THE LUNCH PLATE

To make food look tantalising, it’s mostly done through pictures. In hotels or restaurants, just to let you know what the food is, the display will usually be through photos, and rarely will the ingredients be mentioned.

If someone asks you whether the food is good or “How was the food?”, we would most commonly say — “Arumaya iruku.” But to actually convey the emotion of food through writing is a little hard (at least for me, as a newbie in blogging).

For me, it would be a real achievement if I can express the emotion of food through words. If the reader feels like eating or at least starts thinking about cooking the dish after reading my writing, that would be the best reward.

When I first tasted kaya toast in Singapore, it not only served my appetite but also remained as a remarkable flavour that my tongue yearns for even today. I never minded walking 800m to Seletar Mall to spend 3 SGD on it. When I later read its history, I automatically felt emotional—because of the way it became a legacy for its makers, year after year! I won’t go into its history now, but just to say: kaya toast has truly made its mark in Singapore.

So, what is here for me to write about? At times, I’m really proud of the place I belong to—the scenic southern tip of India, Kanyakumari! And to talk about our lunch plate—the most common meal I’ve had right from childhood—it’s always been rice, fish curry, fish fry, and avial. That’s what my lunch plate has been filled with for most of my life back home. I still remember how Appa was hesitant to eat if his plate didn’t have at least one of the above. His iconic sigh—“Cha, meenu illa!” Not just Appa, people from my region are the same. Fish curry isn’t just food—it’s an emotion… everyday and always!

Maybe ‘Good Friday’ would be an exception—with fasting and kanji… But the yearning for that typical lunch plate always remains.

To be honest, as a little girl, I didn’t like it. I would team up with my brother and find ways to throw the food away—sometimes out the window, sometimes into the dustbin, sometimes burying it in the sand. We just couldn’t understand how Appa savoured that meal so much!

But my own yearning for that lunch plate started in my early twenties—during my college days, when I lived in a hostel with hostel food.

Let me first talk about avial. It’s a mix of vegetables (as per our choice—plantain, brinjal, drumstick, cucumber, etc.) cooked together and finally finished with coconut paste and coconut oil. I still remember the time I craved avial so much that tears welled up in my eyes when I finally packed a parcel of rice, fish curry, and avial for my hostel. The smell of cooked drumsticks with grated coconut is addictive. The aroma of coconut oil on top is an even stronger addiction!

Coconut, in fact, is used in almost all our recipes. It’s the main ingredient in fish curry too. Geographically speaking, if you travel northwards from Kanyakumari, the use of coconut becomes less common in everyday cooking (at least from what I’ve learned from my friends from northern districts of Tamil Nadu). But for us, coconut is literally part of our life. Like a family member, a coconut tree can be seen gently swaying in front of almost every house in my hometown. And of course, in our lunch plate too!

Now, about the fish curry. After coconut, salt, sour, and spice—the three S’s—create the ultimate drama. Drama that gives rise to that irresistible aroma. And yes, fish smells heavenly when this magical drama unfolds!

The process is actually simple. Chaalameen, nethili meen, vela meen, paarai meen are the common fishes in our place. Any of them is cut, cleaned, and put into a mud vessel (the iconic meen chatti). Tamarind water (from a lemon-sized ball of tamarind) is added for the required sourness, along with salt. Then a masala paste of turmeric, chilli, coriander, cumin, and pepper ground with coconut forms the base of the curry. All this is mixed in the mud vessel and set to boil. Drumstick and tomato are sometimes added, especially for chaalameen and nethili meen. When the curry reaches the perfect consistency, coconut oil—our hero—is poured in to meet the bubbling curry, along with a handful of curry leaves. And that smell that follows! (I’m taking a deep breath, swallowing my saliva as I write this). That’s it—the cherished smell of every household during lunchtime!

As for fish fry—it’s completely your choice. Some people like adding ginger and garlic to fish too (I personally prefer that for chicken or mutton, not fish). One pro tip: if cumin powder is added to the marinade, the fish won’t stick to the pan while frying, and it will turn out extra crispy!

Appa once harvested chamba rice from our paddy field. And the taste of chamba rice together with fish curry, avial, and fish fry? Absolutely delicious! (Arumaya irukum!)

To me, apart from the religious myths, if “Paarkadalil kadaintha Amudhu” (the nectar churned from the milky ocean) had a taste, it would be this lunch plate of Kanyakumari!

I would be overjoyed if this lunch plate gained recognition like Singapore’s kaya toast. If generations after me still talk about it—that would be the icon, the legacy, the pride of our land—our very own lunch plate…