Dear Mediratta family.... thank you for the memories... the Munshaws.

I am at a point of life where so much is happening. New highs at home and at work, my kids growing up so very, very fast. And in all of this I often find myself overtaken by nostalgia. A seemingly innocuous incident or object will trigger a rush of memories and I just lose myself in reminiscences; a pleasant period of remembering the people and events that have enriched my life. 

Last night I had dinner with a few such people. Rajiv, Anju and Mohit Mediratta. As we celebrated Rajiv’s 48th birthday; at one point I sat back; looking around, there at that moment I was witnessing decades of togetherness, my heart full. This was the next chapter of the Munshaw-Mediratta family story. 

I am not really clear on how the Munshaw and the Mediratta families connected. I vaguely remember a story of how my Dad first did business with them, but then became friends at some point and stopped doing business because he did not do business with friends.

But the Medirattas are a large sprawling family – or more aptly a clan. When we first met, the family consisted of Big Mummy, the Matriarch, her 7 children and their families. Over the years, each branch of the family visited and parts of our families visited them. Our families formed strong bonds and were with each other in celebrations and sorrows. It did not matter if we were a world apart, the families would always be represented at weddings and deaths.

We are scattered all over the world now and most of us have not met in years but today I have been thinking of them all day. My first memory is of Big Daddy’s family arriving one day. I was 9 years old then. Through the fortnight they lived with us, we saw a side of our Dad that had never seen before. I think that day pretty much changed our childhoods.

I remember the Medi kids used to guzzle Thumbs Up and other aerated drinks that came to be called soda. So crates and crates of the stuff would be stocked up and we all had a free run of them while they were in residence. We went out on a whirlwind foodie tour of the then Bombay dining scene as Dad hosted lunches and dinners at all the iconic new eating spots along with the classics like Radio Club, China Garden, Copper Chimney and Mahesh Lunch Home. We rediscovered street food at Chowpatty, gorged on strawberries and cream and sitaphal ice cream at Bachelors, and also met the corner juicewalla. He had always peddled his wares from that corner but once he became a favourite of the Medis, there was a constant inflow of fresh juice and milkshake.

I don’t remember much else of that first visit, except that I was fascinated by one of the boys, something I was teased about painfully, for years after and still am on the rare occasions I cross paths with a Mediratta. (In the interests of maintaining maturity for all, I’m withholding names here. My siblings and his siblings may please note we are all grown up now and there are little ears all around!!)

But that first visit led to innumerable other trips that built this unique family bond. Our lives have been enriched with the most wonderful memories any kids can have. And these are the stories that we will one day tell our grand children. Of adventures in Africa and the UK, and childhood capers that we still laugh over.

I will never forget the happy times we had at the big Mediratta house with its wonderful TV room and loads of wonderful playmates. Swimming, sitting in the sauna, swimming some more, running wild through the house and the sprawling lawns. Arti Bhabhi’s awesome cooking, watching Shashi aunty get dressed for parties, slightly in awe of her glamour, gossiping with Tipi Chachi, snuggling in front of the TV with Raj and Mani Chahchi.

Huge, huge meals from breakfast to dinner. I have fond memories of Johnny, the Kenyan chef, whipping up glasses of thick lassi to wash down breakfasts of parathas, jeera aloo and katki mango pickles. Mani Chachi’s mushroom soup, Shashi Aunty’s roast chicken. Large leisurely lunches and dinners particularly at Carnivore, with groups of family so HUGE you could not see the other end of the table!

Giggling over silly things with Anjani, Aditi, and Nimmo. Nicknaming Manu, Mutua number 2 because he insisted on wearing pajamas with holes in them, teasing Mutua and Wanbua. Codenaming condoms ‘chewing gum’ so we could crack adult jokes in front to the littler kids. And that wonderful midnight feast one night when the adults were out and we invaded the kitchen. When Pavan Mediratta concocted his never-to-be-forgotten, half boiled egg garnished with much hilarity. And adorable little Jitin, whom everybody doted on. (You are still my favorite Medi, Jitin!!)

