Thanks to a large number of disgruntled sheppard’s occupying the railway tracks around Jaipur in protest at the size of their allocation of ‘reserved’ jobs in the Rajasthan public service my train to Bhopal was cancelled so I decided to take a car in preference to the only other option: a grueling bus journey. My driver and I hit the road at 6am: I was drowsily excited about the prospect of a leisurely car journey through a part of India that was unknown to me; half-an-hour into it I was starting to regret my decision to take a road trip. By the end of the seven hour drive I had vowed to not travel anywhere in India that I can’t access by train or airplane.

The condition of the roads in India in most states is appalling: the bitumen surface a lace work of potholes, the boundaries frayed by decay: worst of all are the corrugated bands of speed-humps, these are unmarked and are therefore invisible to the driver until the vehicle is almost upon them. Luckily the road conditions make it very difficult to drive at more than 50km an hour (at best) so slamming on the brakes in response to looming speed humps results in an annoying jolting of passengers rather than whiplash; still a hundred or so rapid halts of this kind in a day leaves one rattled. There is money available for road development and maintenance but whoever has control of the kitty seems to prefer to channel the allocated funds to benefit themselves and their nearest and dearest. The choice of officials to expand their own private assets in preference to developing public amenities such as roads and civic sensibilities also means there is no money available for education of road users.

Do you remember being taught ‘look right, look left, look right again’ when crossing the road when you were a child? Or something similar ?The inhabitants of Indian villages that highways pass through seem to have no concept of the road as a dangerous place: they allow their children play on it or very close to it; seem to encourage their cattle meander on it and happily stand in the middle of it to chat. I sometimes think that this behavior might be a cock at modernity (although rural Indians have taken just as enthusiastically to other aspects of modern life such as the mobile phone) and as such I have a grudging respect for it, but when the vehicle I am traveling in narrowly misses hitting someone who doesn’t even bother looking anywhere (let alone right-left-right) before stepping out onto the road and into the traffic I am at first relieved and then furious at the stupidity of it.

Drivers are also largely uneducated. Obtaining a drivers licence in India seems to be largely a matter of having a passport size photograph and enough rupees to cover the cost of the official and ‘unofficial’ charges levied to print one out: there appears to be no need to prove that you can actually safely drive a car. Witness here the on-road behavior of my driver: every 10 minutes or so he opened his door —while the car was moving— put his head down and spat out the reside of his chewing tobacco; he also kept in regular contact with family and friends via his mobile phone—while the car was moving—throughout the entire journey; he also failed to notice large stationary vehicles—the drivers of trucks, tractors and buses prefer to just stop on the road rather than pull off to the side— slow moving herd of cows or posses of village women pow-wowing in the middle of the road until we were almost upon them resulting in his slamming on the brakes just inches from contact. This left me to maintain a vigilant eye on the road and be prepared to issue warnings about approaching vehicles/bicycles/pedestrians/cows or to grab hold of the wheel if it came to it. It is great pity that Indian road travel is so torturous as there are two very appealing aspects of being on the road: the majestic and varied scenery and the food.

Highways in India are punctuated at regular intervals with roadside eateries called dhabas which are largely patronized by truck drivers. Thanks in large part to the condition of the road Indian truckies are commonly away from home for 25 days at a stretch (being stopped regularly by the police and various officials who extract unofficial ‘fees and charges’ also adds additional time to the journey). Therefore truck drivers rely on the dhaba to provide them with decent affordable food as this is where they take the majority of their meals. The dhaba has also become the preference for many regular road users and tourists who are willing to brave the often less than salubrious conditions to enjoy a tasty meal or snack (of recent times dhaba owners have come to appreciate that a ‘clean toilet’ will attract increased patronage). The food served in dhabas is largely, but not exclusively, vegetarian. The mainstays are hearty dals and bean dishes accompanied by roti (flat bread made from wholemeal flour) cooked in a tandoor (clay oven), along with steaming hot sweet spiced milk tea (masala chai). Additional menu items will be influenced by the season, the region and the preference of regular customers. The truck driving male customer tends to like his food well-spiced but he also likes it to be fresh and nutritious. I find it ironic that while the roads in India are generally in bad condition the roadside food is excellent whereas in the west the roads are excellent but the food served in roadside eateries is for the most part greasy, tasteless and lacking nutrition. Dhabas also serve up their offerings on stainless plates and in china or glass cups sparing the planet the paper and plastic disposables used in the west .

