September 3rd marks the festival of Kail Podh*, in Coorg. The month long period of Kakkada, marking the heaviest of the monsoon rains, ends on the 15th August, and by the first week of September, the laborious task of transplanting paddy for the next rice crop has been done. Then, with more blue skies and less pounding  rain, the scene is set for some well earned revelry.

After a ceremony which involves cleaning and blessing all the agricultural implements used by the household, as well as all the weapons, families sit down to a feast, the chief item on the menu being pandi (pork) curry, and kadambuttu. This was  traditionally the time when hunting for sport, and for the pot, resumed. Given the dwindling wildlife population, this is no longer an option, and quite rightly so.

I have neither tilled nor transplanted a rice field, and the only weapons and agricultural accessories in my home here in Vancouver are kitchen knives – one particularly lethal in its bluntness. And some cow bells. Hmm. But, I can most definitely hunt me some pork for the pot!

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A recipe borrowed from our neighbours on the Konkan coast, chirotis (also known as phenori and pathir peni among other names) are a popular sweet in Coorg, and you’re likely to be served these in any home you go to. A kind of fried puff pastry, these delicately layered whorls draw you relentlessly into eating more than is good for you. They really are that good, and it is difficult to stop at one.

Less common these days, though, is the savoury chiroti, made in the same way, but seasoned with salt and spices. The classic Saraswat cookbook, Rasachandrika, has a recipe for phenori that lists turmeric, cumin and chilli powder among the ingredients.

Perhaps it was a passing fashion, or something that has fallen victim to increasingly health conscious times, but my mother recalls that at the time of her younger sister’s marriage some 46 years ago, baskets of  savoury chirotis were ordered, perhaps from Mangalore, or maybe made at a local store. These were large, about 8″ across, and were served as part of the wedding meal, accompanied by a chicken curry. That encounter impressed her enough that she continued to make this for us over many years.

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On Sunday, a little over a year since our last visit, we headed back to the berry farms in Abbotsford to pick some summer fruit. But first, there was a lunch stop at Lepp Farm Market, where their Corn Festival was in full swing. The place was full of families, many of them from the farms around the valley, out enjoying an idyllic summer Sunday. There was a barbecue, and corn aplenty, fresh, grilled, and popped. And for folks who can’t have enough sweet corn and want to show it, a corn eating contest!  There were lots of fun activities for kids too, including a petting zoo, rocks to climb, and giant tractors to clamber about in.

As tempting as it was to linger and enjoy the fun at Lepp, the fruit was calling. So, off we went to the farm, where Damon Warkentin was waiting to direct us to the blackberries, strawberries and plums that were ready for picking.

There have been some changes since our last visit, the main one being a number of bee boxes on the property, and the flowers on the wild blackberry bushes that lie at the far end on the farm were positively buzzing with activity. With a little luck, there will be a first gathering of blackberry and blueberry blossom honey in a couple of weeks from now.

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While India is in monsoon mode, Vancouver has been sunny side up, lately. We’re making up for a poor start to the summer, with cloudless skies, and temperatures edging up to, and over the 30º C mark. The markets are full of lovely summer fruit – cherries, berries, peaches, plums, all of which we are enjoying thoroughly. But I still have a Hawaii hangover. In this summer heat, I’m craving papayas, mangoes, pineapples – fruit with a touch of the tropical sun. Never mind the mangoes. I think I will have to return to Hawaii, or India, for truly enjoyable ones. But the Hawaii grown papayas and pineapples in stores now have been excellent, and I’m making the best of it.

The commercial cultivation of pineapple in Hawaii began in 1901, with James Dole, the “Pineapple King” as he came to be known, taking an early lead. For much of the last century, Hawaii was the world’s largest producer of fresh and processed pineapple. With rising labour costs, companies have shifted base to places like the Philippines and Costa Rica, but some smaller plantations do remain.

Pineapples are native to Brazil and Paraguay, and may have been initially introduced into Hawaii by the Spanish in the early 16th century. Hawaiians named the pineapple “hala kahiki” meaning “foreign hala”, named for its resemblance to the fruit of the native hala plant (Pandanus tectorius).

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Escaping the Pacific Northwest’s wettest week in June wasn’t really in the plan, that’s just how it happened.

Escaping to beautiful Hawaii, on the other hand, was very much part of the plan – one that spent years in limbo, then erupted in a flurry of activity, not unlike one of those islands’ famous volcanoes.

Flying in to Oahu, armed with lots of recommendations on places of interest and food (of course), from friends who know the place well, we hit the ground..er..walking. From the minute you step off the aircraft, things take on a gentle, island gait. No one’s in a hurry. Even the birds seem more inclined to walk about, rather than make any effort to fly.

My first feeling on the ground was one of déjà vu. Lightly overcast skies, a gentle breeze, frangipani, gulmohur, and rain trees, mynas sauntering about the parking lot..it took me back to arriving in Bangalore airport in the early 1970’s. And again, being greeted by our hotel shuttle’s escort with a warm “Aloha!‘, and a welcoming “lei” flower garland was also a scene so familiar from film, TV, books, even comic books, that it’s taken on a life of its own, in my mind!

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How long does it take to “make” a tradition? A  generation? Two?  More?  I’ll leave others to debate that, and confidently declare baking to be an established  tradition in Coorg!

Of course, we have traditional preparations which are cooked in embers – a form of baking, as it were. But the baking I’m referring to here is the kind which involves the making of cakes, biscuits and the like. The ladies (perhaps some gentlemen too) of Coorg have a great fondness, and a definite talent, for baking. Cakes, meringues, pies, tarts, scones – you name it, they love to bake it! For as long as I can remember, it’s been almost de rigueur for this baking talent to be showcased at family events – engagements, weddings, naming ceremonies, and even at wakes. Some enterprising ladies have found profitable outlets for their talent by supplying delicious homemade chocolate cakes to local stores in Coorg.

In Pune, not long ago, I got to indulge in a host of tasty treats from some of the city’s excellent bakeries, many of which are run by Iranis, who brought their baking traditions with them when they migrated from Persia. Baking and patisserie have woven themselves into the culinary landscape in India through a medley of cultural influences – Persian, Portuguese, French, Dutch, Italian, and, of course, British.

In Coorg, the influence was mainly British, though some of the most outstanding commercially produced baked goods that my grandparents and parents generations enjoyed came in to Coorg from the bakeries of Mangalore, and also from Tellicherry and Kannur (Cannanore) in Kerala, where the influences are more mixed.

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