Tomato prices have been hovering near the double-century mark for the last few weeks. Inspired, other vegetables have also raised their standards. Amidst these sky-rocketing prices, vegetables have grabbed eyeballs, headlines, and conversations. People are discussing vegetables everywhere, at the bus-stops, in their homes, and over steadily diminishing vegetable portions in their lunchboxes.
A meagre dinner
I was at my grocer’s filling my basket with the weekly vegetable shopping when a swanky sedan stopped outside. The shopper, a gentleman, declined the basket proffered and went straight to the counter, asking for 250 grams of green chillies. My old-fashioned vendor keeps the bagful of chillies near him, adding a generous (or meagre) handful free to all deserving shoppers. The gentleman wasn’t one. He had to pay for his lightweight purchase. I was grateful I wasn’t in such dire straits – my basket, though much lighter of late, did have some variety. Dinner didn’t have to be – well, quite such a spicy affair!
gourds – pointed and bitter
Then there was the time I was travelling from Bengaluru to Kolkata. It was a long ride in the airport bus, and I found myself listening idly to my fellow passengers – many of them Bengalis returning home after visiting the IT capital of India. The middle-aged bhodrolok across the aisle was eloquently in awe of Bengaluru – everything was brighter, better, and bigger. As if to prove his point, he delved into his tote and produced… two bitter gourds, each about nine inches long, veritable giants in front of their puny Bengal cousins- the uchche! From Bengaluru to Bengal, with love!
The return totes from Kolkata, though majorly weighed down by delicacies of the piscean or sweet variety usually has another gourd that can rival tomato prices in Bengaluru. It’s the pointed gourd or potol (parwal in the Hindi-speaking world). The average Bengali can never have enough of it, cooked in an astounding number of ways – bhaja, dalna, dolma, korma, shorshe, posto…. and, of course, as a sweet!
Shopping for vegetables is an art and a science perfected by the Bengali bhodrolok. Morning tea over, he steps out, cloth bag in hand, to buy his vegetables (and fish) for the day. A couple of potatoes, a bunch of spinach, and a wedge of pumpkin. All chosen with care, inspected for blemishes, and checked for firmness, before being weighed to the nearest 10 grams under his eagle eye. Quite unlike the silver-haired retiree I overheard in the park the other day. His sole foray into the challenging field of foraging had been so remarkable that he had been excused this chore lifelong! Lucky guy, my husband muttered when I told him.
the masquerading melanzane
More recently we had an anecdotal vegetarian moment when we went to the local pizzeria for dinner. My brother, a frugal eater, opted for a pizza melanzane alla parmigiana. Having taken the order, the waiter went his way – only to return nervously, within five minutes. Asking if he could confirm the order, he took a deep breath and proceeded to clarify that melanzane was merely the humble brinjal aka eggplant aka aubergine masquerading under an Italian pseudonym. Having been reassured that we had in fact seen through the disguise, he departed with a light step and blameless heart.
But back to the exorbitant tomato. Like Hamlet, I ruminated awhile this morning whether to add or not to add a precious tomato to the salade du jour. I recall a decades-old clippings on soaring tomato prices, written undoubtedly in dire times like the present! ‘Say it with Vegetables’, advised lovelorn suitors to change tactics and substitute their bouquets of roses, lilies, and orchids with baskets of the freshest, choicest vegetables.
Make mine a basket of the ripest red love apples, please!