I grew up in Durban, in a little town called La Mercy. Although I am not particularly adept at its practice: Hinduism remains a part of my heritage and my culture.
Today I am writing this post, because I know that my mother (along with a host of other people) is attending a prayer at my aunts house. I call this aunt: Amma. We all call her Amma. She is the oldest aunt I have on my paternal side, and is the matriarch of the extended family I belong to. My mum was at Amma’s house yesterday to help with cutting and preparing all the vegetables that will be cooked today. She is probably there already involved in the rituals once more.
But this is not a post about religion – I will avoid that wild-fire topic for a while. Instead this is a post about a particular food that is associated with Hindu prayers.
This is a post about Vada.
For those of you whose childhood was similar to my own, Vada needs no introduction.
I will simply provide this photograph, and let you enjoy your nostalgia in peace.
For those of you who may have never eaten a Vada, let me attempt to describe it.
Vada is a small disc shaped fried food, about the size of your palm. It is made from a combination of ground chana dhal (something like chick peas) and a variety of spices and herbs.
Its funny, but writing this post, I can close my eyes and smell the particular scent that fills the air as these ingredients are being prepared. The earthiness of chana dhal, the freshness of dhania* and the loud chatter of many women making wonderful things happen in the kitchen. Their voices, knives on chopping boards, sputtering of oil – all these things come together in a kind of chaotic bliss that has come to sound like “home”.
A significantly proficient person, in this case: the unsurpassed Amma, prepares the batter for Vada, and then shapes it into a disc on the palm of her hand. Gently creating a small hole in the centre with a finger-tip. Then, with incredibly dexterity, Amma lowers the Vada into a pot of hot oil on the stove. The Vada immediately begins bubbling away, and somehow her fingers are already far from the dangers of the oil, and preparing the next Vada on her palm. The whole process happens in seconds, and it is magnificent to watch.
Two days before my wedding, my highly skilled squad of Aunties prepared Vada for a prayer. And I had the privilege and pleasure of watching Amma work her magic, and managed to take these pictures.
When it is out of the oil, Vada tastes savoury, slightly spicy and crispy. It tastes like comfort and it tastes like childhood.
There’s no place like home.
*dhania: also known as coriander
Wanderings 