I used to look forward to winter as a child growing up in Hyderabad, waiting to escape the city’s unrelenting heat through the year. Winter meant stories of seasonal food, mostly of avarakkai (Hyacinth beans/ broad beans), not available in Hyderabad around the year.
The meals at home, in our nuclear family, were always simple, fuss-free, vegetarian fare. My mother focused on eating local and seasonal — a guiding principle at home. As I write this, I wonder how this is the exact food concept that has taken over the world right now — of eating seasonal foods from the region.
Family affair
Come winter, the seasonal avarakkai would make its much-awaited appearance. My mom would regale us with stories of how shelling the beans and then removing the outer skin was once a family affair. She also spoke of how the best beans were the ones that had the characteristic sogadu — aroma of the beans harvested at the right time — and how the bean made its way into almost everything from idli, dosa, upma, rice, rasam and sambhar.
One winter my father returned from Bangalore with a bag full of avarakkai. The distinctive smell of the beans in a cloth bag is something I can never forget. Excited, my parents, sister and I sat together to shell the beans; I kept looking at my fingers change colour from the oily texture of the bean pod. My mother explained that sogadu is also when the bean is at its best size and flavour and is usually harvested after a spell of rainfall. The next few days were all about avarakkai — from avarakkai saaru (rasam), a recipe that she learnt from her mother, to avarakkai uppitu (upma) and akki roti (rice rotis).
However, my favourite was the hittaku avarebele huli (sambhar made with peeled beans). When I first tasted it, I knew it was unlike the regular sambhar we had at home. This one was made using the beans cooked in ground masala and not the traditional dal.
Sweet and fried
Years later when we shifted to Bengaluru, winters meant easy access to the much-loved avarakkai as well as seeing it in many other forms including in a halwa and as a fried savoury snack. At my first newspaper job in Bengaluru, the office canteen served it with poori and it tasted exactly like what we used to eat at home.
Winter is also when the avarakkai mela takes place at Bengaluru’s Sajjan Rao Circle, an annual affair that sees crowds throng to sample myriad interpretations of the bean. After visiting several editions of the festival, I can say that there is something new to look forward to every year.
The bean can make its appearance even in your pani puri and gulab jamun. The versatility of this bean and the way it blends into so many dishes is really like no other. People also believe that the name of the city was inspired by the bean as it was called Bendakala Ooru (the city of baked beans) that eventually became Bengaluru. Avarakkai, for me, is a food memory that I cherish and hold close to my heart.
Hittaku Avarebele Huli
Ingredients
200 grams avarakkai without skin
2 medium onion
2 medium tomatoes
A few sprigs fresh coriander
100 grams dry coconut
4-5 dry red chillies
100 grams fresh coconut
2-3 green chillies
1 stick cinnamon
A few cloves garlic (optional)
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin seeds
A pinch asafoetida
1 tsp turmeric
2 sprigs curry leaves
1 tbsp oil or ghee
1 tbsp sambhar powder
1 tbsp rasam powder
50 ml tamarind juice
Salt to taste
Method
1. Fry onions, dry coconut, cinnamon, garlic and red chillies and set aside. Once cool, grind them with fresh coconut, green chillies, fresh coriander, garlic and tomato into a coarse paste.
2. Heat oil in a pan and add mustard seeds, cumin seeds, curry leaves and asafoetida. Once the mustard seeds sputter, add the ground masala and fry for a few minutes.
3. Add the washed avarakkai beans and fry for some time. Add a little water, salt, turmeric, sambhar and rasam powder. Keep adding water in small quantities as the dish starts to thicken. Cover and allow the avarakkai to cook in the ground masala.
4. Add tamarind juice and bring to a boil.
5. Serve hot. This can be had with rice, chappati or poori the way you like it — thick or watery.
The freelance writer and photographer from Bengaluru seeks offbeat experiences through travel.