Delightful Healthy Recipes

Shrirang Khatavkar scours the market with a hawk's eye. “I'm sure this has to do with the erratic rains. Otherwise turmeric leaves are quite common during this season,” says the 40-year-old Thane resident, an avid cook and self-confessed foodie. He's looking for ingredients to cook the traditional dish paatole. “Not many people have the time to cook traditional recipes anymore but some foods are still a must-eat in this season,” he says.
Khatavkar points out that even most hardcore non-vegetarian Maharashtrians eat only vegetarian meals in the July-August period of Shravan. “There's a sheer abundance of vegetables after the summer, some of which are only seen in the market during this season,” he says. “Allu wadi, which is now made all through the year, is essentially a Shravan delicacy, as is the Alluvacha phath-phatha.” Made from leaves of the colocasia, which grows around ponds, marshes and paddy fields with lots of rain water run-offs, Khatavkar insists that these dishes never taste as good as they do during Shravan. His wife, Meera, adds that raw mango pickle is a condiment they look forward to, especially because during Shravan, food is cooked without ginger and garlic. “At the end of the summer, the pickle is just about marinated. The bite in the pickle spices up the food, and I don't miss ginger and garlic as much,” she says.
In another part of the city, Mehtab Syed, 32, and her mother-in-law Noor, 58, make arrangements for the sehri (the pre-dawn Ramzan meal). “Since we are a joint family and everyone has their own favourites, we try to make sure that everybody has at least something they like,” says the Mahim resident. “My children like mince cutlets. My husband and brother-in-law insist on different kinds of bhajiyas, which I keep telling them to avoid.” She adds that the most important food during the fast are dates. “Dates help restore the blood sugar which falls due to fasting. No wonder it is recommended in our holy texts,” says the home-science graduate from Nirmala Niketan. “Apart from sugar, they are a rich source of iron which can keep you going from sehri to iftar.” Mehtab likes to eat chopped dates, almonds, yogurt mixed with other fresh fruit.
Much like the Khatavkars and Syeds, Jayaben Barot too adopts a different diet during this season. On one day during the monsoon, marked as Sheetala Saatam, the family is not allowed to light the kitchen fire. “So we're only allowed to eat cold leftovers,” says the 69-year-old Breach Candy resident. “My sons go out for hot chai and meals, but as far as the home is concerned, I am very strict about this rule.” Her mother-in-law had told her this was necessary so as to not incur the wrath of the Goddess Shitala. But Jayaben has a more pragmatic view of things. “In the monsoons, there is so much work around the house, and everyone feels like resting a bit. If tradition has created one window for women not to be stuck in the kitchen for a day, why not grab the opportunity?”
Across the sub-continent, many regions change their diet regimen around monsoons. Religion, tradition and seasonal availability of foods may have dictated these diet regimen changes, but these come with their own health benefits, says Mercy Mathew, nutritionist and lecturer at Dadar's Institute of Hotel Management, Catering Technology and Applied Nutrition. “During this season, metabolism is poor and digestion sluggish. The likelihood of acidity is higher with overeating. Avoiding foods like ginger and garlic, which tickle the taste buds and prompt us to eat more than we should, and eating cold food are all geared towards ensuring meals are small,” she says. Besides, during this season, our resistance to diseases is lower, adds Mathew. She's lived in Mumbai for over three decades but still swears by the traditional Kerala Marunnu Karkidaka kanji (medicinal gruel). “Agriculturists take a break due to the continuous downpour, and meals consist of traditional herbal rice gruel for rejuvenation,” she says. “As nature rejuvenates with the monsoon, it is telling us do the same.”

