdi?

Culturally too, khichdi is part of us. On the day before Makar Sankranti, known as Bhogi, married daughters come to their maternal home, and khichdi is specially prepared. While eating, the mother happily criticises her daughter-in-law, and the daughter cheerfully criticises her mother-in-law. All bitterness gets cleared. And the next day, after exchanging tilgul, everyone goes back home speaking sweetly again.

Such is the greatness of khichdi.

Bhogi is celebrated in many states of India, but since people elsewhere don’t know how to make good khichdi, they avoid preparing it.

Khichdi is usually loved by simple-hearted people. And those who don’t like it rarely have the courage to say so. If you don’t like khichdi, it’s probably because you don’t know the right way to eat it.

Here are some tips for those who “don’t like khichadi but have to eat it”:

If khichdi turns dry and grainy, eat it with curd mixed with a little cream.

If it becomes too soft or mushy, eat it with a dollop of ghee.

If it’s too spicy, crush a Lijjat papad into it and eat with milk.

If it lacks salt, eat it with Amul butter.

If both spice and salt are missing, eat it with lemon pickle… or just swallow it silently!

If it’s undercooked, microwave it for two minutes.

If it’s burnt, eat the top portion and scrape off the rest next morning for breakfast.

So the real point is: 

khichdi, if eaten the right way, cannot be disliked.

Except for bhel, I don’t know of any food more flexible than khichdi.

Knowing how to eat khichdi is important, but knowing when to eat it is equally important:

If you had a heavy lunch, have khichdi quietly at night.

When there’s a power cut during summer… eat khichdi.

When flour is finished… eat khichdi.

When the market has only pumpkins, ridge gourd and snake gourd, and the flour for thalipeeth is also over… don’t get irritated — just eat khichdi.

After exhausting shopping trips, if you bring your wife home without taking her to a restaurant — eat khichdi. (Or be ready to hear her scolding!)

And just for habit’s sake, eat khichdi at least once every fifteen days.

Now… sabudana khichdi is also a dish that only Maharashtrians can truly make well. If you’ve ever seen the sabudana khichdi recipe demonstrated by Sanjeev Kapoor, you’ll understand why others can’t manage it.

I’ve  met a Maharashtrian who dislikes the sabudana khichdi eaten during fasting. At our home, we call it white khichdi or round khichdi — “white” because unlike moong khichdi, it’s not dark; “round” because that’s the cute name my kids gave it based on the sabudana pearls.

As a child, I honestly believed that grown-ups observed fasts only so that they could eat sabudana khichdi.

Even today, when we have two fasting days in a row, I teasingly tell my wife, “Lucky you!”

Making this khichdi is both an art and a process. Unlike moong khichdi, it cannot be made anytime by anyone. Not even Sanjeev Kapoor — so amateurs shouldn’t experiment!

You must carefully pick clean white sabudana… soak it just right… roast the peanuts perfectly… grind them in the mixer at the exact speed… and very importantly, don’t let anyone eat the peanuts while preparing them!

Let me confess — once I tried making sabudana khichdi myself, but forget the khichdi… I couldn’t even soak the sabudana properly. “There you need good quality,” as the saying goes.

The best sabudana khichdi I’ve ever eaten is at my in-laws’ place, and after many attempts, similar khichdi has started appearing at our home too. When that pure white khichdi comes with equally white curd, you feel like heaven must be nearby.

At our place, this khichdi is made often — fasting or no fasting.

Black or white, khichdi eaten with love gives joy to the person who cooks it too. Understanding this takes half a lifetime.Life is like that.

So now, ignore this khichdi of my words…and get ready to enjoy a hot, steaming plate of real khichdi!

— Rajendra Phansalkar

15 June 1993

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