Tamil Nadu restaurants make lousy sambhar,’ said my friend Sree. ‘In Udupi and other parts of Karnataka, the ingredients for the sambhar powder are first roasted before being ground; in Tamil Nadu, and to some extent, in Kerala, the ingredients are ground raw. Also fenugreek is either not added or is too little. Plus, tamarind is also too little in quantity.’
‘Kannadigas don’t know how to make sambhar,’ said my relative in Chennai. ‘They ruin it by adding jaggery.’ Which version is correct? Well, that depends. A woman named Geetha M. (who I met on LinkedIn), told me that they don’t use jaggery. ‘I am a true-blue Mysoorean and even my granny never used jaggery in sambhar. For people with sweet tooths, we used to serve molasses (thick liquid jaggery) with everything. My granny could never eat rice without that. But that’s added on separately and provided in a small feeder type of vessel.’ But if you ask the average Kannadiga, they will swear by the jaggery in their sambhar. Makes it tastes better, they will say. And give reasons for it.
One man wrote to me saying that it had to do with geography. ‘Mean sea level is the difference,’ he said. ‘Chennai is at zero or say two metres above sea level. Bangalore is about 900 metres. Jaggery in sambhar is probably as much needed due to slow fermentation rate of idli batter.’ What does jaggery in sambhar have to do with idli-fermentation, I don’t know. But, at least, it points to the presence of jaggery in this spicy gravy. If you accept that Karnataka puts jaggery in their sambhar, then the question arises: do you like it? I dislike the Kannadiga sambhar with jaggery but that is because I grew up in Chennai where mixing sweet things with sambhar is frowned upon.
Also read: The good, the bad and the idli
Once you grow up that way, you are doomed because you cannot appreciate the sweet–sour combinations that mark Gujarati cuisine or for that matter, certain specific dishes in all cuisines. I abhor pineapple gojju, pineapple pizza and pineapple rasam. To me, this combination dilutes the taste of either and enhances neither. I also dislike mango morkozhambu that is made in Palakkad where sweet-and-sour mangoes are added to the buttermilk gravy. For all these reasons, I stay away from sambhar in all Bangalore restaurants. Give me the Thanjavur, Madurai and Kumbakonam sambhar any day. Chennai restaurants, too, make decent sambhar.
That said, I can appreciate the Kannadiga sentiment with respect to how sambhar is used in Tamil Nadu. As one Kannadiga said, ‘Sambhar is eaten with rice and is not a good combination with dosey. In Tamilian style, sambhar, chutneys and podi, etc. are all dumped on an idli or dosai. You cannot distinguish one taste from another. In Karnataka, dosey and idli with chutney is the authentic combination. No sambhar needed or added.’ Most restaurants in Bangalore do not serve sambhar with the dosey.
Thank God, I say, because I think the Kannadiga sambhar is overrated. A spirited Tamilian who emailed me suggested that this has to do with history. ‘Tamizh is the oldest language, second to Hebrew, which obviously confirms that the Tamizh dynasty ruled and reigned [over] India even before India became colonized with the Aryans and those Indo–Babylonian people who settled up north.
Why did I give you a short history class? To tell you that it’s obvious who took inspiration from the original and then modified it into something ridiculous and obnoxious and has the audacity to even make a comparison and take digs at the original. What a travesty!’ The ‘original’ that he is referring to is Tamil Nadu, with all its dishes, chutneys and sambhars.
The problem in Bangalore is that it is not just chutney or sambhar that the diner has to contend with. Most restaurants add neer palya to certain dishes or offer a sagu which is more like a korma with others. Such things have no place in a breakfast meal. These heavy dishes ought to be reserved for later in the day. There are certain other dishes that are overrated in my view, even though my Kannadiga friends seem to love them.
Also read: Bangalore today is like a shy kid forced to be an extrovert
I will name a few. Gojju avalakki (beaten rice flakes with tamarind and coconut). It is a dish that is served pretty much by itself. This, like a bhel puri, is a combination of tastes, textures and flavours. It is an acquired taste. I haven’t acquired it yet. Khali dosey with chutney. Whenever I go to Mahalakshmi Tiffin Room after a morning of birding, all the true-blue Kannadigas opt for this dish. I will never understand why.
This is a holefilled dosey which has the softness of an idli, and therefore, it manages to be neither. It is like a dosey with an identity complex. But my friends love it. They get a thali that has three of these abominations and rave about how the chutney fills the holes and gives it a better taste. If you need a chutney to fill the gaps in taste, you know you are in trouble. And, thus, my true colours and palate come out. Give me the Kannadiga vade and idli any day. But when it comes to the accompaniments, I’d rather return to Chennai.
This excerpt from Shoba Narayan’s ‘Namma Bangalore’ has been published with permission from Rupa publication.