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SHEETAL BHATT’s food forays can be described as multi-faceted. She’s a culinary historian, the founder and creative force behind the food blog The Route to Roots, and is also widely regarded as one of the custodians of Gujarati culinary heritage for her efforts to document it while bringing it to the attention of new generations of foodies.
Surprisingly, Bhatt says she didn’t really delve too much into learning nuanced cooking styles, even after her marriage brought her into contact with a different kind of cuisine. “I come from a Rajput Gujarati community whose food is rustic and robust — something that used to be perfect for women who spent their entire day in khet khaliyan,” she says. If in her maternal home, she had been used to thicker bhakris, in her marital home, rotis had to be warm and thin. It was when her daughters — twins — became old enough to develop a liking for certain dishes that Bhatt’s own pursuit of perfection in the traditional cooking styles of communities other than her own took flight.
It was 2005. “We were in Malaysia at the time, and we’d get roti canai and dhal curry from the food stores. And the girls had a liking for the dhal,” Bhatt reminisces. But then the family moved back to India and Bhatt couldn’t replicate the recipe. “They (Malaysians) added a curry masala that I just couldn’t make the same way,” she rues. Then, the twins gradually began to prefer their paternal grandmother’s Meethi Dal preparation. Bhatt now had an impetus: “That was when I finally began learning how to cook the dal or even roz ka khana for that matter.” she says.
Meethi Dal is now very much part of Bhatt’s weekly meals, and she makes it 3-4 times at least. Another entrant in her dal repertoire is the Khatti-Meethi Dal based on her great-grandmother-in-law’s recipe. This dish also made her take greater interest in traditional Gujarati cuisine, which she also began writing about on The Route to Roots. Meanwhile, the (Meethi) dal prepared in her marital home intrigued her with the variety of influences it seemed to incorporate.
Bhatt’s father-in-law had lived in what was then the Bombay Presidency, and his family’s food incorporated the influences of their Maharashtrian neighbours. Like the Marathi dish of varan-bhaat-tup, the Gujarati household that Bhatt’s father-in-law grew up in had mori-dal-bhaat.
“There was a crossover of two local cuisines at home. For instance, people of both Gujarat and Maharashtra are passionate about cooking, and dishes like aamras evoke a lot of respect and love,” muses Bhatt. “My great-grandfather-in-law, who lived on Lamington Road in those days, brought together the ingredients for the dal — like yam, pumpkin, kokum flowers and dried dates (kharik tudka). Our family loved my great-grandmother-in-law’s dal. It was also served as part of community feasts — their dal was that famous and everybody looked forward to relishing it. It had the perfect consistency: not too runny, not too thick. And at home, it was revered when cooked.”
While the story of her family’s dal is illuminating of the role of geography, history and culture in making this Indian staple a literal melting pot of influences, Bhatt can point to several Gujarati phrases that underscore the importance of well-cooked, flavoursome dal in Indian homes. For instance, ‘jeni dal bagdi, teno divas bagadyo’ which translates into, ‘if your dal is spoiled, your day is spoiled,’ or, ‘aa dal nathi ukalti, ma nu haiyu ukele che,’ meaning, ‘it’s not a dal that’s being boiled but a mother’s heart’. Here’s another: ‘Sabadka vagar dhabadko’ — meaning ‘if your dal cannot be sipped, it’s a failure’. “If you think of it, why do Indians value a good dal at home?” Bhatt asks, before providing the answer herself: “Because they often feel, why do we even earn money if not for a good dal?”
