Men Can Cook: Chitranna

The UN recently declared that a mother’s love towards her children is directly proportional to the tastiness of the chitranna she makes. Which doesn’t say much because the quality of chitranna is measured on a binary scale- it’s either wonderful or aweful. Most people I know who hate chitranna are also the same ones who are unable to appreciate the finer nuances in life. Unprofessional humans.

Chitranna happens to be one of the go to breakfasts of Indian mothers because of its ease in making, simplicity of ingredients and it being a great way to get rid of last nights’ leftover rice- your share of rice- which you didn’t eat because you had gobi fried rice at the corner shop 12 minutes before dinner time although our mother warned you not to. This type of chitranna is a punishment of sorts- bland, colourless, and even the bloody kadle beeja tastes bitter.

Then there’s the chitranna your mother makes for special occasions, especially when you have guests over. The one with cashews and extra kadle beeja and coconut, which tastes like a coloured coconut rice instead of boring old chitranna. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, then I pity you. Because you’re adopted. So sad. Two minutes’ silence for you.

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Get a handful of grated coconut on a plate and put it right in the middle of the fucking kitchen counter. The more obstructive it is to your work flow, the better. There have been times when I’ve forgotten this until I was just about sticking the last spoon full of chitranna into my mouth, which would invariable be salty and wet because of all the tears. If there isn’t any grated coconut in the house, then break a coconut in half, and grate the living shit out of those kernels until you have a big bowl full of pearly, stingy coconut grates.

The most important ingredient for chitranna is the onion. Many people might disagree with me, and that’s fine, just like their chitranna, which is just fine. We’re trying to make the festival day chitranna, so get a big juicy onion and chop it up length wise, or dice it into cubes, whatever you like. Don’t go all Marco Pierre White on it and pulverize it. The onions should have a bite; they should have a strong independent demeanour of their own in this dish. Onionism, if you may.

Lemon.

A handful of ground nuts and may be a few cashews. Cashes are only mandatory if you are using chitranna as a bribe- your path to a new bike, car, that expensive jeans, third affair and what have you, not. Or maybe you had a shitty day and don’t have wine lying around the house. Whatever, man, do what pleases you.

For tempering- a tea spoon of mustard seeds, a tea spoon of cumin, a sprig of curry leaves, some channa dal and some urad dal.

Optional- coriander leaves.

Fire up the stove, and add a generous amount of oil in a wok. When I mean generous, I mean The-USA-wants-to-invade-your-kitchen generous. When the oil is hot, drop them ground nuts and fry them up for a bit until they slightly change colour. Add those tempering ingredients, let them fry for a bit and add the curry leaves. Once the curry leaves stop sputtering, add the chopped onions, salt to taste and some turmeric to get that sweet lime green colour.

Once the onions are cooked through, turn off the stove, add the grated coconut and let the mix sit through for a bit.

While it cools, grab a vessel big enough to comfortably stir rice in with the mix, and a large spoon. Add the rice in the vessel and spread it out evenly. Then, add the oily mix to the rice and, well, mix it well till the boring old white colour rice turns into a nice shade of green.

Chop the lemon, remove seeds (V.V.V Important) and squeeze the sour, tart juices into the rice. Throw away the lemon peel. Mix the rice thoroughly again.

Enjoy.