Description

Today, I took a class at Mansi's South Indian Kitchen. I was glad I did. 

First things first: know that Navi Mumbai is far from Mumbai proper. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again - they’re practically giving away cab rides here. But don’t let the low fare fool you; it’s a three-hour round trip. So, if you’re pressed for time or short on patience, maybe look for something closer.

However, if you're up for it - do it. Seriously. It’ll be the time of your life.

The experience started at the gate. Sun, Mansi's husband greeted me and led me to their flat. On the way, he told me about how he and Mansi met - online, of course - and how they’re both artists. He even showed me some photos of Mansi’s work. I was impressed; there was one charcoal piece of an old man that stood out. There's something about the weathered face of an elderly Indian man that really hits - deeply human and soulful.

When I stepped inside, Mansi greeted me smiling. I was asked to leave my shoes at the door. Naturally, I complied - when in Bombay, you leave your shoes at the door.

Sun gestured toward the living room and told me to make myself comfortable. I already was comfortable, but I sat anyway - It made him happy. So, I sank into the sofa and settled in.

He asked about my impression of India so far. I told him the most striking thing I’d discovered was there’s nothing to fear here.

He looked at me, puzzled.

I explained that before I came, I’d been warned about everything - robberies, scams, murders, danger. I was afraid to leave my hotel room at first.  But what I’d found instead was warmth, generosity, love, and a rhythm that made sense once you embraced it.

He seemed pleased. We all love our birthplaces - even if we don’t love the politics.

Then, satisfied, he said, “It’s time for the lesson.” Mansi showed me to the kitchen. The first question I asked was the same one I’d had at every Indian Airbnb: "Where's the oven?"

Mansi confidently pointed to the microwave.

"Wait a minute," I replied. "that's a microwave."

"Where's the Tandoori oven?" I insisted.

She shrugged. The truth is in most Indian homes, an oven just isn't part of the set-up. As it turns out, who needs an oven? We did all our cooking on a three-burner gas stove.

The first dish we made was dal, a lentil soup that’s a staple in Indian households. It’s simple, yet tasty - just lentils, salt, turmeric (which Mansi reminded me is a natural antiseptic), onions, and tomatoes. Everything goes into the pressure cooker. After four whistles, it’s ready for the finishing touch - a paste of mustard seeds and curry leaves. And from what Mansi told me, those two ingredients go in every South Indian dish.

While we were chopping onions, Mansi sliced her finger pretty bad. She just smothered it in turmeric and carried on like nothing had happened. 

Next, we started on the chutney. Peanuts and lentils - the binding agent - went straight into a pan of hot oil and cooked until gently browned. We added two teaspoons of salt and some powdered coconut for flavor. Lentils were tossed in as a binding agent. The whole mixture went into the blender, where it was blended into a smooth paste with water. 

The potato hash filling came next. It was made from boiled potatoes, onions, and tomatoes, all cooked down in oil until soft. Of course, it began with the usual suspects - mustard seeds and curry leaves

The final component of the meal - the dosa is essentially a thin crispy rice tortilla. We made it from pre-prepared batter, which combines rice and - you guessed it - lentils, the ultimate binder. They are fermented overnight and ground down with water, then ladled out onto a hot griddle and swirled - clockwise until paper thin. I have no idea what would have happened if you went counterclockwise. Mansi was so emphatic about the clockwise motion that I didn't dare try.  

The whole meal came together beautifully - a potato taco with peanut and coconut salsa and a side of lentil soup. 

Photos