I yam what I yam

It's official. When there's yam/suran at the table, anybody under 25 is going to make faces, use words like ‘yuk’ and ‘gross’ or the contemporary equivalent, and give it a wide berth. The uninitiated are going to sulkily avoid the dining table and unimaginatively order take-away. The poor things have simply not opened their minds and tastebuds yet.

"It's what they call an acquired taste," my father says, as he places the last of the platters that he has conjured up, on an already crowded table. "One acquisition I'm not going to work on," my nephew says. "Nameless dread," the niece mutters. We look at them pityingly. They're sticking to their magenta-coloured take-away pav-bhaji and pizzas. "Now that's what I'd call the real nameless dread," I say - pointing to their food. They ignore me and move their plates away protectively.

The door-bell rings and I let in three other aficionados who've been there earlier in the afternoon for a lec-dem by my father, who is what can be called a committed Yam Revivalist. Spread out on the table now, are cutlets, steaks, a curry, a mash, something looking like slices of fried fish……and to go with our drinks, 'fish-fingers' and 'potato-straws'. All made from the ‘lowly’ suran.

And it is literally that….the humble and unassuming yam grows out of sight, underground, and once pulled up, it looks like a modest clod of earth. None of the cheeky red of the tomato, no frills like the cauliflower, no fancy angrezi name like the lady's finger. Ever heard a veggie vendor calling attention to the suran? Never. He'll shout: "Hara-bhara mataaaar…..or beeet…lallam-laaal….or kaaakdi, rass-bhariii. While the suran sits in his basket, quite the unsung hero. It needs no refrigeration, survives in the kitchen with the onions and potatoes, and is always modestly priced.

Well today it's playing on center court. Strutting its stuff.

Drinks poured, I pick up one of the 'fingers', scoop up some dip, and marvel. The texture is perfect…crunchy on the outside and lightly flaky inside. But I'm running ahead with my story….first, this is how you get the suran basically ready for a whole lot of dishes. For the fingers, cutlets, shammis, mash….here's what you do. Buy a nice big chunk of suran, cut off and discard the thick skin, cut it into big blocks, and pressure cook without any water. (Of course there's water at the bottom of the cooker - don't go blowing your safety valve - but the suran is in a separate container - or a separator, as it's called.) You could rub on a little marble-sized ball of tamarind on all the surfaces (of the yam, not the cooker, for godsake) to neutralize any of the itchiness that the suran is sometimes accused of. Give it as much time in the cooker as you would a daal. (Let's not get into how many whistles and all that stuff .)

Now this is your basic material to work with. For the ‘fish’ fingers, mash it and simply add a dash of salt, roll into 3-inch cylinders and coat with bread crumbs if you like, deep fry and serve with anything from chutneys to salsa to tartar sauce. For cutlets, add a few other mashed veggies if you like, or none at all, some ginger-garlic-green chilly paste, minced coriander leaves, some mint if you like, salt to taste, dash of garam masala…and shallow-fry. Suran Shammis are made by cooking a tablespoon of channa daal, a one-inch piece of cinnamon, and two whole red chillies with about 250gms of yam….blend them well together, and form shammi kabab shapes, inserting half a teaspoon of finely chopped onion, green chilly and mint at the center. Shallow fry and serve with a fiery green chilly chutney or even with tomato ketchup.

As for the 'mash' dishes….simply mash the cooked suran well with salt and finely chopped ginger if you like, and garnish with either a southy tadka - hot oil with mustard seeds, hing, kadhi patta, red chillies, and a spoon of urad daal - or dress it with a Bengali hot mustard oil and green chillies. Eat comforting warm swallows of it with chappati or rice.

The other delights on the table: there's the 'steaks'…. the cooked suran is cut into large slices and treated like a joint of meat in a pan…brown it well, throw in garlic, or pepper, or Worcestershire sauce, sauté some other veggies…and you have a sizzler-type dish.
Or just coat those slices with rava/rice flour, chilly powder and turmeric and salt….and shallow fry like you do fish. You simply can't go wrong really. As for a curry….again, your basic cooked blocks of suran are cut into smaller 'botis' and then introduced to your favourite curry recipe. That's it. If you’re using a Gujarati or Maharashtrian masala, do throw in a fist full of boiled peanuts, for a stunning combination.

Going back to basics, the suran being 'allowed' for fasts, there's a wonderful upvaas dish you could make. Grate (large round holes of the grater) the raw yam into hot water, drain in 10 minutes and dry-cook covered on a low flame in a tadka of jeera and green chillies, finished off with a generous sprinkling of peanut powder. Or simply deep fry the gratings, and you've got yourself crunchy finger-food.

Our yam-festival is coming to a contented close. That once overflowing table is now just a lot of empty plates. We're sitting around like satiated pythons. My father looks at his calendar and asks…"Who's free next week…We'll have an arbi festival ….that other versatile little tuber" We quickly consult our diaries. The niece and nephew make exaggerated gagging sounds and gestures. My father looks pityingly at them. As he crunches up the last little golden brown crumbs off one of the platters, he sums it up: "Youth is wasted on the young."

Once your love affair with the yam begins, you can even plant some in your garden, and watch a delightfully pretty vine emerge, spreading its bright green and purple leaves in a generous cascade.