Geetanjali Krishna: Food for all seasons

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

Yesterday, memories of Ladakh flooded back to me as I opened a packet of sun dried tomatoes that I’d brought from there. I nibbled on one and suddenly found myself transported back to the quaint bazaar of Leh. “I didn’t know Ladakhis dried tomatoes,” I commented when I saw them in an organic food store. “We Ladakhis dry everything,” said the shopkeeper smiling, “from apples and apricots to herbs and yak cheese!”

Later that day, I found myself strolling through the vegetable market. The variety of fresh greens available was wonderful, and I remember wishing I could carry some back with me to Delhi. “They are lovely when they are plucked fresh,” said the friendly old lady selling them, “but we’ve perfected the art of dehydrating these greens so they taste almost as good after being reconstituted!” She said that spinach, mustard and other local leafy vegetables dried to a crisp within days in Ladakh’s rarefied air. “They keep for months in winter,” said the old lady, “to use them, we just dip them in hot water and they become almost good as new!” So much so, I learnt that that most village kitchens prepare spicy stews of mixed greens the same way, whether the greens are fresh or dried.

“This is nothing,” said the old vegetable seller, “we also manage to eat fresh cauliflower, radish, onions, potatoes and other vegetables throughout winter!” She was basking in my obvious admiration for the efficiency with which her people had made peace with the weather in these upper reaches of the Himalayas. I asked how. “We dig deep holes in the ground, pack them with fresh vegetables and cover them up with more mud,” said she. The winter chill, she said, kept them fresh for as long as three months.

For traditional villagers like her, food preservation spells self preservation in their long and hard winter. Not only are the green valleys around the Indus covered in snow so locals can grow no food — their supply from Manali and Srinagar is also cut as the roads become impassable. “Even now, some men of my village take our cattle and yaks to the higher passes where the grass is green. They milk the animals, make and dry cheese, churn butter and collect wool for weaving,” said she.

The other staple of Ladakhi food is Tsampa — roasted barley flour. This chalk-like food is what all Ladakhis carry while trekking, for it provides a slow energy release. It tasted strange, but I could appreciate the sheer convenience of a nutritious powdered food which could be prepared in a

jiffy. Ladakhis have it just in water, sprinkled in soup, even mixed in their salty yak butter gurgur tea. Most Ladakhi meals are very heavy on carbohydrates — I tried Thukpa (thick soup with noodles), Thenthuk (thicker soup with thicker noodles) and some steamed barley flour dumplings.

“Our entire cuisine,” said the old vegetable seller, “is based on the premise that when our land is covered in snow, we’ve got to survive. That’s why even though now food is flown into Leh even in winter, people like us prefer our old staples…they’re healthier, cheaper and better suited to our palates!”

Looking at the shop next door selling instant noodles and American style wafers, she said, “These foods are preserved like ours, but I don’t know whether they’re good or bad. I do know that the oldest man in our village, who says he’s seen at least a hundred winters, says he owes his longevity and health to our local food…and that’s good enough for me!”