GAJAR KA HALWA. 
Kerala Cuisine : From the Kitchen of a Kerala Pattar.

A couple of days  ago, my wife came out of the kitchen, and called me out:

"Yenna, Nammathu Adukkalaile Ongalodu Peruchchali Vilayadiyirukku Endru Thonarathe? " ( Hello, it seems your field rat has invaded my kitchen?)

By Peruchchali she meant my new  acquisition - Microsoft Wireless Laser Mouse 8000, which is quite big when compared to a normal mouse.   I kept quiet.  I knew, this was just an innocuous beginning to something serious. 

I looked up at her. 

"Yennathai Parkarel?  Pathu Mundhri Paruppu Korayarathe?" ( What are you blinking at? About ten cashew nuts are missing from the jar?)   She brought the Kissan Jam bottle and held it close to my eyes.

I knew I had lost the game even before it had begun.  With only two people  at  home I should have realised that she would find out the moment something had gone amiss.  The Jumbo Cashew Nuts which I so lovingly bought from Nuts & Spices last week for making the Delhi Gajar Paal Payasam, had let me down.

"Che Che, Pathu Ondrum Korainchirukkathu, Etho Ondru Erandu....."
(No, no not ten, may be one or two ....)

She cut me short before I could complete the sentence.   

"Porum,  Moghathile Asadu Vazhiyarathu.  Markettukku Poyee Oru Kilo Delhi Gajar, Onnarai liter Paal, Arai kilo Panjasarai, 50 gram Kissmish Yellam Chattunnu Vanghikondu Varungo.  Gajar Halwa Pannaum.  Fridgele Nei Niraya Irukku".

"Pisasu Puliyamaram Yerina Yerangarathukku Konja Naal Aagum".

"Enna Yethavathu Chonnella ?"

"Illaye, Ippothe Poi Vangikondu Varen".  

It took me about forty five minutes to get all the items.  Nice fresh looking Delhi carrots, one and a half liters of milk, from the Aavin Milk Parlour,  500 grams of sugar, 50 grms kishmish. 

Image courtesy : the Hindu. 

The carrots were fresh, with both ends intact.

She was ready.  She had taken out the Carrot Thuruvi, (the shredder), a large kadai (Aeroplane Aluminium cheena-chatti) a laddle with eyelets, and a big thambalam for collecting the shredded carrots, all stored in my Mother's Kaal Petti.

Luckily she did not call me for any help.  Not that I did not offer my assistance. But she had decided that it was going to be a solo performance.  She washed the carrots in running water, and with the blunt knife scrapped its outer skin. Then carrot after carrot, she shredded them in the shredder and threw the green tinged ends into the waste-bin.

From the big thambalam the shredded carrots were transferred to a Vanali, (a receptacle with holes) and it rested there, whatever little water/juice draining in a dish beneath it. 

She lit the gas oven.  Poured the entire one and a half litres of milk into the kadai, and heated it on full flame.  The milk started to boil and  she was stirring it occasionally to prevent any bonding between  the milk and the bottom of the kadai. The idea is to evaporate all the water content in the milk, and reduce it just enough to cover the grated carrots when it is mixed with the milk.

"Yenna, Konjam Inge Vanthu Intha Ithai Ithile Kottungo."  Obediently I went into the kitchen dumped the shredded carrots into the boiling milk.  All the while she was stirring the milk.  (When carrot is mixed with boiling milk and sugar it takes much longer time to cook - my observation).

She had now become an Ashtavadhani.  Stirring the carrot-milk mix, adding the sugar,  small quantity by small quantity ( about 300-350 grms.)  and never taking a short breather.  There was a time when the milk and carrot would have bonded to the bottom of the  kadai. She dexterously avoided the catastrophe by pouring two tablespoonful of home-made ghee and the lubricant did the trick.  She was performing furiously  like A.R. Rahman's Keyboard player.  One hand stirring the carrot milk mix, the other holding the kadai, and in between flying to the control knob of the gas oven to reduce the flame  and after some time bringing  it back to its full intensity and this happened  a few more times as if there was an encore from the invisible audience. 

When the gajar is fully cooked, it reduces in quantity  and there is no sign of milk in the kadai - it has been fully absorbed by the gajar and whatever little left is evaporated. Many cook books say that "The carrots should have texture in the end, and they should not be too ‘milky’."  I really do not know what it means. At the end of this culinary exercise  what happens is that when a stainless steel chattugam (spatula) is inserted at the bottom of the kadai, and the Halwa is lifted it rolls comfortably on to it. 
                                                                                    

Image courtesy : shubhangi athalye from flickr.

She split the Cashew nuts into fours, fried them in the ghee and when browned poured the garnish on the surface of the Halwa.  Like wise she treated the fifty grms. of Kishmish, and when they were swollen with a lot of ingressed ghee, that was also added as the final garnish. 

That is it.  The Gajar Halwa is ready, and it goes well with hot Puris. 

                                                   
In our house hold sugar is always less in any preparation.  You may add some more (say another 50 -75 grms.)  without affecting the taste of the Gajar Halwa in any way. 

Rajaputhran.