We stopped twice at dhabas for sustenance on our journey. First stop a breakfast of poha, delicate plump rice ‘flakes’ lightly spiced with black mustard seeds, turmeric, fresh coriander and a hint of green chili and hot jalebi, a crisp pretzel shaped confection soaked in sugar syrup accompanied by steaming ginger infused tea. This is a classic breakfast combination in the region where Gujarat, southern Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh meet, although it is so delicious that it is enjoyed over a much wider area than the one I have delineated. The second stop was for another cup of tea. I was too full from breakfast to eat anything more but in my role as ‘culinary detective’ I poked around amongst the cauldrons of the kitchen, and the plates of the other customers, to discover what was being cooked and who was eating what. Most patrons were eating a thick porridge of spiced yellow lentils, accompanied by slices of crisp white radish ( a winter vegetable in India) and a chutney ground from green chillies and fresh coriander leaves: rotis were continually extracted from the tandoor and hurriedly sent out to be eaten piping hot. If we had lingered any longer in this dhaba I would have succumbed and taken a plate of the dal despite my lack of appetite as it looked so delicious (and now that I am writing this it seems remiss of me not to have done so particularly now that I have sworn off road travel).

In India the word dal is used as a generic shorthand description for a dish of legumes cooked with various spices and flavouring ingredients. These legumes are also called dal but each has its own proper descriptor such as channa ka dal (spilt chickpeas), urad dal, moong ka dal, masoor dal, toorvar dal and kali dal (black dal). These can also be further categorized by the processing they have been subjected to, for example if they are whole, spilt or skinned (or various combinations of these processes): spellings of the names and varieties also differ regionally. Dal is the daily food of the majority of Indians across all classes, castes and regions: it is nutritious; inexpensive; most varieties can be cooked quickly (saving on fuel costs) and it takes flavour well. It can also serve all culinary needs as it can be used as a spice, made into savoury and sweet snacks and desserts and serve as a light soupy type support to a main dish or as substantial meal in itself.

A bowl of good dal is a most excellent dish. It is something that I would chose in preference to many other more exotic or fancy foods. This is my ‘master’ recipe for dal. I have prescribed five different types of dal but if you don’t have all of these just make up the overall measure of dal with what you do have. Using the five different dals gives a variety of textures to the dish: the masoor dal disintegrates quickly working to thicken the dish while the toorvar dal stays firm and gives one  something to bite into. You can also play around with the liquidity of it making it soupy or more porridge like as you prefer. In India this dish of five dals is called panch ratna which means ‘five jewels’: a name that indicates just how valuable dal is in the Indian diet.

Panch ratna

Serves 4

Ingredients

2 tbsp moong ka dal (spilt yellow mung beans)

2 tbsp toorvar dal

2 tbsp chana ka dal (split chick peas)

 2 tbps skinned urad dal

2 tbsp masoor dal (red lentils)

¼ tsp turmeric

 ½ tsp salt

Tempering:

3 tbsp mustard oil or ghee

1 tsp cumin seeds

1 dried red chili, broken in half

1 tsp garlic paste

1 large onion, grated

¼ tsp ground turmeric

½ tsp red chili powder or to taste

1 tsp garam masala (recipe below)

½ tsp salt

1 tomato, skinned and chopped

1 tbsp chopped fresh coriander

squeeze of lemon juice

Method

Soak the lentils for 20 minutes in cold water, then drain. Put the lentils in a saucepan with 2½ cups water, the turmeric and salt, bring to the boil and skim off any scum from the surface. Reduce the heat, cover and cook gently until all the dals are tender (by this time the masoor dal will have completely broken down).

For the tempering heat the oil or ghee in a frying pan, add the cumin seeds and dried chili and let them crackle. Add the onion and garlic paste and cook until it turns golden brown. Stir in the spices and sauté for a minute. Stir in the tomato and cook for a few minutes. Pour this mixture over the lentils, bring to the boil and simmer for 10 minutes. Stir the fresh coriander and lemon juice.

Garam masala

Ingredients: 1 tbsp green cardamom pods 1 brown cardamom pods 1 tsp cumin seeds 1 tsp whole cloves 1 tsp black peppercorns 1 cinnamon stick 2 bay leaves 1/3 of a nutmeg, grated.

Method: Dry roast all the spices except the nutmeg. Grind to a powder and mix in the nutmeg. Store in an airtight container.

India  is often described as ‘mysterious’, typically in relation to some spiritual/esoteric/religious aspect. Personally I find some of the more mundane characteristics of life here far more mysterious than anything to do with gurus, sadhus or saints. So I thought I would write an occasional series on the ‘mysteries’ of secular life in India and in some way relate these to food.

