Some of my old favourite bhajiwalas have become favourites because I can walk over to their stalls, gawk at the contents of their baskets, point and say, “What is this?”, and know that they won’t laugh at my ignorance. At least not to my face. They’re stoic, but generous with information. Maybe it’s because they figured out very early in our association that if I don’t recognise something immediately, it’s pretty much guaranteed I will buy it.
Over the last month, while hunting for white corn, I found there’s a lot to gawk at during this time of the year (the end of the monsoon). Last week, I went shopping with two chefs and a fellow food writer, and all of us came back with large bags full of stuff that we did not have on our shopping lists when we started out. Since our bhaji market visit, we’ve been swapping notes on our experiments with bhindi as long as our forearms, cucumbers that are obscenely large (I’d like to say that some fashion models have thighs that are thinner), and limes that you can make sharbat from without adding sugar.
The market is full of weird and wonderful things at the moment, some are here for a few weeks, some for a few months. They’re all at their prime right now, so this is an excellent time to take them home and try something new. Indeed, some are weirder than others, but all of them are truly wonderful.
Ambada
Bhajiwalas pronounce the name of this fruit like ‘Lambada’ but without the L. These green, olive-shaped fruits, also known as Indian hog plum, have very large fibrous pits, a raw mango aroma, a slightly astringent feel on the palate, and a mouth-puckering tartness that barely softens as they ripen. I was introduced to them only three weeks ago in Colombo thanks to my friend and fellow food writer Vidya Balachander, who recommended the kottu roti at Hotel de Pilawoos, a chain offering cheap and quickly-prepared local grub. There, on a poster were photographs of glasses full of wood apple juice, soursop juice, nelli (amla) juice and ambarella juice, among two dozen others. I picked ambarella, which, I later found out, is called ambada in the Konkan. Its juice begs to be put into delicious cocktails; it’s tart and aromatic, but with a pleasing palate-cleansing finish.
Later that night in Colombo, I had The Green Hornet, a drink of ambarella and arrack, at a bar called The Loft Lounge, and it was exactly as refreshing and delicious as I had imagined it would be. That day ambarella became one of the many reasons to come back to Sri Lanka. I heard there that ambarella is used as a souring agent along the Konkan coast, but that it is not as common as it is in Sri Lanka, and not as popular as kokam is in India. I did not expect to find the fruit in Mumbai’s markets, much less a few weeks after I had gotten instantly addicted to it. Our local variety is a close cousin of the Sri Lankan one, very similar in taste, but more fibrous and with a larger seed and not as much flesh.
How to use it: As with most sour, firm fruits, ambada is great for pickling and making chutneys, or tossing into a kadhi for some tartness. The fibrousness can be conquered easily, as in this recipe for gojju, a vegetable dish from Karnataka. (Don’t confuse the ambada fruit with ambada bhaji – the latter is sour sorrel leaves, or khatta bhaji.)
Available until: The third week of September.
Arbi ka patta/Colocasia leaves
The purple-edged, purple-veined and purple-stemmed arbi ka patta or colocasia leaves are available through the year to make Gujarati patra, Parsi patrel, and Konkani patrode – all variations of a spicy roulade made with the massive leathery leaves that give the elephant’s-ear plant its name. Over the next month, look for the ones which have pale green edges and veins, and just a touch of purple on the stem. These leaves have a suede finish and are much more tender, and more suited for stir fries and stews.
How to use them: This is a good recipe to start with because it also uses raw peanuts – the best, most tender, juicy, and sweet of which are in season right now.
Available until: The third week of September.
Bada bhindi
In 2012, a UAE resident wondered if a bhindi growing in his garden might find a place in the Guinness Book of World Records. It was definitely longer than 13 inches, the size of the record holder at the time. In Mumbai’s markets these days, we get bada bhindi, or the pale green, slightly firmer, and slightly-less mucilaginous variety of bhindi, which can be of similar lengths.
How to use it: Bada bhindi is fantastic for stuffing or pickling.
Available until: The first week of September.
Bada kakdi
These yellow and green giant kadkis aren’t fat, round Madras or Mangalore cucumbers. From the outside, they look like bottle gourds (cucumbers and gourds belong to the same family), but they are denser and have more bite to them, with a more concentrated flavour. They also have fewer but larger seeds.
How to use it: I bought an 18-inch long, three-inch wide cucumber, which was enough to prepare a cucumber salad for a family of four and still have some left to make a cucumber dosa for each of them. Next I plan to make cucumber idlis and steam them in turmeric leaves (see below).
Available until: The first week of September.
Bhople ka phool/Pumpkin flowers
I put up a picture of a bunch of these on Instagram and Facebook and I got messages from friends from sundry communities. An Italian expat banker suggested that I stuff them with mozzarella and anchovies and batter fry them, a few Bengalis said that they fry them after coating them in a pakoda batter containing nigella seeds, and someone else sent me a photo on Instagram of their blossom fritters flecked with sesame seeds. The flowers taste slightly sweet and smell of pumpkin and pumpkin seeds.
How to use them: A fresh bunch could be tossed into a salad, or made into a thoran.
Available until: Whenever it stops raining.
Haldi ka patta/Turmeric leaves
Long, dark green and sturdy, turmeric leaves smell and taste fantastic. They’re spicy, astringent, fragrant, slightly bitter and anything wrapped in them absorbs their aroma.
How to use them: You could steam or bake fish in them. They’re also used to make patoello, a traditional sweet made in Goan homes for the feast of Our Lady of Assumption, which was on August 15. See recipes here and like here.
Available until: January.
Kantola
A staple for some, and an oddity for others, kantola is known as kankoda in Gujarati, phagali in Konkani, kakrol in Bengali. A spiny gourd, it has a slight, entirely pleasant bitterness that’s milder than that of karela.
How to use it: While it can be cooked in every way that karela is, my favourite kantola dish is a version of this rava-coated fried snack.
Available until: The end of September.
Sharbati limbu
While looking (in vain) for the scientific name for this thick, rough-skinned citrus fruit, I came across a couple of old documents on the internet. One of them was an inventory of plants received by the United States Department of Agriculture in 1953. It says that sharbati limbu was received from Ganeshkhind Fruit Experiment Station in Bombay State on February 3, 1954. Sharbati limbu is described as coming from a “small medium-sized spreading tree, thorny, with small loose-skinned sour fruits”. Indeed, compared to the tight, glossy skin of our yellow limes, the skin of sharbati limbu could be described as ‘loose’. At the market, I asked the bhajiwala to cut one open. I bit into it, tipped the juice into my mouth and ate part of the flesh. This limbu has a much softer acidity than that of yellow limes, and has a natural sweetness. It’s like drinking concentrated limeade, but straight from a lime, no sugar necessary. The flesh and juice are much darker in colour, more cool orange than light lemon. Michael Snyder, another friend and fellow food writer who was shopping with me that day, ate one as well and said that they remind him of Mexican limes, and that they would make very good margaritas.
How to use it: I’m planning to put segments of the fruit in a salad, make a syrup from the zest for dessert, use the limes for pickles and pie, and sprinkle the juice on kachumber, and in green chutney.
Available until: The end of September.