And then there were the adventures; tasting my first champagne on the slopes of Limuru with Big D, Mom and a bunch of kids, discovering passion fruit on the buffet of Mt. Kenya Safari club on a visit with Shokee Daddy. And OMG! Jay Medirattas horse ride when he dropped his ‘strings’ and panicked on our first horse ride! That epic trip to Mombasa when we discovered water slides and chili dusted cassava and Manu Mediratta flashed Ritika with his ‘hot body.’

And many, many safaris in the Masai Mara, Nakuru and Shabba that ignited a passion for Africa in all of us that has never really faded….

Last night’s dinner saw a comparatively modest group at the table compared to the vast gatherings of our families in the past. And we were all so much older. My brother and sister in law had replaced my Dad and Mom at this new gathering, my Mom was now the ‘Big Mummy’. And Rajiv’s son was 21! When did that happen? I can still vividly remember Rajiv and Anju’s engagement 23 odd years ago!!!

But then I will be 40 this year. And at this new table I was the older generation, with the newest Mrs. Munshaw, my nephew Harsh’s wife Disha sitting next to me.  Sometimes the passing of time is so very finite. All evening I had a strange melancholy in me for those that were not present at the table, but just as strong was a quiet warmth of happiness and the promise of the next generation bonding...

It's special... being part of a larger whole without actually belonging but just becoming.....

Dear Mediratta Family, thank you for all the memories. Love, Rushina and the Munshaws

And now that you know the story of the family, here is a recipe from our trips to Kenya that’s part of my book ‘A Pinch of This, A Handful of That’. Make it and celebrate those friendships that have no explanations but span generations.

Nairobi Butter Tawa Prawns (Pg 84 )

Whenever we traveled to Nairobi, my father would time it so we arrived on a Wednesday and carry a large bag of a special consignment for the men of the Mediratta family, the family friends we stayed with in Nairobi. King prawns on dry ice. And the very same day, there would be a men’s only Karaoge night by the poolside where these would be slow cooked on a 3” tawa over charcoal heat. As kids we managed to sneak in and steal a bite or two that were tastier because of it!

Time: 30 minutes + 30 minutes for marination
Serves: 6 to 7 portions

Ingredients:
1kg King prawns, off the shell 125gms Ginger, grated 250gms Garlic, chopped 1tsp Turmeric powder Salt to taste 500gms Butter 1tbsp Peppercorns, cracked ½ cup Green chilies, chopped ½ cup Coriander leaves, chopped Juice of 2 limes

Garnish: Lime slices Finely chopped green chilies

Method: Clean the prawns, devein and wash well. Drain and pat dry. Combine 1 tbsp each of the ginger, garlic and turmeric with the salt in a large bowl and mix well. Add the prawns and mix, till well coated. Set aside to marinate for 30 minutes. Melt butter on a tawa/ frying pan, add the peppercorns, green chilies and the rest of the garlic and ginger and stir-fry till fragrant. Add the prawns and cook till they just curl and turn pink. Sprinkle the coriander leaves and lime juice over the prawns. Serve the prawns with lime slices and sprinkle green chilies on top to add a splash of colour.

Happy Birthday Le 15!

Yesterday HT celbrated 30 years of Brittania serving up its legendary Berry pulao. A dish that is on every foodies culinary map of  discovering Mumbai. And if Brittania made a homestyle Irani rice dish a lengend, the onus of giving the French Macaroon so unshakeable an identity that 2 year old children recognise it like we once identified with laddoos as children has to be laid squarely on the doorstep of Le 15, with a huge hug of thanks!

Mumbai restauranteurs are a much stronger breed than their counterparts from other cities. THey have to survive much harder challenges to survive than any other place in the world. Soaring real estate prices, cut throat compitition, people ready to copy a good idea at the drop of a hat, staff being stolen at crippling salaries once they are trained. I have been a silent sad observer of  many great restaurants biting the bullet and closing down because of fomething or the other not working out despite everything being perfect. and its just gotten tougher with some of the world biggest food chains have arrived onto Mumbai shores in the last few years. This is the ever changing foodscape of Mumbai and i have watched if for 10 years as a food writer.

