I like Sambaar. I like eating it, I like cooking it and there have been times I must confess when I have craved for Saambaar. This is usually when I am travelling and I start resembling a grumpy South Indian man of about forty by day three. A few people have asked me pointed questions if I have any confessions to make regarding my guilty food pleasures- is it chocolate, is it cake, is it chocolate cake? I tend to just give them a crooked smile, a wink and a nod. I am not sure if it is socially acceptable to reply Saambaar. They'd think I was a grumpy old South Indian man of about forty.
And why do I bring this up? I am writing this post sitting in Melbourne's Tullamarine airport waiting for my flight to take me home, and if we were to rewind back to within two hours from t-now you'd have spotted me at Laxmi Vilas Vegetarian Restaurant in Dandenong happily immersing myself in what could well be the most 'dhansooo' Saambaaar in the Southern Hemisphere. With a couple of Vadas to boot. Me content. Me sated. Me back to being a cheerful South Indian man of about twenty nine.
Just the right amount of 'hunnse-hannu' juice, podi like mum makes it, thoda takkali thoda magic. For a few minutes there Melbourne almost equalled Madras.
And why do I bring this up? I am writing this post sitting in Melbourne's Tullamarine airport waiting for my flight to take me home, and if we were to rewind back to within two hours from t-now you'd have spotted me at Laxmi Vilas Vegetarian Restaurant in Dandenong happily immersing myself in what could well be the most 'dhansooo' Saambaaar in the Southern Hemisphere. With a couple of Vadas to boot. Me content. Me sated. Me back to being a cheerful South Indian man of about twenty nine.
Just the right amount of 'hunnse-hannu' juice, podi like mum makes it, thoda takkali thoda magic. For a few minutes there Melbourne almost equalled Madras.
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