The labour of our fruits

Despite their early protestations, my children seem to have grown up into fruit and veg junkies

Not sparing the rod — in a manner of speaking — does seem to have worked. When they were wee and eating solids, I gave the poor unsuspecting creatures whatever seasonal vegetable was to hand. When the elder was a few months old, I would make her khichri with grated vegetables in it and remember the odd combination of orange English carrots and deep green capsicum. Her delicate little fingers would pick out and eat the vegetable shreds not because she enjoyed eating them but because the colours were attractive. As for enjoying any food, that was rare. I’d distract her with a rattle-cum-whistle and quickly shovel in a spoonful of whatever was on her plate and she’d spit it out with some force just as quickly, spraying my neck with little grains of semolina or rice or whatever was the plât du jour .

The smaller one was easy to feed, apart from the troubles in getting my hand to his mouth fast enough. In the time it took to fashion a morsel and lift it to his open, waiting mouth, he, trembling with lust, would strain against my restraining arm and lunge at the plate. Of course this happened with watery chicken curry and soft phulkas. My mother taught me how to make it in the tiny pressure cooker that had been bought for his sister, by sautéing a large piece of chicken and half a potato with a little turmeric and then cooking it till the first whistle. I know it sounds disgusting but he loved it.

In favour of veg

When it came to the veggies… there wasn’t any lust but they had no option. By the time they grew a little and started eating whatever we ate, my bossiness was well established. They could eat meat — or chicken or fish or whatever — if they ate their vegetables. And second helpings were also defined: as large a helping of greens as of meat. They protested, especially the younger one, but I was mean. And now, a couple of decades later, it appears to have worked.

I had a weekend visit from my son, who was home after months, been fed biryani and was asked what he wanted the next day, Assamese pork curry, Hamida’s Yakhni Pathan or what. His first response was “golden brown chicken curry”. Then he asked whether cauliflower was in season. It isn’t, but as we all know, everything is available 30/12, so I decided to make an exception. He cancelled the chicken and asked for gobi aloo and yellow moong masoor ki dal.

Amazing, but I should no longer be surprised. For years now, whatever the menu, he’s wanted salad and vegetables as well. He eats them first, to get them out of the way and be able to concentrate on the rest. But cancelling chicken in favour of veggies…!

Can we have spinach?

My daughter has always — ever since she had the choice — liked her vegetables. When she’s due home, she starts texting with questions: What will I get for lunch when I land? Please can we have spinach? Or tori ? And baingan ? I remember writing about this, after a long trip: when I asked them what they wanted for their first meal back home, she said “A Large Salad, please”. And now that she’s cooking, she’s learning to play with spices, and loves putting together colourful, balanced meals of whole grains and vegetables. The boy doesn’t cook, but eats things he didn’t love as a child but was forced to: yoghurt, fruit and salad.

This theme, of trying to inculcate healthy eating habits in children, popped up strongly in my mind in the last few weeks because I had my lovely teenage niece visit. Just home from boarding school, she’s easygoing and pleasant, happy to read and chat and hug and wake up and shower at a proper hour, unlike my children… but her eating habits are very different. She will not touch a vegetable, cooked or raw. Kakri had just appeared, green and tender, dripping with juice, but she wouldn’t have it. Watermelon so sweet that I suspect foul play, is cut and served on the table. No. Mangoes? No. A mitigating factor is her love of milk and yoghurt, eggs and toast.

But all she wants at mealtimes — or in between — is dosa, paratha, the pav of pav bhaji (no bhaji), cheese toast, Bikaneri bhujia and pizza. Bhindi , peas, cauliflower, spinach, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, any variety of gourds, pumpkin? No, no, no. Now her mother and I are devising a plan to change the regime. Unfortunately, one can’t tempt her with something new, saying “Try it — you might like it”. She won’t try it. Her mother resorts to “hiding” vegetables in dal and kneads them into roti dough. I clearly remember the years of effort, day in and day out, getting the little monsters to eat healthy. I’d say it was worth it. This recipe by Yotam Ottolenghi looks obvious, but I’ve only recently tried it. And I know that they’ll now eat this with a smile.

SPICED CHICKPEA WITH FRESH VEGETABLE SALAD

Serves 4

½ cup dried chickpeas, kabuli chana

2 small cucumbers

2 large tomatoes

1 small red onion, peeled

6 small red radishes, or half a large white one

1 red pepper, seeds and pith removed

2 tbsp coriander leaves and stems, roughly chopped

1 tbsp flat-leaf parsley, picked and roughly chopped

½ cup olive oil

Grated zest of 2 lemons, plus 3 tbsp lemon juice

2 tbsp sherry vinegar (or malt vinegar)

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 tsp sugar

Salt and black pepper

½ tsp ground green cardamom seeds

1 tsp ground cumin

2 tbsp yoghurt (optional)

Soak the chickpeas overnight in a large bowl of cold water. Next day, drain, place in a pressure cooker, add a cup of water and salt, and cook on high heat till full steam is built up (one whistle); lower heat and cook for another 20 minutes. When pressure in cooker naturally reduces, open, take out chickpeas, and drain.

Cut the cucumber, tomato, onion, radish and pepper into 1cm dice, and mix with the coriander and parsley. In a jar or sealable container, put half the olive oil with the lemon juice and zest, vinegar, garlic and sugar, shake and season to taste. Pour the dressing over the salad and toss lightly. Mix the cardamom, cumin and a quarter-teaspoon of salt, and spread on a plate.

Toss the cooked chickpeas in the spice mixture in batches, to coat well. Heat the remaining oil in a frying pan and over medium heat, lightly fry the chickpeas for two to three minutes, gently shaking the pan so they cook evenly and don’t stick. Keep warm. In a shallow salad bowl, place the salad vegetables in a large circle with a slight indent in the middle, and spoon the warm chickpeas in the centre. Drizzle some yoghurt on top if you prefer the salad to be a bit more creamy.

From the once-forbidden joy of eating eggs to the ingratitude of guests, the writer reflects on every association with food. vasundharachauhan9@gmail.com