Of thunder mushrooms and fiddlehead ferns

It’s pouring everywhere. And while deep-fried snacks and chai are the ubiquitous must-haves of the season, there is a plethora of vegetables and herbs that are so hyper-seasonal, they only surface for a couple of weeks during the monsoon.

In villages, I’ve found that the rhythm of the season, especially the rainy season, dictates menus. This is when a host of medicinal plants, tubers and vegetables spring to life and are relished not only for their taste, but also valued for their medicinal properties. I’ve noticed that most of them are wild, not cultivated. There is a deep understanding among local communities that the best way to get these vegetables and roots is by foraging. This, to me, is a form of great respect for nature and how seasons define its bounty.

If mangoes make the summer bearable, then arbi or Colocasia leaves are the hallmark of the monsoon. There are literally hundreds of varieties of this pretty heart-shaped leaf, some of which are all looks and no substance. The ones that are used to make delicious things like pathrade (Konkan) or alu wadi (Gujarat/Maharashtra) are just brimming with goodness.

Move over kale, the humble arbi leaf has twice as much iron. It boosts vitamin C, potassium, beta carotene and has glycosides that calm irritation in the body. And it is super tasty, when rubbed with spices and flours, rolled into pinwheels, steamed and then fried. Laborious? Yes. Worth it? Totally.

Whenever I bite into one of these crunchy, spicy, tangy-sweet rolls, I picture wrinkled hands painstakingly smearing each leaf with batter and rolling it up against the next. It’s one of those dishes generally made by the matriarch of the family because it needs so much expertise, knowledge and yes, patience.

A few weeks into the monsoon, the Colocasia springs to life after being dormant for much of the year. Families in villages, especially the young ones, keep a keen eye out for them so they can be harvested and crisped as soon as possible. While Maharashtrians have them in steamed or fried form, Mangaloreans go a step further and add them to a delicious mutton curry.

According to Ayurveda, seasonal diets are designed to restore the balance in the body and pacify the dosha aggravated during a particular season. During the damp months, the body is prone to diseases of the digestive system, and nature offers her cure in the form of herbs, roots and veggies that fortify the immune system.

In Kerala, the GI-tagged Njavara rice (a massage rice in Ayurveda) is used to make karkidakam kanji. Karkidakam refers to the time of heavy rain, which ironically results in a shortage of fresh vegetables. Made a little differently in each home, it is basically a rice gruel cooked in coconut milk, infused with medicinal herbs and spices like coriander, fenugreek, cumin seeds, dry ginger, cardamom, cloves, caraway and other rarer ingredients found in one’s backyard during the rains.

One of the most exotic-looking wild foods of the season has to be the shevla or dragon stalk yam of the Western Ghats. It is foraged from the jungles in the first two to three weeks of the monsoon. It then has to be harvested carefully to keep the leaf-like structure or spathe in good condition. After being meticulously cleaned with oiled hands, it is cooked with kakad, another specific monsoon vegetable, to remove its itchiness.

Found largely in Maharashtra, shevla is a favourite of the CKP (Chandrasena Kayastha Prabhu) community who cook it with dried prawns, while Maharashtrians make a tangy, peanut amti (dal) with it. You won’t find shevla in supermarkets or even regular markets. But in areas where village ladies still bring in foraged leaves and fruits, a vendor or two may have a basket heaving with it.

Further south, in Karnataka, old-timers still forage for alambe or thunder mushrooms, thus named because they sprout at the start of the rains when thundershowers are abundant. They grow in the thickest forests, amidst decomposing leaves. They rarely grow larger than the size of a lemon and have to be peeled to get to the inner soft white portion which is then cooked into yummy delicacies. As they are bland on their own, they find their way into spicy Konkani curries.

In Goa, another type of mushroom called the olmi or alami is prized for its meaty taste. It grows on termite mounds in the forest and because of its texture, it replaces meat in the famous xacuti-style Goan curry. Then there’s the alien-looking teasel gourd, a small oblong with spikes all over. A wild child of the monsoon, it is stir-fried or spiked with sharp mustard. Relished for its slightly bitter taste, it also has a wide range of health benefits.

In Manipur and Nagaland’s markets, beautiful ginger flowers make an appearance in the rains. These are usually combined with dried fish and the scary super-spicy bhut jolokia chilli into a chutney that is both fragrant and tasty.

In Assam and Uttarakhand, the rains bring with them the fiddlehead fern. In Assamese cuisine, the fern is used in fish curries and elephant yam dishes and also stir-fried with chunky bits of pork fat. In Uttarakhand, the same fern is stir-fried with mustard oil and a local herb called jhakiya.

With so many savoury monsoon treats, can the sweet goodies be far behind? In Konkani kitchens, patholi is made — rice dumplings filled with sweetened coconut, steamed in turmeric leaves (which are also aplenty in the rains). The resulting sweet dish has the faint taste and fragrance of turmeric which makes it very interesting to bite into.

So, look beyond samosas and pakoras this monsoon. In the regional kitchens of friends and neighbours, an exotic, entirely delicious and healthy smorgasbord awaits.

Denise D’Silva is the author of The Beyond Curry Indian Cookbook. Follow her on Instagram @eatwander.repeat