Menopause Craving №1
By Jaya Dubey
This piece doesn’t star Bollywood’s Govinda (of Hero №1 and Coolie №1 fame), but I will borrow a refrain from one of his songs: “tujhko mirchi lagi toh main kya karoon!” (Rough translation that must be sung to the same tune: “Too spicy for you; what can I do!”).
Did you know that menopause food cravings are a thing? Me neither. There may or may not be any scientific proof but hey, let’s sing that refrain together: “Too spicy for you; what can I do!”
I’ve decided these cravings must be real because I had one: a huge, mondo burning that lasted a whole month. Full disclosure though, every 50+ woman I shared my epiphany with laughed at the concept. My logic stands however: we crave stuff when pregnant, then why not when the body is on its way to being permanently unpregnant? Makes perfect sense.
Not that my pregnancy cravings were much to write about. The one I do remember is wanting a stale cream roll that you could find at any corner shop in north India. When I located an American version at my nearest grocery store, it was too big, too sweet, too creamy. Too savage a let-down too. I was furious. All that pixie-dust chatter and hype about weird and cute pregnancy cravings? Why didn’t nobody tell us that it ends in disappointment most of the time?
Twenty-four years later, come November (the very same month I gave birth) I’m swamped with a longing so fierce— as if that’s not proof enough of menopause cravings — that I go scouring my local Indian grocery stores for stuffed red chili pickle. I was done with sweetness it seems. This time around I lusted heat. And spice. And kick.
Happily, my cravings weren’t satisfied. Those stores had every pickle under the sun but no whole, stuffed, fat, Christmassy chilies.
I was happy because the burn made me reach out to two aunts whose pickles I remembered as a teen. The greasy, disintegrating chili wrapper spilling its succulent, spicy masala …
Hea. Ven.
Now the chilies needed for this recipe aren’t exactly available year-round in my neck of the woods. But the goddesses were smiling mid-December. I ventured to a store I don’t usually frequent. And bam! A basket full of glossy, plump, Santa Claus chilies just sitting there calling my name.
I cleaned the store out.
Having scored the main ingredient, it was time for a Whatsapp tutorial.
“Missing your chili pickle,” I wrote to my aunts. “Please share recipe,” wrote the girl who’d never bothered collecting recipes ever, let alone contacting aunts whom mom constantly reminded me to call: “Unhe phone kar liya karo kabhi-kabhi (Call them once in a while)!” Uncharted territory.
Aunts: “Anytime.”
Me: “Now. Right now!”
Aunt №1 sent me a hand-written recipe in Hindi and a new bond unfurled.
Here’s a translation (with some chef secrets):
Fresh red chilies: About 20 pieces. AKA Fresno peppers or red jalapenos.
Saunf/Fennel seeds: 50 grams. These should be the bigger seeds not the finer ones. The bigger seeds are added to savory dishes; the finer ones are sweeter tasting (I did not even know there were two types of saunf).
Rye/Mustard seeds: 50 grams
Methi/Fenugreek seeds: 25 grams
Amchur/Dry mango powder: 25 grams
Haldi/Turmeric: 2–3 teaspoons
Salt: according to taste.
Mustard oil: A LOT
Step 1: Don’t wash the chilies unless you have the patience and time to have them dry out completely. Get a wet cloth and wipe them down, stem to heel. Once completely dry, de-stem, and slit their bellies down the middle. If you love the heat, leave the seeds in. If not, get those suckers out (but then what is even the point of having chili pickle. I’m tempted to tease you with: “Tujhko mirchi lagi toh main kya karun?”
Step 2: Dry roast (separately) fennel and fenugreek; coarsely grind after they cool. Finely grind the mustard seeds.
Step 3: Mix the ground fennel, fenugreek, mustard, with the dry mango powder, turmeric and salt. Add 5–6 teaspoons of mustard oil and mix. The mixture should be moist enough to roll into small, loose balls.
Step 4: Time to stuff those chilies. But not too much. The masala will expand and swell once it starts to absorb the oil.
Step 5: Put some mustard oil in a small bowl (katori) — it should be just big enough to baptize a whole chili pepper in the oil. Start dunking and then stack the chilies in a clean, dry jar. Preferably glass. Oil left over in the katori? Feel free to dump it in as well. Seal.