But ever so often a success story like Le 15 comes along. Heartening the rest of us who have chosen to create a business in this tough landscape that is the Mumbai food scene. Proving to the world that a fabulous product when backed by hard work, passion, love and grit can not just survive but Come out winning in the face of every challenge thrown its way. And Le 15, a tiny little patiserrie started by the beautiful passionate young Pooja Dhingra (who I am proud to call friend) is that sort of success story.

I met Le 15 and Pooja when it first opened. I attended a Korean cooking class there. I think Le 15 was a month old then, they only had their central kitchen. But the jaded Mumbai Palatte has been gobbling up everything they have been dishing out ever since. Soon after that, Pooja invited me to do cooking classes there and I became a regular at Le 15, arriving there twice a month, baskets of ingredients in tow to embark on some mad new culinary adventure. From Amuse Bouche to gourmet gifts from the kitchen, from Tadka workshops to cooking classes for men, from healthy cooking to boozy cooking, Pooja's given me a free hand on the classes. And I have loved every moment!

But this is not about me or my classes. This is about Pooja and Le 15. On every visit I have made to Le 15, Pooja has been there. In her office planning new and wonderful things, but more often in the kitchen hustling her chefs along and most often making macaroons or some other wild and wonderful connfection. I have watched every step of growth for Le 15, from that first strawberry and pistachio cake they did for Womens day that year (how delicious it was) to the intoxicating Cointreau Macaroons they did recently. I've been privy to the joys and the frustrations, the let downs and the exhilerations of nurturing this little baby that is Le 15. And all  I can say is that its a success story thats inspiring. It brings emotion welling to the eyes and blessing to the tongue; may it grow phenomenally and continue to bring smiles to the world. 

Happy Birthday Le 15!

Here are some pictures and memories! 

We learnt color identification with Le 15 Macaroons! And Pink is still our first pick out of a box!

Natasha is perhaps Le 15's most ardent afficionado!

A special Gourmet Tadka class we customised for a foodie couple from the USA

Talking food!

The He cooks Mens Cooking Class!

Natasha wanted an angry birds cake and Pooja was kind enough to make me marzipan in differnet colours !

My most memorable class - when my husband joined us to conduct a coupls cookign class. Thanks for pushing me on this one Pooj!

Pooja support fldgling food writers by sending in Macaroons for my exploring flavours excersise at my food writing classes.

My idea of an indulgent way to start my day!

Shooting pictures for my book - Memorable moments

That perfect moment!

My HT Column this month was inspired by Zindagi Milegi Na Dobara. In it I said that everyone has a retirement plan, including me. But losing someone I loved last year taught me that there are no guarantees. There are no guarantees that our retirement plan will synchronize with fate’s designs for us. So in line with the thoughts of that column I want to share with you another life’s experience. If you have a recipe of your moms you have always meant to write down or a dish your grandmother cooks that you have wanted to learn, do it, NOW, don’t push it off to another day.

My words came home to me a few days later while I was shooting the pictures for my book. My Mumbai Cookbook is a memoir though which I explore the cook I am today. It travels through my culinary journey from childhood to today. Writing a book, especially the kind of book I am writing is a journey. And like all journeys, each step you take, changes you. You break into guffaws at 4 in the morning when you write a funny line, you melt into tears in the middle of the day when a sad memory leaves translates into words on your screen. By the time you are done, you feel like you have given birth and in a way you have because writing a book is just like having a baby only more drawn out.  

I thought I was done with the emotional upheavals of the journey when I completed the writing of the manuscript. I was wrong. Last week I had the most memorable two moments of my book writing journey.

On the first day of shooting, I shot for the chapter on my Nani. We loved going to Nani's house as children. "Nanis" (maternal grandmothers) are an institution in India. In part I think this has to do with the fact that we live with our "Dadi" (paternal grandmothers) whereas we go on short visits to our Nani. Visits usually filled with indulgence, love and very little disciplining, (unless we did something really bad!). It was no different for me where my Nani was concerned. My Nani is also a phenomenal cook who taught herself modern ‘English’ cooking and I feel that I inherited my sense of culinary adventure from her. Today, when I taste a dish and figure out what has gone into it just by tasting it and then recreate it from instinct I have her to thank for it.

