Stuffed Brinjal

My father has never been a man of change, a trait that I seem to have inherited, in spades. He takes the same route to work (refusing to listen to my mom’s suggestions of a shortcut,) he likes the same single-malt scotch, goes to the same Kerala restaurant, orders the same fish curry and fry, and likes to eat the same Palakkad food that his mother used to make. Growing up, this meant that we had a standard set of dishes that would be cooked and one particular way in which it would be cooked, which was a travesty, because we are the quintessential south Indian family: with my dad from Kerala and my mom from Andhra Pradesh, and all of us living in Tamil Nadu. The number of cuisines that we could’ve explored are innumerous!

For the longest time, I assumed that the reason we were having the same food every week was because my mom was unoriginal. Boy, was I wrong; because the first time I remembered that my dad went on a work trip, my mom brought in her A-game. All of a sudden we were having spiced cauliflower stuffed parathas, aromatic vegetable biryani, and tangy pastas for dinner and when my dad got back, we went back to sambhars, rasams, and simple veggie accompaniments. I’ve deduced that this is what fed into my huge disdain for vegetables as a child. 

One of the vegetables my mom would prepare that I avoided like the plague was brinjal, the smaller sub-continental cousin of the eggplant. She’d slice them into wedges, season them with salt and cook them with dried red chillies. The result was an ooey-gooey-seedy accompaniment to rice and sambhar that I didn’t want to touch with a 10-foot pole. The fact that this came from the woman who only in the previous week had made the most delicious mint pulao was utterly confusing for me. Maybe it was just brinjal. It is just not a tasty vegetable . 

As I got older and started cooking on my own, I got over my hatred of vegetables, but could not shake off my prejudices about the brinjal. Interestingly, it was my mother who proved to me that if you actually cook the vegetable right, it’s downright kickass. Last year, when I was living in Bangalore, my mom stayed with me for a week to take a break from her routine and spend some time with me. When I was at work, she went on her adventures around the neighbourhood and made friends with all the shopkeepers and temple florists on my street, telling them to keep an eye out on me after she left. She filled my house with pretty flowering plants that I promptly killed with my black thumb, almost immediately after she left. But my favourite part of her stay was how she’d send me off to work with a hot hot lunch box each day, because sometimes it’s nice to be pampered by your mom.

One of those days, I opened my box to find stuffed brinjal! I sat there staring at my lunch box for a few minutes. I know I left home when I was 17 years old, but I didn’t think my mom would forget my hatred for brinjal. I contemplated exchanging my lunch with my colleague who hadn’t had a home cooked meal in ages and had, as usual, ordered food from outside. When I thought about the effort my mom had put early in the morning, however, I decided I should at least try it out and I’m extremely glad I did! I needed just one juicy bite of the spicy, mint-coriander marinated brinjal for it to blow my mind. By the end of the meal, I’d forgotten where I was and licked the lunch box clean. After work, I ran back home, kissed my mom and asked her to teach me the recipe immediately. 

This recipe here is a rendition of her stuffed brinjal. 

The marinade is a blend of coriander, chilli, ginger, garlic, peanuts, coconut, jaggery, and tamarind. Roast the peanuts and coconut separately before blitzing all the ingredients together with a touch of water. Remember, brinjal like eggplant needs a lot of salt for it to show in the taste, so make the marinade on the edge of ‘too salty’.

Once the marinade is ready, slit the brinjal into four without cutting through the crown, that way it’s still in one piece. Let them rest in salted water for about 10 minutes before stuffing them with the marinade. In the meantime, roast chopped onions in a large pan until they become translucent. Add the stuffed brinjals and carefully toss them about, coating them with oil before adding the chopped tomatoes. Gently mix, add a cup of water and close and cook for 25-30 minutes, until the skin of the brinjal is all wrinkled and a little smooshy. Taste and adjust for salt and that’s it! 

Although my photo shows stuffed brinjal with chapatis, I have to say, the best combination is actually with hot steaming rice and a spoon of ghee. It’ll take you right into the houses of Andhra Pradesh.

AuthorPriyanka SivaramakrishnanDifficultyBeginner