Indian food has been traditionally resistant to the kind of innovation required of fine dining. But what would you make of a meal which serves up puchkas, samosas and paapdis as Michelin-starred creations?
Good ole' favourites such as these, but with a twist, form the basis of the concept behind the menu of the F Lounge.Bar.Diner. Ensconced between corporate offices on the third floor of the One India Bulls Centre, its location seems ideal for attracting white collar workers in search of an after-work drink, or a dinner ideal for wooing clients. But when we arrive, the dimly-lit bar, as well as the upstairs restaurant, isn't entertaining a single patron. The walls are covered with distracting projections of fashion models, and each table is well-lit with halogen lamps.
“We don't want to offer something completely alien to our customers,” explains the corporate chef Rakesh Talwar, who has a large tattoo of a red devil complete with a chef's hat on the side of his neck. This would explain the inclusion of some Mumbai-favourites in their menu, albeit with a twist. One of their innovations is the puchkha appetiser. While it is served with the same spicy water you're accustomed to at your neighbourhood stall, these are stuffed with cracked seaweed, couscous and mango and served perched on a shot glass. The non-vegetarian version of this dish features prawns. The inclusion of couscous is a crunchy and pleasant surprise; and the mango chunks contract nicely with the spicy water that we gulp down in an instinctual single swallow from the shot glass. Another interesting twist is the amuse-bouche of paapdis topped with pine nuts and thick gravy, with a squiggle of orange cheese on the side.
Other innovations include the pav bhaji vol-au-vent, chicken wings served with a peanut butter sauce, the aloo-chaat martini, and the goat cheese cigar, which is basically a cylindrical samosa. “We top one end of it with fennel and black sesame so that it looks like the burnt end of a cigar,” says Talwar, gesturing to the fried 'cigar', nestled in a glass of garlic mayonnaise. He is not new to serving up old favourites with a new twist. He remembers what he regards as his most daring innovation — a penne alfredo pasta with chicken tikka, which despite his boss' trepidation, earned him a standing ovation from a diner.
The goat cheese cigar and the puchkas are the stand-out appetisers; and the main courses are a disappointment after the excitement of the appetisers. The kaali mirch murghi, maa ki daal and the allu flower sabzi are good, solid dishes that will fill your stomach. But they fall far below expectations in that they do not offer anything new or experimental.
The desserts make up for whatever enthusiasm you might lose while ploughing through the main course — we try the coconut panna cotta with bubblegum jelly and paan ladoos on the side; and the mango rasmallai lasagna with rabdi, drenched in a blue alcohol. The panna cotta is delicious and fresh, and the bubblegum jelly is an unexpected harkening back to the flavour palette of a sugar-craving childhood. The mango rasmallai lasagna (called lasagna because the two ingredients are layered on top of each other) is squishy comfort food at its best.
?“There's a lot more value in Indian food than most chefs assume,?” asserts chef Talwar. “As long as you hold back on the heaviness — caused by excessive creaminess or oil — and make sure you roast each spice according to the heat level required, ?and not all together, ?the dishes served can be exceptional.”
d_apoorva@dnaindia.net

The kaju shahale arrives in a copper vessel, a colourful mix of orange and red with a sprinkling of green. “It's our signature dish,” the waiter informs me. I bite in and understand why: The crunch from the tender coconut is balanced by the softness of cashew.
“This is a famous Goan preparation,” says Sudhir Jadhav, head chef at Kokum & Spice restaurant at Alibaug's Radisson Blu Resort & Spa. The creaminess of the dish, he says, comes from cooking it in coconut water. Shahale is meant to be sweet and sour, not spicy. “We use very few dry masalas — just chillies, haldi and jeera — so as to preserve the natural taste of the vegetables that go into the dish,” he says.
Being a Goan myself, I'm intrigued about the origins of the dish, but Jadhav doesn't know about the history of kaju shahale. Instead, he's eager to discuss other bestselling Goan dishes, namely the fiery vindaloo and the chicken xacuti.
The main course arrives. The first dish is the chicken jeere meere, a spicy dish that uses two main ingredients — cumin and black pepper. “This dish is from the Malwan region,” says executive chef at the Radisson, Devwrat Jategaonkar. “Its spiciness is largely because of the pepper and helped in no uncertain measure by the Guntur and Sankeshwari chillies.”
Dishes at Kokum & Spice come from the coastal regions of Raigad, Sindhudurg, Ratnagiri, Goa and Mangalore. Throughout this belt, chillies such as Guntur and Sankeshwari are commonly used. There are a number of fish preparations too on the menu, and despite the season, they serve a fresh catch every day. A platter of fish arrives, dosed liberally with freshly ground Konkani masalas: a shallow fried pomfret in Manglorean masala, the rava fried bombil bhajias, bangda fried with Karwari masala, and prawns fried in a batter of red chillies, ginger and garlic. What sets these dishes apart from other coastal fish preparations is that they do not use lemon. Instead, they use tirphala or teppal, a strong spice resembling Sichuan pepper. “It's a dry, whole spice that is soaked overnight. The water is then used in curries. The spice is never ground as it is too strong and grinding tirphala makes it bitter,” says chef Jadhav.
A common ingredient is the humble fruit kokum. It is largely used as a souring agent in fish curries. But its best use is in the refreshing sol kadhi, a frothy pink drink blended with spices. “It's best to use fresh coconut. That gives the drink a creamy taste,” says chef Jategaonkar. “All you need besides that is ginger, jeera and green chilli for the punch.”

