Showing posts with label Julie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Julie. Show all posts

Monday, 26 April 2021

V is for Vittels of morels, ferns and rose stems #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the last week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge. 

I hope you'll enjoy being here.

Thank you.

Arti

Number 6 in the list of rules listed in the epilogue of  The Book of Ichigo Ichie is:

Apply mindfulness to your five senses: Train yourself in the art of listening, watching, touching, tasting and smelling to give each moment the richness of human perception.


You may recall my first post, Alex and the Bees, of this year's A to Z Challenge. It described a moment in May 2019 when Alex, Apu and I were sitting in Pradhanji's house in Maunda, the last village of Uttarakhand.

I mentioned in that post that we had been exploring the village and its surrounding forests before we stopped for tea at Pradhanji's house that day.

I was looking for a suitable V to use in the title of this post: verdant, vegetarian, very tasty, when 'vittels' showed up. It's a nonstandard variant of the word 'victuals' meaning food or provisions for human beings. Perfect, I thought and plucked the word out of its archaic, nonstandard usage to use it as the title today.

May 2019: 

As soon as we joined the small group of village-guides on the dirt road outside Guruji's house, our education began. Not a single tree, shrub, leaf, bird, insect we spotted on our walk that morning was left un-named or un-explored.

Wild roses were heavy with pale, pink blooms. Their rebellious vines had carpeted everything in their way. We stopped. Picked a thorny stem. Learnt about the parts that are bitter and the ones that are sweet.   
And then we ate:
Having tasted success and rose sweetness on the first day out, our food foraging plans grew bolder. Alex mentioned morels and wondered if May would be a good time to go morel hunting.

"Of Course!" everyone said. "No harm trying...if weather permits."

So, the next day, fortified with pahadi (mountain) picnic food, Pradhanji, Guruji and Veeru led us deeper and higher in the forests and hills surrounding the village.  Our volunteer guides walked in slippers while the three of us laced up our trekking shoes and tucked our walking sticks in our bag packs. The morning was clear and crisp, not a cloud was visible in the sky.
 
Our first find was fiddle-head ferns or lingda (local name). It's also called German asparagus. It is delicious. 

Recipe: Wash the young stalks, take out the stringy sides, chop them into half inch pieces. Heat some butter/ghee, stir in the lingda for a minute or two. Add salt and eat. Yummy!
The climb up the mountain, covered with deodars and oaks and a thick undergrowth wasn't easy. But, every now and then, food would be spotted, picked, explained and  recipes discussed. Those stops were enough to recharge our lungs.

Pradhanji and Guruji scampered ahead like deer.

Veeru stayed with us: guiding our city feet through forest floors. 'Walk this way, avoid that,' he'd pepper his chatter with helpful instructions. He told us about his dream of making a living as an artist based in the mountains. He  remembered his childhood aloud in the forest--recalling a time when foraging was a way of life, not like today when it was being done to show the visitors a side of their lives they themselves were on the verge of forgetting. 

Pradhanji called from up ahead. We joined him, He showed us the gold he'd gathered. Forest oyster mushrooms are called chhatri or the squeaky sounding chyanoon by the locals.
After this point, I had to tuck my camera under my arm to use both my hands to scramble up the slippery slope where the men were sure they'd find morels. They'd seen some last year, they said, in this part of the slope. It amazes me how their eyes can spot so easily and their memories recall so clearly without maps or a GPS! While someone I live with (not taking any names) can't spot salt in the kitchen cupboard! 

"Aa jao...yahan hain." (Come over, spotted some) called out Pradhanji.
They'll  find better ones growing near this one. And I'll try to use my camera, not the phone.
This was the hardest photo to click. My foot kept slipping. I wouldn't go too far down if  I slipped but getting hurt, twisting an ankle or scraping a knee, would've made the climb down and the trek back to the village pretty onerous.
Notice how all three of us are holding on to branches...photo courtesy: Veeru.
After another half an hour or so, we reached the top. Twigs and dried leaves were collected to roast the steamed cakes (called Sidku) that Julie and her helpful neighbour had prepared and packed for our planned picnic in the forest.

The dough for sidku is prepared with flour mixed with boiled potatoes. Doughnut size dough balls are steamed. They're quite dense. One piece and you don't need to be fed for the rest of the day. Easy food to carry when one is travelling through forests and mountains. We were told these can be filled with poppy seeds, too. Soft sniggers, wicked winks and general hilarity accompanied that piece of extra information. Julie told us that just one of those poopy seed buns was enough to knock you off into happy land for many hours.

The ones we ate that day were prepared simply with potatoes and salt. Sidku was roasted in the fire and eaten with chillies under the shade of tall and wide deodars. Birds were busy singing. Ants were busy working. The six of us munched and absorbed the mountain in silence.

After enough time had passed, we got up and carried our forest loot back to the village. 

