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ARBI or ghuyian or pindalu is an inexplicably underrated vegetable. Aloo, its close cousin, though a late entrant in the subcontinent, has upstaged it for centuries. It was not always so. Pindalu finds mention regularly in the list of indispensable ingredients in the Mughal kitchen and menu of shahi dastarkhwans.
Arbi is a versatile veggie — its high starch content makes it an attractive candidate to fashion vegetarian kebab, and sliced thin and served in a dry or sauce like spicy drape, it can create quite a sensation. Small, whole arbi in achari masala tempered with curry patta and kalonji are our personal weakness, others prefer the ajwaini chownk. Arbi ke patte are used less often but make a fantastic starter filled with tangy lentil paste, fried rolled and served in a shape mimicking a fish. Anand Krishnaji, art collector and living encyclopaedia of Benaras, introduced us to this almost forgotten gem the aleekmatsya some years ago. But that is another story dealing with leaves; here we are concerned with the roots. It was a shaakahari neighbour’s wife at Jawaharlal Nehru University who was generous to let us taste, and then consume the proverbial lion’s share of Brindabani arbi prepared for her family — sans onions or garlic — on the day of their fast. What brings the delicious memories back is the thought that the dish can be relished cold with roti or rice on a hot summer afternoon for lunch or served as a refreshingly light main dish for dinner. There is a Rajasthani variant that incorporates a small amount of besan and, of course, a pinch of hing. If you are not strictly vegetarian eschewing garlic, a teaspoonful of garlic paste can be added to enhance the taste. We prefer the unadorned beloved of the denizens of Krishna’s playground. A tempering of zeera with pure ghee never hurts it.
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