If there’s one thing every seemingly health conscious person loves to hate these days, it is not fat, but carbohydrates, or ‘carbs’ as they are (not) lovingly called. There was a time when fats were the enemy and a low-fat diet was touted as the best way to stay healthy. Then along came Dr Atkins, who broke every rule in the book to announce that you could eat all the butter and bacon you want, but it was the bread that was the enemy, throwing people into a confusion as to what exactly to eat. Heart-attack-inducing, saturated fats, or type 2 diabetes-inducing carbohydrates? It was
indeed a tough choice.
The answer is simple and yet not so simple. Any blanket statement like ‘carbs are bad’ can only be erroneous. Grains, fruits and vegetables are not just carbs but they also provide other vital nutrients like fibre, minerals and vitamins.
Rather than just dividing carbohydrates into two groups — simple and complex — it is far more useful to classify them on basis of their glycemic index (GI), which indicates how quickly a certain food increases blood sugar in comparison to pure glucose. Lower the GI, better the carb. Usually, coarser grains, lesser processed and high fibre, acid or fat content are some of the criteria that lead to a lower GI food. Check http://www.glycemicindex.com/ for searching the GI of most food items. Focussing on eating a balanced diet with good carbs could benefit not just diabetics, but most of our
population.

Five ways to make your diet rich in good carbs

Nandita Iyer blogs at www.saffrontrail.com

Lunch time on Sundays at Manasi Narendra’s Chembur house has a few characteristics that are its own. There is the unmistakable smell of hot oil and puris hanging in the room, fresh and appetising. The koshimbir makes its weekend appearance, accompanied by crisp alu vadi. There is also white rice topped with simple, no- frills yellow dal or varan bhaat, ready to be served as starters to a Maharashtrian Brahmin meal of aloo sabzi (a dry potato side dish), stuffed brinjal and shrikhand. On an auspicious day, a banana leaf adds a dash of green to the brown-black settings of Manasi’s kitchen.




















