SpiceLines

Snake worship in Kerala is ancient. According to Hindu legend, Parasurama, a yogi and sixth incarnation of the god Vishnu, threw his axe into the sea and when he raised it, the region now known as Kerala was created. However, the salty soil was barren and people could not live there. Upon the advice of Shiva, destroyer of the world and god of the yogis, Parasurama found a remote jungle glade where he created a place of penance to please Nagaraja, king of the serpents. The snake god and other serpents came and spread their fiery venom throughout Kerala, ridding the land of its salinity, transforming it into a fertile paradise.

Centuries later, that place--Mannarasala Nagaraja Temple in the Alleppy district--has become a pilgrimage site for thousands of snake worshippers. There are said to be over 30,000 images of serpents in the surrounding jungle, and the official website warns devotees not to damage vegetation or harm the nests and eggs of living snakes as “dangers like early death, family disaster, incurable diseases, poverty, insanity, possession by devils etc. will happen inevitably.” But the snakes are also benign, embodying both life and death, good fortune and bad. In Kerala, believers pray daily to snakes for prosperity and good luck. Some, like Rekha and her family, set aside groves in a corner of their property for the worship of serpents.

At Biju's compound, offerings of milk and turmeric are left
daily for the nagas, or serpents who live in the groves nearby.
Turmeric, a warm, gold-hued spice, is also used in cooking
and as a healing salve.

One of the more intriguing byways of snake worship is its association with turmeric. This warm, earthy spice with a slightly bitter taste is widely used in Indian cooking, but it has religious and medicinal properties as well. A ginger relative, it is the rhizome of curcuma longa, a spiky-leaved herbaceous perennial believed to have originated in tropical South Asia. The fresh root, when cut, has an electric yellow-orange hue. Touch it and your fingers will be stained golden. Not surprisingly, the ground spice has long been used to dye clothing, and in cooking, it imparts a golden tint to rice and curries. Brides apply a paste of turmeric to their faces for a golden glow on their wedding day.

In India, turmeric is considered an auspicious spice, perhaps because its active ingredient, curcumin, has extraordinary antiseptic, antibacterial, and anti-inflammatory powers. In some villages, the first food fed to new babies is a mixture of turmeric and coconut milk. At Mannarasala, worshippers offer turmeric to Nagaraja for protection against poisons. This may be based, in part, upon the ancient Ayurvedic practice of using the spice as a purifier. Turmeric is commonly used to heal wounds, cure sore throats, ease stomach distress. Here in the west, it is being tested as a cure for a variety of ills ranging from skin eruptions to Alzheimers, arthritis and colon cancer.

East meets west: Biju's mother greets us with a bowl of turmeric
and sandalwood paste, while her brother and cookbook author
Aliza Greene snap photos.

Earlier today, as we ambled down a quiet lane, we were met by Biju and his extended family. Biju is a friend of Ruta Kahate, a Bay Area cooking teacher and cookbook author, who has brought 22 of us—chefs, food stylists, restauranteurs and one blogger—to the family compound near the town of Aroor, not far from Cochin. The rambling stucco house, with red tiled roof and shady verandahs, is surrounded by a well kempt jungle of jackfruit, cashew and allspice trees. Pepper vines clamber up coconut palm trunks, pink and apricot hibiscus bloom luxuriantly. Pineapple grows here, and so does turmeric.

As we stepped through the open gate, a woman wearing a finely woven creamy cotton sari and heavy gold jewelry, dipped her finger into a silver bowl of turmeric and sandalwood paste. Murmuring a greeting—or was it a blessing?—she placed a round dot or tikka in the middle of my forehead, sanctifying or, perhaps purifying my presence. Camera shutters on both sides clicked. A small boy with big spectacles gave each of us a miniature rose.

An elderly priest officiates at the family's 200 year old temple,
which is dedicated to Ayyappa, a revered South Indian deity.

Later Biju’s wife, Rehka, jasmine blooms cascading from her thickly oiled hair, showed me the family’s 200 year old temple. It is dedicated to Ayyappa, a revered South Indian deity, and an elderly priest officiates at morning and afternoon services. In the grove devoted to snake worship, there are statues of Nagaraja, the serpent king, and Nagini, his queen. Water snakes live in a natural well close by.

