Food adventures: The Avarekai Mela

Plates waiting to be filled.

Plates waiting to be filled.

I recently heard about food festivals in Bangalore that are centred around specific ingredients, and rather than being hosted in some expensive hotel for a couple of days, these festivals are held on the streets of Bangalore for at least a week. Nearly half a year ago, when the Kadalekai (Kannada for Peanut) Mela (Festival) was held, I heard about it only after it happened. In late December, when I heard that the Avarekai Mela was happening, I jumped at the opportunity to experience it.

Vendors selling the Lablab bean by kilos.

Vendors selling the Lablab bean by kilos.

Avarekai – Kannada for the Lablab bean (or the Indian bean, Egyptian bean, Hyacinth bean or Australian pea) – is popular with locals when in season: you’ll see its skin strewn in front of homes across Bangalore. Legend goes that if the skins are stepped on or trampled over on the roads, the food cooked using the bean gets more flavourful. (I don’t know about that part, but I do know that by the end of the season, I’m pretty sick of my mom using it in everything she makes.)

Everyone of these cooks was creating something different with the Avarekai. And this is just half of them.

Everyone of these cooks was creating something different with the Avarekai. And this is just half of them.

That the Lablab bean is an amazingly versatile ingredient is something I discovered after I went for the Avarekai Mela. Held on the street adjacent to Sajjan Rao Circle, by a very enterprising woman who runs a sweets and savouries store on the same road, the Avarekai Mela showcased the many ways in which the little green bean can be used – from Ragi Dosa to Kod Vadai to Payasam. Thousands of people walked up and down the street, trying out the many delicacies on display, getting straight off girdles and frying pans to environment-friendly disposable plates; buying coupons for the food took an awfully long time because the queue was insanely long.

I sampled everything, of course, and didn’t need to eat for the rest of the day. My four most favourite dishes were:

The Nippattu – a sort of fried flat bread-ish snack made with green gram flour, spices, peanuts and in this case, Avarekai. It was crispy through and through, with the Avarekai adding delicious crunch to the mix.

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Deep-fried goodness.

Avarekai Payasam – made with milk, jaggery, fresh ground coconut, cardamoms and Avarekai. It was the first time I tasted the Lablab in a sweet dish and, my goodness, I was amazed. The distinct flavour of cardamom with the slightly nutty Avarekai and earthy tones of the jaggery made for a new, novel, and very memorable taste.

The Avarekai Payasam. Tasted way better than it looked.

The Avarekai Payasam. Tasted way better than it looked.

Avarekai Masala Vada – Crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, another classic dish at the mela.

Kod Vadai – Did you know that Lablab can be ground to a paste and mixed with curd and spices and then rolled into circles and deep fried? Well, now you do. If I ever meet the person who invented it, I will fall at their feet and hail them as the next best thing after the printing press.

Kod Vadai being fried as the lady in the background rolls the dough and shapes it into circles.

Kod Vadai being fried as the lady in the background rolls the dough and shapes it into circles.

Want to get a taste of similar melas yourself? Here’s how:

– Look out for listings/mentions in the local newspapers. Unfortunately, they’re not a big enough event to have a dedicated Facebook page, nor are they as fancy. So newspapers are the only way to know about them.

– When in doubt, Google.

Avarekai Dosa. One of this is lunch enough.

Avarekai Dosa. One of this is lunch enough.

Getting there: Grab an auto/taxi to Sajjan Rao Circle. I wouldn’t recommend driving there – parking is excruciatingly hard to find.

Go if: You like experimenting with food, love food, and are happiest trying out new flavours.

Banaras: Where Food and Faith come together.

The boat ride on the Ganges.

A boat ride on the Ganges.

Think of vivid watercolours fading in and out of each other in different forms and shapes – holy men with painted faces and a headful of braided hair, women in rainbow-coloured sarees and men in white dhotis and kurtas. Think of water – the surface appearance of which is smooth glass – catching the sunlight with a shimmer here and a glitter there, only disturbed by floating yellow marigolds and extinguished diyas; hordes of people lining the ghats, sinking into the shimmering water as if being eaten whole, to wash away their sins and the day’s collective grime, eyes closed in deep devotion. Floral notes from incense sticks mingle with the fragrance of fried foods, steaming kulhad chai and a faint, distant smell of burning, tying the scene together neatly.

That’s Banaras for you – one of the oldest living cities in the world.

I have never, ever, ever seen goats wearing sweaters and tees before, but it's a pretty common sight in UP. I'm guessing it has something to do with winter.

I have never, ever, ever seen goats wearing sweaters and tees before, but it’s a pretty common sight in UP. I’m guessing it has something to do with winter.

One part of Banaras’s story is on its ghats, where people of all religions gather for the evening aarthi or to absolve their misdemeanours and evil. The other is in its streets – the city thrives in its vast network of narrow lanes lined with shops on both sides and bustling thoroughfare in the middle.