Step 6: 3–4 days later, fill the whole jar with mustard oil to flood the chilies. If possible, put the jar on a sunny sill for a couple of days.
Boom! You’re done.
Cheat Pickle:
I am not a kitchen person. The whole family knows this girl does not cook — willingly. Me making pickle was entertaining enough. Mom was thrilled that I’d turned to her sister (the family Master chef) for advice. And also, because her one and only child was being homely and domestic — for once. Though pickle-making was obscenely extreme even for my mother. I don’t recall her ever making these spicy goodies all the years I lived under her roof. This new adventure unearthed a delectable family tidbit along the way: her late brother was an enthusiast too. He’d often ask their sister for pickle recipes to make his versions — jackfruit pickle won, hands down.
OK, wow. Seems I’d really fired up mom’s imagination. For months afterward, she’d ask: “so what other recipes did you learn from Mausiji?” Each whatsapp call assigned me new homework: “you should gather all her recipes in a book …”
Now all this filial pleasure and pressure was enough to make me revert to my old rebellious self. I mean what else did my mom expect? I’ve always done the opposite of what she’s told me all my life.
So I did step 1 of the recipe. Wipe and slit. I stirred in some Rahet Fateh Ali Khan — my favorite kitchen ally.
And then I completely skipped step 2.
Remember when Bill Gates said hire lazy people; they find quick and dirty ways to do a task?
*Raises hand*
Me.
To be honest, I didn’t have the large fennel seeds, just the sweet ones. I probably didn’t have the right size mustard seeds either. Shortcut time. Naturally.
Shan Achar or Achari Gosht masala to the rescue. I hoard these masalas — they make cooking (when I really, really have to get down to it) quick and easy. The ingredients matched my aunt’s recipe almost perfectly. There were even some extra ones. What harm could they do? I did the math, dumped two of these packets into a bowl and tossed with mustard oil. The mustard oil has got to be that raw, sinus-clearing, earthy, pungent flavor, or you may as well just forget about making any pickle-shickle. I used the kachhi ghani (virgin cold-pressed) type — a brand by a certain scammy baba that shall not be named.
And then I loaded up these bad boys.
When I sent the picture to my aunt, she laughed saying I’d overstuffed them. Refer to Step 4 above. I didn’t mind too much — that masala, the raw oil, the heat of the chili — what could go wrong? Let those wombs swell.
I followed the rest of the steps to a T, sunny window sill and all.
What a fun ego-boost to gaze upon my miracle babies each passing day. Something I had made, with my own two hands because I damn well wanted to, all for myself. Done without being hounded by whispers of uneasy female ancestors agonizing for daughters’ safety in strange sasurals: “you better learn to cook or they’ll ….” [Sasural: husband’s dad’s home. But the word also means jail in Hindi slang.]
I couldn’t help smiling at these brocade beauties. My mini fire engines. The glossy, sindoori red? Pure joy. First, the sun-bathing, and then the luxe oil bath made these ruby dumplings even more tantalizing.
“When will it be ready?” I texted a few days later.
“You can eat now,” Mausiji replied.
Woo hoo!
I opened the jar and took a wary look. Given my track record I expected to see fungus or mold.
Nope, all good.
I took a whiff.
Mmm mmm mmm.
Taste test next.
Reader, I’d marry this.
Update: The chili bombs are fast depleting. New batch? It could happen. The fresh bond with my aunt? *Chef’s kiss*
Turns out I wasn’t the only one who decided to make this luscious pickle just for her own sweet self. Later chats with my aunt revealed that she made this every year.
“Who liked it most,” I asked.
Read on:
Bingo! I really, really wanted her to say that. I don’t even care if I got her to say it. Because we know this all too well: when did our mothers ever do something just for themselves? Just this once, it seems, my aunt did. Annually.
Lessons learned:
Menopausal bundles of joy are possible.
Snarly old dogs can learn new tricks — for the right treat.
Follow and feed all your cravings; fuck occasional disappointments.
Find your godmothers; maybe even file away your food heritage.
Take shortcuts; you’ve earned it.
Be your own Hero №1: keep making something just for your own damn self. Too spicy for some? Sing, “tujhko mirchi lagi toh main kya karoon!”
Up next: Menopause Craving №2. Every assorted mithai box that came home during Diwali in the 80s had that iconic pink and white barfi. I am now craving the taste of the pink part of that barfi.
Mausiji!