Sweet food!
Maharashtrian Brahmins have a notoriously sweet tooth. If there wasn’t that matter of good health, they would have a sweet dish – even something like shrikhand would work – at lunchtime, everyday. Heavily influenced by the Konkan coast, coconut, sugar, jaggery and peanuts are indispensible ingredients of the food and hence, set it apart. Sample this: Panch pakwana (or ‘five sweets’) is an integral part of any Maharashtrian Brahmin festival. “The five sweets include chiroti, shrikhand, gulab jamun and kheer, which we like a lot,” explains Manasi.
But as I sit cross legged on the floor for lunch, I realise that if anyone deserves to celebrate a festival that sounds like one big sugar rush, it is them. For on all other days, Maharashtrian Brahmin food is simple and nutritious: How often does one comes across Indian food where salads are an important component, without trying too hard? The salad, or koshimbir, which is either tomato-based, beetroot-based or made of shredded cucumbers, onions and curd, is given prime status in the thali partly because it is deceptively easy to make. “You can’t make koshimbir on a daily basis,” explains Narendra. “There is a special method to cut the cucumbers. For this, you have to use the sharp edges of a coconut scraper.”
A traditional Maharashtrian Brahmin lunch usually includes puris, sabzi, curry, koshimbirs, alu vadi and varan bhaat. Alu vadi is a side dish made out of colocasia leaves arranged in a shape that resembles a hypnotic spiral. One bite of this fried dish, however, has the potential to leave you mesmerised for real – its crunchy exterior and soft insides made out of bengal gram flour, spices and coconut, make for a delicious combination.
During the course of our luncheon, interesting facts about the Brahmin community and their food tumble out. For instance, the degree of sweetness in food varies from one Brahmin sect to another. Also, they are accomplished secret keepers. Many a Brahmin has successfully managed to take his family’s secret goda masala recipe to his grave. “We make our own masala at home. Luckily my mother-in-law gave me her recipe,” smiles Manasi. “If friends ask for the masala, we can make and give it to them but we can’t give out the recipe.”
Pune-based former dietician Subha Mayekar adds to the list of coconut-based dishes. “We have narali bhaat, which is rice cooked with coconut and sugar or jaggery. Chutneys like coconut and green chutney are also an important part of our food.”
Eating healthy
At the Maharashtrian restaurant Diva Maharashtracha’s Mahim branch, I plunge into exquisite dishes like kala watana amti (black gram cooked in coconut, tamarind and jaggery based gravy), dalimbi usal (pulses cooked with onion, coconut and flavoured with goda masala) and pineapple amti (cubes of pineapple cooked in cashew nut gravy and tempered with cumin seeds and green chillies). The mingled taste of tamarind, jaggery, coconut and spices help the dishes strike a fine balance between being overly sweet and sour.
“Jaggery is not unhealthy,” says Deepa Awchat, CEO and masterchef of Diva Maharashtracha, when I cast my doubt over the food’s health quotient, considering the unabashed use of the ingredient in almost all dishes. “The dishes do not have refined sugar and have only healthy ingredients,” she explains. Vegetables like cauliflower, cabbage, French beans, green leafy vegetables like spinach and raw fruits like tender papaya and pumpkin are rarely cooked in a lot of oil. “Tempering is done with only one or two tablespoons of oil. While cooking, these vegetables are covered with a flat lid and then, water is added on top of the lid to keep the food’s taste and nutritional value intact.” The vegetables release their own juices which, according to Awchat, are more than enough for cooking. “There is no butter, no dried fruits apart from peanuts, no maida and definitely no cream.”
Instead of the customary chapatti, Maharashtrian Brahmins have the highly nutritious and high-on-fibre bhakri, made out of either rice flour or jowar (sorghum). Mayekar agrees that the food is extremely healthy, citing usal as an example, which is made out of sprouted beans — one of the best sources of protein. The sprouted beans are cooked in very little oil with onions, coconut paste or flakes (depending on the desired consistency), garam masala powder or goda masala, tamarind pulp and jaggery. “Besides, you have the koshimbir with is rich in vegetables.” But what about the potato sabzi? “Well, if one is not happy with potato subzi, they can substitute it with stuffed brinjal,” she points out.

At the turn of the 19th century, Ambrosius Hiltl’s all-vegetarian restaurant was frequented only by the peculiar, or the poor. Over the years, despite access to the finest meats, the Swiss turned to vegetarianism in a big way. “People are giving up meat not only for ethical reasons but also because vegetarian food is more eco-friendly,” says Zurich-resident Elisabeth Brem. Today, 114 years on, Hiltl Haus is one of the trendiest hotspots in Zurich. Located in the centre of the Bahnhofstrasse banking district, Hiltl is frequented by bankers as well as Indian travellers who want a home-away-from-home experience, including the likes of late Prime Minister Morarji Desai.
Ambrosius, who was recommended a vegetarian diet for health reasons, teamed up with cook Martha Gneupel to cater to the handful of other ‘grass-eaters’ like himself. In 1926, Margrith Rubli joined the staff of Hiltl as a waitress, and later married Ambrosius’ older son Leonhard. She ran the restaurant for 50 years, collecting recipes along the way. “In 1951, my grandmother Margrith, the official Swiss delegate to World Vegetarian Congress in India, returned with a handful of Indian vegetarian recipes to introduce into our kitchen,” says Rolf, a fourth generation Hiltl and the current owner of the restaurant.
She was unprepared for the problems that would follow. Getting hold of spices such as curry powders, coriander, turmeric, cumin and cardamom was tough enough, says Rolf. But in the Zurich of the 1950s, the real problem was persuading kitchen staff to cook Indian dishes. “Indian friends brought ingredients with them when they came visiting Switzerland. But for years, my grandmother had to cook Indian dishes in her private kitchen,” he says. Over the years, the number of Indian guests at the restaurant increased considerably. But the real turning point came when Hiltl was asked by Swissair to supply Indian food for its Indian guests. “Today, Indian dishes constitute nearly half of our offerings,” says Rolf.
While the Swiss prefer the a-la-carte gourmet creations to go with their draft beer or Swiss wines, Indian tourists usually go for the 57CHF (about Rs 3400) eat-all-you-can buffet. From North Indian koftas and kormas to the thoran and thair-sadam from the South, from the traditional tur-dal to the contemporary couscous salad, the buffet has more than 200 dishes on offer. Besides the Indian fare, there’s also an assortment of salads, starters and main courses with Swiss, German, Arabic, Mexican, Thai and Chinese origins. “This is easily the best vegetarian buffet I have ever eaten — a global feast for the vegetarian foodie,” says Ghatkopar resident Haresh Savla, while tucking into the dinner buffet with his family on their annual European holiday.

