Roshila Pillay
food
In Hindu mythology, King Dasaratha greatly desired an heir. As part of the prescribed ceremony, he gave each of his three wives a cake to eat and subsequently the gods generously granted him four sons (one of his wives had twins).
Desserts or sweetmeats, as they’re known in Indian culture are an integral part of many ceremonies. Diwali, Ramadan and other religious festivals would not be the same without the inclusion of burfee, chana magaj and moorkhoo (in the strict sense, a savoury snack). Any happy occasion provides the perfect excuse for some sugar excess.
Growing up as a Christian in an Indian community had infinite advantages; it is custom for those celebrating to deliver a tray of delights to friends and families. I benefited without actually ever having to spend the long days slogging in the kitchen. My role was as a tester of sorts; I’d watch my aunts or Muslim neighbours preparing and in return they would force their desserts upon me and wait for the delighted look in my eyes.
Which is why I am somewhat insulted at most non-Indians’ disbelief when told that dessert is an Indian speciality. While other cultures recognise Indians for their curry skills (and samoosas), dessert is not thought to be a forte.
Indian desserts are colourful, sumptuous, rich and prepared with all the attention to detail Michelangelo must have given to the Sistine Chapel. Cooking and baking skills are passed on from mother to daughter (a sexist bias, but nonetheless an integral part of the culture), akin in importance to a tertiary education. The dessert is the pice de rsistance of a meal. However, with Indian homes now more Westernised and women earning a living, instead of spending the entire day putting together a meal for their families, there is often no time to prepare dessert.
Indian culture, clothing and food exude a richness that extends to the desserts although they are an acquired taste. For many people who have not grown up eating Indian desserts, the sweet, rich taste is too overpowering and the sweetmeat is regretfully relegated to the rubbish bin. My friend Sheree, who always impressed me with her love of curries, particularly outdid herself one day by eating chana magaj. Made from chana flour, ghee (clarified butter), nutmeg, milk, sugar, almonds and a spice called elachi, it is certainly not your average Marie biscuit. Sheree knew she had passed the test when my aunt looked her over approvingly as she muttered exclamations of delight through mouthfuls of chana magaj.
In traditional Indian restaurants the favourite end to a meal is kulfi ice-cream Indian style. Made from milk, sugar, rose water and generous additions of ground almonds and pistachio nuts, kulfi always provides a stylish end to the meal when topped with a few strands of saffron. The striking saffron strands red-orange in colour don’t just hint at the unusual, divine taste that is about to suffuse your taste buds but the colour makes it so la mode. Recently the owner of The Raj in Rivonia brought variation after variation of kulfi to the table, figuratively forcing them upon me not to my displeasure.
Which led me to my new life’s ambition to put Indian desserts on the international dessert menu. While I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be able to perform baking miracles of the calibre that my mother and her mother and all other older Indian women did, I feel I can still contribute by impinging my love for these desserts upon all non-Indians within force-feeding distance.
Oh, and you’ll be interested to know that one of King Dasaratha’s sons was Ramachandra, the seventh incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu, born to destroy the most dangerous and powerful demon king, Ravana. Which goes to show even the gods must be crazy about desserts. The Raj is located at Rivonia Junction, Rivonia Road. Tel: (011) 807 0471