HYDERABAD: Women in white, gold-bordered kasavu sarees and men donning mundus (panche). A vibrant pookalam (flower design) bursting with yellows, oranges, reds, pinks and the festive greeting: Onam Ashamsakal (Happy Onam). But it was only when we sat down in front of the big banana leaves for the sumptuous sadhya (traditional Onam lunch) at Malabari’s The Kerala Kitchen in Gachibowli did we understand why the ‘Happy’ precedes Onam.
.. We took koruchu vellam (a little water), as the Malayalees say, and gently slathered it over the vaazhayila (leaf) to clean it.
Something about being served on the vaazhayila felt so homely and comforting. A little salt, a tiny banana, some Maanga Aachar (yes, you guessed it, mango pickle) and some Ingi Aachar (ginger pickle) plopped on the leaf. The ingi was an explosion of sweet, sour and bitter rolled into one.
A very, very generous serving of Matta Rice (red rice) mimicked a miniature mountain; the key was to make a tiny opening in the centre with your index finger and then launch a full-fledged gravy attack on the matta. So, we were served some Kootu Curry, a rich gravy with pumpkin pieces and kadalas (black chickpeas), which made for a satisfying chew in each bite. And if rains had lashed Hyderabad that day, this dish would be the star, with second place going to the Saambar.
And the Rasam, though flavourful, made us crave more of that tang factor. Next, a favourite stew of both Malayalees and Tamilians, Aviyal, graced our leaves. A marriage of vegetables such as carrot, potato, beans and drumstick, all bound by a little curd and seasoned with coconut oil and curry leaves—who knew vegetables could also make one drool? No rules here too; eat it with or without rice.
..the choice is yours.
As we mixed the rice with Moru Curry, a buttermilk-bathed ash gourd curry, and the ultra-soothing Olan, an off-white ash gourd curry with red lobia, Kerala only seemed a few mouthfuls away. But Poppadom, a Kerala-style papad, and banana chips, got full points for the crunch as we crushed them all over the gravy-besieged matta. See? No rules.
The snack which reigned supreme in Malabari’s sadhya was definitely the Sharkara Upperi, a dish made by frying raw plantains, cooking it in jaggery syrup and roasting it in rice flour. Now, Malayalam food is far different from spicy Telangana meals. Malabari’s sadhya was mellow and light on the tummy, with the only element of spice coming from the three Kondattam Mulagus (sun-dried curd chillies) and the green-chilli infused buttermilk.
The non-gravy curries were good but could not hold a candle to the gravies. Yet, if we had to choose, the Vendaka Thoran would easily win because who doesn’t love sinfully fried okra? But if we must rate dishes on colour, ah, that’s easy, wouldn’t you give full marks to a gorgeous maroon Beetroot Pachadi? And speaking of pachadi, the savoury Pineapple Pachadi was an absolute delight, leaving us wanting more. Now, the beauty of sadhya is that there is no order to eat.
Want to eat sweets first? Okay, sure! But there is only one rule: Devour. Oh, we gobbled up the sinfree Ada Pradhaman, a rice kheer with a sauce of cooked coconut milk and jaggery. Oh, sorry dear ada, but Paruppu Payasam, infused with cashews, raisins, ghee and garnished with fried coconut, was delectably unbeatable.
Like Onam, which is celebrated by Malayalees from all religions and walks of life, sadhya is the literal definition of food uniting people. So, if your palate is enticed enough, head to Malabari’s The Kerala Kitchen for some special sadhya!.