I bite into the inviting brownie that Aloka Gambhir serves me, straight out of the oven. It does not taste like a conventional brownie; it's less sweet but equally gooey and the consistency is near-perfect. She tells me that the brownie is devoid of white flour. I wonder if that's possible. How can one bake without using flour?
The secret ingredient is walnut flour. The brownie is baked using eggs, honey, chocolate and walnut flour. Aloka has been a Primal dieter since three years and shuns any kind of processed food. The philosophy behind her way of life is simple — live like our ancestors, who hunted for their food, and survived on raw fruits and vegetables.
“Agriculture was invented in the last 10,000 years. Before that, humans thrived without the consumption of grains. That is the basis of a primal lifestyle,” she tells me.
Primal lifestyle followers adopt quite a different approach to their diet. They believe that saturated fats are healthy and generously incorporate butter, ghee, cheese and other dairy products in their diet. They abstain from all kinds of processed foods like rice, chapattis, bread, vegetable oils and any other grains. Little attention is paid to calorie intake. The body, thus, generates energy through the fat consumed, as opposed to carbohydrates.
Aloka was introduced to this lifestyle by her brother, who recommended it to her for her migraine attacks and hormonal problems. “Even then, I was particular about working out and what I ate. But I still suffered from those problems,” she says. The very thought of giving up grains seemed impossible to her. However, one month into the diet and she became a convert. “The effects were instant: I lost weight and my migraine was gone.”
Following this lifestyle does not mean abstaining from your favourite foods, she tells me. She eats pav bhaji — something that is laden with butter — but substitutes the pav for bread that is made out of almond or coconut flour. “I make chocolate cookies too, using almond flour instead of maida,” she says.
Aloka's husband is a restaurateur, which makes eating out inevitable. She solves the dodgy dilemma by filling up on starters. “Kebabs or tandoori chicken is always a good idea. It's very filling,”
she says. For dessert, she swaps cake with ice creams or cheesecake.
Exercise is also a part of the lifestyle. However, it's not hardcore gym workouts or running. Primal living calls for being active all through, whether it's through housework, standing rather than sitting whenever possible, or light exercises like sprinting, squats and lunges.
The journey, however, has not been easy. The switch requires a huge mindset change, she says. “For decades, Indians have consumed chapattis and rice. To convince them that there is an alternative is very difficult.” People also hold certain misconceptions about food, like pure coconut oil is artery-clogging. It's actually much healthier than vegetable oil which undergoes so many processes, Aloka says.
The lifestyle, however, has its pitfalls. Substitute ingredients like walnut and almond flour, often cost more, which may not make it affordable for everybody. “Also, incorporating the diet in Indian cuisine poses a challenge because of our heavy dependency on carbohydrates. You need to be innovative,” she says. The diet is not very suitable for vegetarians as that limits the options.
Last year, Aloka took to blogging as she wanted to share the benefits of the lifestyle with others. “I didn't know anybody in India who followed this way of life; even now there isn't much awareness,” she says. On her blog www.primalgirlinbombay.blogspot.in, she writes about her experiences, posts her recipes and solves queries of curious readers. Her advice to people wanting to adopt this lifestyle is to read up in detail and be mentally convinced. “It is challenging to make the switch, but once done, the benefits are life-changing,” she says.
Disclaimer: Switching to any drastic diet can be risky.