She has also been terrible ill off late and the day of the shoot would be trying for her. So I had planned to have her teach me how to make a signature recipe of she learnt from her mother. Teliya Bataka. This is kind of an instant pickle in which mustard is rubbed with water until it is frothy and smelling pungent. Cooked potatoes are then added to the mix along with oil, turmeric and salt. A simple recipe but as Nani guided my hands, with her fragile but strong grip, my mother sitting on the other side, a sudden silence seemed to decend on the room and the light seemed to change. All of a sudden, Mrigank, started clicking away furiously, mumbling yes, yes, perfect! A minute or so later he was done and I got the most perfect shots with my grandmother ever! I will never forget the feeling of Nani’s hand on mine, her instructions in my ear, the grainy wet mustard against my fingers, the cold steel of the plate and the pungent smell rising to my nose.

My mother always said that I should do my best and leave the rest to God. It is advice I have followed diligently in every task I have undertaken. I do think God was looking down on us in that moment...

The other memorable moment took place on the last day of the shoot, we were shooting the last shot of the day. A Spinach soup that was my fathers favourite dish made by me. It was one of the things I used to make in my early days of cooking exploration. His last words to me before he died were about how much he loved that soup. I had made it once when I was stuck writing the chapter on him. But I could not bring myself to serve it up and used it to make Palak Paneer instead.

The day of the shoot I remember pushing it to the end of the shoot anticipating it would be the HARDEST to shot to style, after all it is nothing but a bowl of dark green liquid. But it wasn’t! In seconds Mrigank had the angle and light he wanted and called me to garnish it. And the cream slid off the spoon and onto the bowl in so perfect a swirl I had to tease it with a toothpick to make it look natural. As I placed slivers of onion on with a tweezer as a final touch, my hand didn’t shake for even a second. My sister Neha and I have talked about how we have felt Papa’s presence around us sometimes. And that day I knew my father was with me in that room, guiding me at that moment.

That night after 15 years of being together my husband and son tasted that Spinach soup my father loved for the first time. And they loved it. My husband and father met just once before he died but that day I could envision Dad at the table with us sipping that soup alongside his son-in-law and grandson.

I have a dedications page in my book. But there are a few people I need to thank just now for helping me along on this journey. My family, of course, for putting aside their lives to write down recipes and pose for my shoots. And Pinky Chandan Dixit of Soam who has always stood behind me with her full support in every endeavour.

But most importantly, at this moment I would like to thank Mrigank Sharma who came into my life as a food photographer and stayed to become one of my closest friends. I know that he will hate me for this but, Mrigank, Thank you, for giving me this week from your life to translate my ideas into visuals so beautifully, and the idlis and samosas and for shaving on the last day so I could get that behind the scenes picture of you! You are a special person and I am glad we are friends! 

To the rest of you reading this blog. Grab the present with both hands. Do those things you always mean to do but end up putting off for later. Life won't give us another chance. Cook that dish, document those recipes, keep those promises to yourslef and those you love!

Nani’s Teliya Bataka

What is especially beloved about this recipe is that my Nani learned it from her mother, who loved to make instant pickles. Guests would be served an array of instant pickles including a raw Okra one.

Ingredients:

500 g Potatoes - cooked, peeled and cut into chunks

3 tbsp / 45g oil

2 tbsp/30g Split mustard seeds, powdered

½ tsp / 2g Asafoetida

½ tsp/ 2g Turmeric powder

8 tbsp/200ml water

Salt to taste

Method:

In a flat plate or wide bowl, combine water, oil and powdered mustard. Using your hands, rub it well against the plate until frothy and your hands are tingly. Add the Asafoetida and turmeric to the mix and stir well. Add potatoes and mix thoroughly. Allow to sit for one hour before serving cold or at room temperature.

The Teliya Bataka (Mustard Potatoes)

Shooting Nani's Chundo

Nanis Faraali Khandvi for fasting days made with buttermilk and arrarot.

Papa's Spinach soup

That perfect swirl!

All set!

Mrigank doing what he does best!

GYAAN and links


The first of my columns "SPICE ROUTE" in Hindustan Times. It will appear on the first Sunday of every month. Please do read. http://fb.me/1b95m0AjQ 

Mrigank Sharma's website www.indiasutra.com