Bharta, bagara and beguni: Myriad forms of the homely brinjal
Years ago, a friend’s wife had a tiff with her new Tamilian neighbour who told her, "You Bengalis put alu (potato) in all your dishes." Though it is true that the British left behind their love for the humble spud in Bengal, she still felt a trifle miffed. So she shot back saying you South Indians have only sambar. Not to be put down, the Tamil lady retorted, but we have so many kinds of sambar -- drumsticks, onion, rice pumpkin and so on. Then she mentioned the different kinds of thorans (sauteed vegetables) and poriyals (fries). Before she could go further, I think they called it a truce.
Reflecting back on that anecdote, it struck me that the popularity of potatoes in the Indian diet is probably overrated. Coming to think of it, I feel that the use of brinjal or eggplant is far more widespread in Indian cuisine and, in fact, it is a much more versatile vegetable in many ways. Who can deny the earthy comfort of baingan bharta? But pause a little and visualise the range of bhartas - from the humble begun poda, char-roasted over coal fire or, now, gas stove in Bengal and Odisha, chokha of Bihar and their rich North Indian cousin with fried onion and tomatoes.
It doesn’t stop there. The Assamese cook the thin long eggplants with potato and gram-flour. The Bengalis make a delicate begun basanti with mustard and yoghurt sauce over fried brinjals and even make a subtle hilsa curry (ilish begun) with it. Then in Awadh they have the majestic badal jaam with tomato sauce and a hung yoghurt topping on lightly fried medallions of brinjals. The Kashmiris have their khatte baingan cooked with tamarind, fennel and asafoetida.
Move southwards via the western coast and you have the bharli vangi - stuffed baby eggplants - that Maharashtrians swoon over. It has other South Indian clones - like the Andhra gutti vankaya kura and Karnataka badanekayi ennegayi, each with a distinct local twist in the method of preparation and spices. The Kannadigas who make a 'bath' out of everything have their vangi bath -- a mixture of rice and brinjals. The Goans make a brinjal pickle which I find tastes close to the balchao. The Hyderabadi bagara baingan, made with small eggplants in a tangy, creamy gravy made with coconut, peanuts, sesame seeds, tamarind and a plethora of spices takes the biryani to a celestial level.
The tale of brinjal does not end in India. Eggplant or aubergine pizzas are a rage among vegans and gluten-free fanatics the world over replacing the sinful cheesy baked aubergine.
As Mediterranean mezze platters are becoming fashionable, my sophisticated friends are offended when I say baba ganoush is the Lebanese version of baingan bharta.
The Chinese have brinjals too. Eggplant in garlic sauce is now a common vegetarian entree in the more evolved ‘Indi-Chinese’ restaurants.
The Thais make a mean eggplant curry with coconut milk, red bell pepper and Thai chillies. The Thais also have a variety of tiny pea-size eggplants used in other curries. They have a slightly bitter taste and burst in the mouth giving the sauce a unique flavour.
It is these multiple strains of eggplants -- from the Thai pea aubergines to the football size Kashi (Varanasi) eggplants, globular to long, oval or balloon-shaped, green, purple or striped -- that makes it such an interesting vegetable, lending itself to myriad forms of cooking. It is neither hard nor fibrous and retains its softness without getting mushy. It easily absorbs flavours of the sauces or curries and also pairs well with other ingredients like cheese and yoghurt. According to food historian KT Achaya, the homely brinjal is probably one of the few vegetables or fruits indigenous to India. It is available round the year making it a common vegetable. However, this demand causes some problems. The fruits are vulnerable to insects. So apart from the controversy surrounding GM (genetically modified) brinjal, native brinjal farmers use a high level of pesticides. Alas, organic brinjal is not easily available or affordable.
But who cares? Ask any Bengali, beguni (brinjal frites, as the French would call it) with tea on a rainy monsoon evening is simply divine.
Read all food columns by Sandip Ghose here
(Sandip Ghose is an author and current affairs commentator. He tweets @SandipGhose.)