The maxim “you are what you eat” has defined dietary thinking for hundreds of years. The prevailing interpretation is simple: our bodies, like the foods that we eat, are chemical compositions. In order to live long and healthy lives, and to maximise our potential, we must consume the right chemicals — that is, foods with the right nutrients. Not so long ago, however, this saying was understood quite differently, indicating a profound shift in the way that we think about our diet and ourselves — a shift that has powerful implications for current health debates. In ancient Greek and Roman medicine, prevention was key. Regimen, commonly called dietetics, prescribed a lifestyle designed to keep people healthy. Indeed, while doctors did everything in their power to cure ailing patients, dietetics was considered the most important area of medical practice. With a sound diet, one would presumably never need a cure.
Dietetics was a prescription for an ordered manner of living, guiding people not only on matters of food and drink, but on all governable aspects of their lives that affected well-being, including their places of residence, exercise, sleeping patterns, bowel movements, sexual activity, and an area neglected by medicine today: emotional control.
In short, dietetics was a matter of virtue as well as of bodily health. The medical profession doled out advice about how one should eat in the same breath as instructions about how one should live — and about what sort of person one should be.
Traditional dietetic advice now seems banal, with its almost exclusive focus on moderation. For example, dietetic counsel would recommend that patients eat neither too much nor too little; sleep when necessary, but not excessively; exercise, but not violently; and control anger and stress. The Temple of Apollo at Delphi bore the inscription, “Nothing in excess,” while Aristotelian philosophy held that the golden mean was the path to the good.
Given the current frenzy of fad diets and the search for simple remedies for complex conditions, moderation in all things may seem like shabby medicine. But dietetics' conviction that health and morality are two sides of the same coin is a deep-rooted notion. After all, Christianity lists gluttony as one of the seven deadly sins, while temperance is one of the cardinal virtues.
Both good and good for you, moderation became a commanding idea: by rooting medical advice in powerful systems of social values, dietetics shaped medical thought for centuries. Rejecting dietetic advice amounted to rejecting moral wisdom.
This merging of medicine and morality now seems naively unscientific, thanks to “nutrition science,” which replaced traditional dietetics as a formal discipline in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Nutritional experts today are more likely to suggest monitoring cholesterol levels than they are to give such holistic and common-sense advice as moderation. Gluttony was once a sin; obesity is now a disease (or a “risk factor” for other diseases).
Because science ostensibly advances by setting aside moral questions to address material cause-and-effect relationships, this shift could be perceived as progress. But the separation of the “good” from the “good for you” limits the influence of modern nutritional expertise on people's behavior, ultimately undermining the goal of improving public health.
Historical change cannot be undone. But the ways in which modern societies handle excess, whether in people's diets or lifestyles, merit reflection. For example, one plausible explanation of the rise in obesity is the decline of the family meal — at which children might be urged to “eat more,” but also would likely be told when they had eaten “more than enough.” In today's eat-and-run culture, people increasingly tend to consume food free from fear of a disapproving gaze. Individuals eat alone, and societies get fat together.
While there is no simple solution to today's dietary woes, we can take a collective decision to reconsider not just what we eat, but our approach to eating, and to recognize the inherent value in eating together. A shared meal might be good for you as well as good.

The idea of ‘coastal cuisine’ brings to mind images of seared fish, prawn curries and lobsters on a platter. But the strong vegetarian tradition in India has ensured that vegetables ­­— and even fruits — are incorporated into the cuisines that develop along India’s coast.
We had the opportunity to try out some of these dishes during the Coastal Cuisine food festival at ITC Grand Central in Mumbai. While my non-vegetarian colleagues couldn’t resist the fish and prawns, I headed straight to the vegetarian counter.
The most interesting dish was the mambazha pulisseri, a sweet and sour alphonso curry. While the use of raw fruits — such as banana and jackfruit — isn’t unheard of, curries made with ripe fruits are unique to coastal regions.
“The sauce in the mambazha pulisseri is made with coconut, green chillies and cumin. Curd is then added to give it volume,” says chef Harish, who had flown in from Dakshin, the south Indian restaurant at ITC Chennai, to attend the festival. The resulting dish had a creamy texture, and the sweetness of the mango was balanced out by the spices.
Another fruit-based curry on the menu was the Pineapple Mensakai, which has its origins in the Mangalore region in Karnataka. This sweet and spicy dish is a must at any traditional Kannadiga feast today.
Most of these vegetarian fruit-based curries originated in coastal areas, but over the years, their popularity has increased in the interiors too, says Harish.
He adds that he’s looking forward to experimenting with palm fruit. “I have heard that people in and around Pondicherry prepare dishes with this fruit. I will be heading there soon to study their local cuisine.”