Indians generally do not enjoy being by themselves; even if an individual’s natural inclination is towards solitude the societal pressure is to conform to communalism: being alone is seen and experienced by Indians as something undesirable (the visceral reality of the population also limits the possibility of being alone).

The mobile phone has been a boon to Indians for now one need never experience one minute of solitude: just keep talking; and talk they do*, under all noise conditions —and India is a extremely noisy place. I find it almost impossible to hear someone on the phone unless I am in a quiet room (I recently had my hearing tested and it is perfectly fine so it is not a physiological problem).

Here then is the mystery: despite the Indian ability to hear someone on the other end of a mobile phone, even under industrial strength noise conditions, many people here are oblivious to the sound of an approaching motor vehicle that is mere centimeters away from them and they will step out in front of it. Even if they deign to notice the moving vehicle that I am sitting in, that looks to me like it is about to run them down, they barely flinch. Despite some VERY close encounters with pedestrians I fortunately have never been in a vehicle that has hit someone but I never fail to feel anxious about the possibility, and after the danger has been averted I then seethe with indignation at this seemingly reckless conduct.

I originally thought that this behavior was due to a failure in hearing, hence my opening preamble about the mystery of the Indian hearing ability, but in pondering this conundrum I think I have solved it.  After years of observation I have concluded that anything to do with moving vehicles in India is related solely to sight. It works like this: if you don’t see it, it doesn’t exist; and the only thing you need to see is what is directly in front of you. So the noise of a taxi barreling down upon you is irrelevant to your safety: if you don’t look at it, it can’t hit you.

This led me to conclude that perhaps the Indian government should run a health campaign to improve its citizens eyesight such that the eyeball is able to move beyond the fixed forward position it habitually adapts when encountering anything to do with road usage. The following recipe is my contribution to that campaign should my suggestion ever be taken up (while this is a ‘tongue in cheek’ piece an alarming number of people die on Indian roads every day, not only because of the dreadful driving but also because the roads are in such terrible condition).

*1. Mobile phone companies LOVE India as a market. Most adults in India, regardless of socioeconomic status, now have a mobile phone —I have seen nomadic shepherds carrying them in remote parts of Himachal Pradesh —a conservative estimate would make that a market of 400-500 million phones: kerchin$, kerching$, kerching$.

2. I read a newspaper report recently that said more Indians have mobile phones than have access to a toilet. This fact says much about the appalling failure of government here but on the up side mobile phones can have significant benefits for less advantaged members of society.

Sardines are commonly eaten by coastal fisherfolk in India. They sell the larger fish as these earn them a better price in the market and keep the less financially lucrative small fry such as sardines for their own consumption. Yet it is the sardine that is really packed full of nutrients, such as omega oils which are reportedly beneficial for eyesight. In the traditional Indian Ayuvedic medicine system curry leaves are prescribed as a food that can be used to improve eyesight. Given the prolific use of curry leaves in South Indian cookery you would expect that the people of the south would have perfect vision but the incidents of pedestrian dare devilry are just as high as in the north where the curry leaf is not used so prolifically.  Never the less I am still going to put forward a recipe with curry leaves as it may just be that the it is the combination with sardines will activate the sight improving factor in these. A similar dish, more heavily mined with red chili, can also be found in toddy shops in Kerala: perhaps it helps men to better see their way home after a few rounds of toddy.

Sardine Curry

Serves 6-8

Ingredients

½ tsp turmeric

1 kg sardines

10 black peppercorns

2 tsp coriander seeds

½ tsp fenugreek seeds

2 tbsp vegetable oil

1 medium sized red onion, finely chopped

2 tsp ginger paste

1-2 red chillies roughly chopped or 1 red capsicum finely diced

2 tbsp garlic paste

1 stalk curry leaves

salt to taste

Method

Clean the sardines and sprinkle with the turmeric and salt, mix and set aside.

Dry roast the peppercorns, coriander and fenugreek seeds and grind to a powder.

Heat the 1 tbsp of oil over a medium high heat and when hot add the curry leaves. When these have changed colour mix in the onion and ginger paste. Cook for two minutes and add the red chilli or red pepper. Cook until the onion is translucent and the chilli softened.

Mix the garlic paste with the spice powder and a little water to make a paste. Add this to the onion mix, salt to taste and cook for two minutes.

 Place a large shallow fry pan over a medium high heat with one tbsp of oil. Place a layer of sardines in the pan spread these with some of the onion mix, another layer of sardines and more of the onion mix. Pour over enough water (perhaps with a little white wine or lime/lemon juice mixed in as well) to cover and cook until the sardines are cooked through and the gravy has dried off a bit.

Serve hot with rice or bread.