We have been invited to share in sadhya, a special occasion multi-course vegetarian feast served on a banana leaf. According to Ammini Ramachandran, author of Grains, Greens and Grated Coconuts, an acclaimed Kerala cookbook, sadhya is the high point of the feast of Onam, a joyous four-day festival held in late summer to celebrate the rice harvest. Everyone helps to cook an elaborate meal which is served at noon. “When all the dishes are ready, a huge banana leaf is spread in front of Onathappan [the fifth incarnation of Vishnu] and the feast is served. After this offering of food, everyone enjoys a sumptuous feast served on fresh green banana leaves.” Each of the approximately 14 dishes has a specific position on the leaf and must be eaten in the proper order.

Our sadhya is being held at the end of February, but the atmosphere is still celebratory. Biju’s family has erected a gaily colored tent, patterned like a bandana, on one side of the house. Beneath it are long tables, an array of traditional cooking vessels including ceremonial bronze urulis, and an assortment of gas fired burners. In an outbuilding close by, a group of women in colorful saris are wiping down the banana leaves we will use as plates.

Rekha shows one of our chefs how to peel and dice pineapple
for pachadi, a spicy-sweet tropical fruit curry that makes up
part of the traditional sadhya feast.

As is the custom, we will help prepare the feast, but first we sip fresh green coconut water through a straw. Then we get to work, peeling, slicing and chopping unfamiliar vegetables such as drumsticks, long, pale green, vitamin-rich pods, and elephant’s foot yam, a root vegetable that can weigh up to 25 pounds.

We don’t get to cook, though. That honor is left to the family cook, fortunately, as most of us wouldn’t have a clue what to do.

Many of the dishes he prepares include turmeric, perhaps as much for its purifying qualities as for its warm, slightly astringent flavor. (The family harvests its own turmeric when the roots are young and tender. ) Although the main ingredients vary, coconut and green chilies, both abundant in Kerala, appear regularly, and the seasonings tend to be remarkably consistent. Many dishes are spiced with a searing, faintly acrid tarka of mustard seeds, curry leaves and.red chilies, sizzled in hot oil and poured over the food at the last moment. Although coconut is the oil of choice, very little is actually used—this is healthy cuisine.

The family's traditional cookware includes this handsome bronze uruli in which
avial, a vegetarian stew typically served at sadhya, is simmering.

Here are six of the 14 or so dishes that will be served. (For a full list and description of the traditional courses, see Wickipedia’s sadyha entry.)

Parippu—a thick stew of green moong dal, split and skinned, roasted in ghee [clarified butter], simmered until soft and flavored with a tarka of cumin, mustard seed and curry leaves sputtered in coconut oil.

Sambar—a savory vegetable stew of drumsticks, okra or lady fingers, potatoes, elephant foot’s yam, brinjal eggplant, onion and tomatoes, cooked in a pressure cooker with turmeric and salt, then seasoned with sour tamarind juice, sambar podi [powdered spice mixture] and asafetida, a fetid spice that adds an oniony flavor to cooked food. The sambar is garnished with mustard seeds, dry red chilies and curry leaves sizzled in oil.

Oolan— Lightly cooked white gourd, yellow pumpkin, pale green eggplants and black eyed peas, simmered in coconut milk, seasoned with curry leaves crackled in coconut oil.

Kaalan—A tropical curry of banana, elephant yam and green chilies, with yoghurt and coconut, seasoned with cumin, mustard seeds, dry red chilies, and curry leaves.

Pachadi—A spicy-sweet tropical fruit curry, with mango, banana, pineapple and grapes, again mixed with yoghurt and coconut, and seasoned with red chilies, mustard seeds and curry leaves sizzled in oil.

Paal ada pradhaman-- A sweet, cardamom scented pudding made of rice flakes simmered in milk and sugar. Ammini Ramachandran describes this as “the ultimate dessert at Kerala weddings.”

A banana leaf with a spoonful of each course is offered to Ganesha, who is wearing
a garland of jasmine blossoms, before the feast is served to the rest of us.

Before we eat, an offering must be made to Ganesha, the beloved elephant-headed god, son of Shiva and remover of obstacles. Spoonfuls of every dish, along with a banana, a mound of rice, and crispy pappadums are arranged on a banana leaf and presented to a statue of the god adorned with a garland of jasmine. Lotus blossoms and candles float in a bowl nearby, and limes are heaped on a platter. Burning incense perfumes the air.

Then we are served. As I study my own banana leaf, trying to identify the ingredients in each spoonful, one of the women stares at me, then laughs: “Eat, eat! Are you are a baby? Do you want me to feed you? Eat!”

And I do, crumbling the pappadums, scooping the rice with my fingers, trying to remember the order in which each bite must be consumed.

At the end, it doesn't really matter. I can’t sort out most of what I’ve eaten, but it was all delicious and my banana leaf is squeaky clean.