Waiting for freebies at a roadside stall.

Waiting for freebies at a roadside stall.

There are stories everywhere you look – the erstwhile royal palaces by the ghats that are now home to regular families with regular lives; ancestral homes that double up as storehouses for the locally-made Banarasi fabrics; and temples that make wishes come true. In fact, there’s a story behind the city’s better-known name too – two rivers, Varuna and Assi, come together at this point, so the city that evolved by its banks got christened ‘Varanasi’. When the Mughal rulers came, they brought the name ‘Banaras’ with them.

Banarasi weaves sunbathing.

Banarasi weaves sunbathing.

Watching the evening aarthi is an experience in itself, but to witness it from a boat on the Ganga is an enchanting experience. The boatsmen drive a hard deal, finally carrying you to a vantage point from where the aarthi can best be experienced. Bit by bit, more boats come closer to each other and people begin to rock restlessly as other boats block their view. When the prayers start and the (good-looking) (Forgive me, God) pundits begin with their bells and prayers, the sounds drift out into the dark night over the gentle lapping of the waves and silence even the most noisy feet jumping across boats like monkeys.

Part of the aarthi involves lifting these Brass heavyweights and rotating them.

Part of the evening aarthi involves lifting these Brass heavyweights and rotating them. (Oh, and that’s one of the pundits.)

The aarthi goes on for a good 45 minutes, after which the people gathered purchase diyas, bind their hopes and dreams and wishes to the burning flame and let them drift off into the vast darkness of the Ganga. And while the prayers go on on one side of the ghat, pyres glow in the darkness on the other as families watch their loved ones turn to ashes.

Watching the aarthi from the river.

Watching the evening aarthi from the river, at the Dasashwamedh Ghat.

A boat ride on the Ganga will reveal that the burning ghats are not too far away. “Kehte hain, yahan ki chita kabhi nahi bujhti”, a local told us, referring to the number of cremations that happen on a daily basis. Although seeing a dead body float by was one of my greatest aversions to visiting Banaras, I didn’t spot a single one – not even at the burning ghats. Death is a profitable business here.

6:30 a.m in the morning, the waters are covered in dense fog. Sometimes, when the fog dissipates in parts, one can watch seagulls travelling with the boats, as the oarsman throws fish food into the water.

6:30 a.m in the morning, the waters are covered in dense fog. Sometimes, when the fog dissipates in parts, one can watch seagulls travelling with the boats, as the oarsmen throws fish food into the water.

History doesn’t just live in Banaras – you can see traces of it in the places around the city too. A trip to Sarnath will acquaint one with the birthplace of Buddha. Sarnath is a quiet town – except for the bustle of tourists, mostly from other Asian countries – but quite unremarkable otherwise, considering it’s home to one of the biggest religious forces in the world. Ramnagar Fort, on the other hand, is a quaint, pretty place with an impressive collection of vintage cars, clocks, and pictures. Unfortunately, little care is taken to maintain the fort and its historic treasures – layers of dust rest on most things. The architecture’s a mix of a couple of styles, of which old-world Kolkata is the most evident. Somehow, this mélange of styles also comes together to create a distinct flavour in the cuisine of Banaras.

At the Ramnagar Fort, pausing to take a picture. The architecture brings Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Devdas to mind.

At the Ramnagar Fort, pausing to take a picture. The architecture brings Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas to mind.

Chaats are a must-try in Banaras. The Tamaatar chaat, unique to the city (at least as far as I know), is made of a thick and spicy tomato gravy topped with tiny fried Bengal-gram bits, coriander, masalas, a tablespoon of Ghee and sugar syrup. It’s like the Fourth of July fireworks in your mouth, with layer after layer of flavours bursting forth. Food as a rule is rich and lip-smackingly good in Banaras, and is best washed-down with a Kulhad chai from one of the road-side stalls.

The cooks using huge ladles to get the piping hot samosas and kachoris from the wok and let the residual oil drip.

The cooks using huge ladles to get the piping hot samosas and kachoris from the wok, and then resting the ladle on the sides to let the excess oil/ghee drain out. The fire is stoked by table fans – saves on manual labour.

In the three days I spent in Banaras – well, two-and-a-half actually because our train was delayed by 10 hours – my senses were on overdrive: there’s so much to taste and experience and absorb, so much to learn about culture and history. And if this is how much I have learned in such a short time, I can’t wait to go back and see how much more I can get to know over a week.

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That’s the city by the ghats of Varuna and Asi.

Getting there: There are direct flights to Banaras from most metros. The alternative is to take a train/bus from Delhi. The train journey is picturesque, but please avoid the Gharib Rath – it is ridiculously late at all times.

Go if: You want to soak in history, wash away your sins, want to experience culture, love stories, love colours, and love food.