Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [83]
The large room offers a covered terrace by the front door, a pitched ceiling, red tile floors with coir mats, a king-size bed, and air-conditioning, a convenience we never missed on the breezy Kettuvallom. The best feature is a walled outdoor-garden bathroom with a palm tree in the center, a wide-open shower in one corner, and vines dangling everywhere. More than just an enticing courtyard, it turns out to be a terrific spot for washing and drying laundry, a big plus for us.
Lunch looms as soon as we’re settled in, and the Kerala feasting continues in high gear for the rest of our two-night stay. Shortly after our arrival at the restaurant, the chef, Raju, comes to our table and says, “I’ve heard about your interest in our food. The manager of Brunton Boatyard called to let me know, and the cook on your houseboat stopped by, too, just a little while ago. Most Westerners want to avoid our dishes, afraid they’re too spicy or weird.”
The latter point strikes us as an exaggeration, but we see ample proof of it shortly in two different situations. In the first instance, a large American YPO (Young Presidents’ Organization) group with name tags comes to the breakfast buffet and sticks strictly to boxed cereal, omelets, and white-bread toast; a single member of the troupe tries a dosa, and everyone else looks at him like he’s scaling Mt. Everest. Why would they come this far across the globe to get together in a place where the cuisine repels them?
Another time, a regularly scheduled cooking demo somehow attracts a bunch of guests uninterested in food. They whine rudely throughout the presentation about all the spices used, causing Cheryl to uncharacteristically lose her cool and tell one of the bitchers, a fellow American, “They can probably make you some pabulum, lady, if that’s more to your taste.”
Regarding our lunch, Raju makes an offer we would never refuse. “If you will allow me, I would like to send out some extra samples of my local cooking.”
“Certainly,” Cheryl says excitedly, and he does this again at dinner as well. Over the two meals, the kitchen gives us tastes of four pickles, almost a dozen vegetable preparations, and, for comparison purposes, the same kind of bread made in both northern and southern styles. The pickles include a mango version enlivened with green chile and mustard seeds, but also more unusual takes on the idea, such as a mouth-puckering gooseberry variation and a scrumptious chunky beet rendition. Among the other dishes, the most appealing to us are a sambar with a bold turmeric and cumin taste; a cubed pumpkin with banana, dried garum beans, fried curry leaves, fresh coconut, and dried red chile; a beet and yogurt combo (pachadi) with black mustard seeds so fresh and pungent they taste like horseradish; a tamarind-accented chopped cabbage thoren dotted with more of the seeds and curry leaves; and a knockout ginger-tamarind chutney.
The buffets at breakfast and dinner provide many additional local choices. The curries run the gamut of possibilities, from a meatless sweet-sour green mango version to a “dry” chicken adaptation in which the poultry is fried in coconut oil with curry seasonings until little liquid remains. Chutneys come in tamarind-date, tomato, and coconut–red chile flavors, and desserts vary from a luscious coconut mousse made from young, semijellied coconut, to a less satisfying sweet custard of lentils and cumin. The morning spread features a made-to-order dosa station, where you can request fillings such as ghee (clarified butter) with black pepper, and the evening spread includes a naan cooking extravaganza, in which a staff member forms flat rounds of bread about the size of an old LP album, slaps them onto the inside wall of a blazing-hot clay tandoor