Sadly, in their enthusiasm to impress us with their culinary skills, the men used too many spices in the morel dish. Alex, Apu and I would've preferred a simpler preparation. But we thanked them for their hospitality and discussed the 'what if' among the three of us afterwards.

The fiddle head fern or lingda, however, was cooked to perfection: simply and quickly, using ghee, garlic, salt and pepper.

We polished it off with gusto.

You may recall from J is for Julie post that when we had visited the village in October of 2018, Julie had told us she didn't like to cook. It was good to see her feminist ways had found her helpers in the kitchen by the time we went back in May 2019. 

Pradhanji and Julie's  brother-in-law, Kishen, prepared dinner that night.
The fact that this post has more short clips or V for videos makes me smile:) 

Have you ever foraged for food in the wild or outdoors?
Do morels grow where you live?
What's you favourite spring-time vegetable? 

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com 

Monday, 12 April 2021

J is for Julie of Maunda #AtoZChallenge

Dear Readers,

Welcome to the third week of the #Blogging from A to Z  April Challenge 2021. My theme this year is based on the Japanese concept of Ichigo Ichie which means--"What we are experiencing right now will never happen again. And therefore, we must value each moment like a beautiful treasure."

I've put together a collage of such moments which can be seen as chance occurrences, coincidences, pre-destined or random (depending on who you ask) for this month's challenge.

For the 'J' post of this challenge, I'm sharing a snippet from my travel memoir of Maunda, a remote village in Uttarakhand, northern India. The motorable road that goes to Maunda ends there. It goes no further. 

I hope you'll enjoy reading it.

Thank you.

Arti.

Her hazel eyes were the first thing I noticed about her. Her headscarf or ghaatu was the second. The green in her scarf played off the flecks of green in her eyes.

She offered us water. We, our names.

‘Julie.’ She said. My name is Julie.’

‘How come?’ I wanted to ask but didn’t.

Such an unusual, such an English name for a lady who lives in a remote village in the Himalayas, I thought while admiring her gold nose-pin.

My gaze made her touch her nose pin.

“It’s beautiful.” I said.

Her face broke into a smile and she looked towards me, sideways with her golden green eyes, “I used to be very beautiful once. I’m not even that old but my body couldn’t bear children easily, so I look older than I am.” Julie explained her wrinkles to us before we’d had our first cup of tea with the directness and honesty of the mountains.

Julie’s house is built in a typical Garhwali style. Windows wrap around the entire house like a scarf. With views as beautiful as the ones surrounding these villages, it’s good to see men, women and children often sitting by these windows on window sills or wooden benches that are kept right by the windows, watching clouds, goats, raindrops, villagers and the occasional trekker go by. Instead of their heads bent in reverence to phone screens, the humans of Maunda look up, look high, look left and right and their eyes see far beyond the obvious, their smiles stretch to welcome passers-by and a casual ‘Raam, Raam’ or ‘How’s it going?’ echoes from their lips.

By the time we made our way to the bedrooms on the second floor, the welcome party of men from the village had left and evening had arrived, like it does in the mountains, almost too quickly. One minute the sky is blue with day and the next, even before it has had time to blush and kiss the sun goodbye, it dissolves and turns inky. The moon and the stars are always in a rush to peep out of Himalayan skies.

It was getting cold. 

Apu and I grabbed our extra layers and made our way back to the landing, back where Julie had offered us water.

“Aren’t you cold?” Julie called out from her kitchen door.

“Come in. It’s warm in here. Andar aao…come in.” she insisted as she maneuvered to get inside the kitchen while holding a pressure cooker with both hands. She didn't let us help her.  She’d done this a million times and her assured ways turned us into her audience. We watched while she performed. We were in Julie’s kingdom. We were watching her in her seat of power: her kitchen.

“I don’t like to cook, you know.” She confessed almost as soon as the three of us settled down on the kitchen floor. “I keep telling Guruji (her husband) to get me some help. I’m getting old now. When my daughters come to visit, they don’t let me do a thing in the kitchen.”

A few pangs of guilt mixed with the ones from hunger inside me as I looked across to Julie, sitting next to her stove. The brick red wool of her socks ran in cables across her feet, glowing with warmth in her immaculate kitchen lit up by a white tube light.

Julie wrestled the lid of the pressure cooker open and poured out steaming, boiled potatoes into a paraat and started peeling.

Apu and I offered to help. She let us.

*****

Simple, straightforward, ordinary, every day chores such as preparing food can be turned into treasures if we look at them as once in a lifetime moment. When I decided to share the above extract for today's post, that's what struck me. 

Covid-19's fog has somehow made the concept of Ichigo Ichie clearer to me.

Have you been fascinated by someone's eyes, jewellery, clothes while on holiday or otherwise? 
I'd love to hear, if you'd like to share.

This year, I'm participating in #BlogchatterA2Z  powered by theblogchatter.com