by Vani Viswanathan
I don’t remember when I started enjoying my chilli. A distinct memory from when I was a teenager though, is of me biting into a piece of chilli thinking it’s a piece of beans, and rushing to gulp down some water. I used to hate the deceptive chilli pieces then – who needed them in food, anyway? Didn’t we all at home pick them out and place them separately? And cough when it was added to hot oil after the mustard?
Little did I know during those days that I would head to a land where food was bland in preparation, only to be spiced up by a dash of chilli by the side. Most of my initial forays into various Chinese food didn’t involve any chilli by the side, so I took my own time in getting used to the taste. And suddenly, I realised there were cut green chillis soaked in vinegar, kept in every such stall in my campus canteens. Having been the chilli-mistaken-as-beans person before, I shrunk away from these. But egged on by a friend who is herself very fond of chilli – who also promised me these weren’t very spicy – I discovered the magic that these chilli pieces added to my bland food. I remember how my friend and I jumped in happiness when another brought a readymade jar of chilli soaked in vinegar. We added them into every meal we made – even Maggi! In time I also learnt about the ground, minced chilli paste – although I never enjoyed this so much, they were my solace when I was so late for a meal that the counter would only have vinegar with a few orphaned pieces of green chilli.
My next junction in my chilli trail was the chilli padi. Oh. My. God. I always associate this chilli with Thai food, for only after becoming a fan of that did I dare taste these deceptively tiny, devilishly spicy chilli. Packed with seeds potent enough to send you rushing to the bathroom, these spiced up anything. I would delightfully scoop these up from what I thought was soy sauce at the Thai Express, and add them sparingly to my food and grinning at the way it made me want to close my eyes, spice hitting my brain through my nose. I was eventually told that it wasn’t soy sauce that the chilli was soaked in – it was fish sauce – and for the (perhaps annoyingly) strict vegetarian I was, this was too much to handle. I would then confidently ask for cut chilli and be rewarded with a whole pile of them that I wouldn’t even manage to finish half of for a whole meal. I thought these chillies were primarily restricted to south east Asia, but my friend tells me of eating these by the name of ‘oosi molaga’ in Tamil – I haven’t come across these as yet, though!
A very late discovery was chilli oil, served at select Italian restaurants. Made of dried red chillies soaked in olive oil for long, such that the oil itself got spiced up, these made pizzas and breads taste a few notches better.
After moving back to India, the delights of our variously-spiced Indian food made me happy enough to not want to add chilli to everything. Even so, I missed chilli padi the most. One could get vinegar-soaked green chilli and the chilli paste in Chinese restaurants, but nothing came close to the fiendishly spicy chilli padi. I asked for them hopefully at every place that served Thai cuisine, but haven’t been lucky so far. Even the posh Italian restaurants didn’t have chilli oil! One waiter in Chennai helpfully mixed chilli flakes with olive oil for me, and that was quite good, but nothing beats the taste of oil that has absorbed the spice of the red chilli. Imagine my joy when I finally found chilli oil in the Quattro chain of restaurants in Mumbai! Besides the fact that I was having cream of broccoli and cheese soup in that restaurant after months, Quattro sent me into a tizzy for the chilli oil, for its delicious olive mix, guacamole and salsa, and for its to-die-for risotto. And the best part? It’s a completely vegetarian restaurant. I miss it in Delhi.
Delhi, though, has been supportive in its own ways, as I navigate a whole range of street food. I’ve become open to biting into raw chilli or those which have been rubbed with some spice. A few days ago, I walked into my colleague complaining her mouth was on fire because of the chilli paste that came with the momos she had ordered. I had a bite, and God, I was in chilli heaven. It was the best yet I’ve had here, and I gratefully smiled at the man who was selling the momos.
Thank goodness, there’s more chilli to be discovered.
Vani Viswanathan is often lost in her world of books and A R Rahman, churning out lines in her head or humming a song. Her world is one of frivolity, optimism, quietude and general chilled-ness, where there is always place for outbursts of laughter, bouts of silence, chocolate, ice cream and lots of books and endless iTunes playlists from all over the world. She is now a CSR communications consultant, and has been blogging at http://chennaigalwrites.blogspot.com since 2005.
