Mangaluru steaming breakfast

Ever wondered how the Mangaluru moode is made? We give you a glimpse at the behind-the-shelf scenes

The streets of Mangaluru at 4.30 am on a Sunday morning are usually very quiet. As I march purposefully down the road, sleepy street dogs eye me balefully and yap in a bored fashion. The reason I am out at this ungodly hour is because I want to see how a particular local idli, the moode, is made. The gruff proprietor of the iconic Taj Mahal Hotel had warned me that all the prepping and cooking would be over by 5.30 am. So, here I am, pounding the pavements at the crack of dawn, not wanting to miss the making of the Mangalorean moode.

By 5 am, I am at the hotel and can see the kitchen is bustling with activity. Water for coffee and tea is boiling away in a gigantic copper pot. Milk is also on the boil. Nearly 30 fat vadas are sizzling in a cauldron. Two men are kneading, tearing and shaping the dough that will soon be transformed into the famous Mangalore bun.

A chef tips out steaming hot upma into a bain-marie. The large dosa tava is so hot that when water is poured on it to clean it, a gigantic cloud of steam immediately engulfs the cook. In another corner, a man is rinsing the screwpine leaf moulds that are integral to moode-making.

Prabhu Swami neatly arranges 50 of the tall moulds on a large tray. Scooping fistfuls of pre-soaked, gritty rice rava, he adds it to a deep vessel that already contains bubbly, fermented idli maavu. Using his fingers like a balloon whisk, he proceeds to incorporate the grains into the smooth batter with his hand. Then, taking a mould, he gently drops the batter in. Once the moulds are filled, the tray is placed in a commercial steamer for 30 minutes.

If you walk along the little lanes of Car Street, you will find many women on the pavement busy chatting, while rolling thick, long leaves into moode moulds. The oli leaf usually grows in paddy fields and mangroves just outside Mangaluru. They are difficult to harvest because they grow in snake-infested areas, and if that was not enough, the edge of the leaf is thorny, so bloodied fingers are an occupational hazard for those who collect them. The stiff leaf is then softened over a fire and the thorns are removed. Seeing a two-foot-long oli leaf transform into a water-tight mould is fascinating. At dizzying speeds, a base for the cylinder is twisted into shape and stapled in place with a little coconut stick. Then it is rapidly wound into a cylinder that is a foot long and stapled at the top with another little stick so it cannot unravel. Many of the ladies sell these perfectly-rolled moulds to hotels and restaurants in the city early in the morning by 9 am. They set up shop on the pavements, selling each mould at ₹10.

Balakrishna Pai is a walking-talking encyclopaedia on Mangalorean history and culture. He has literally seen the place transform from a fishing to a business hub right before his eyes. But if there is one thing that still connects him to the past, it is his Konkani community’s formidable culinary display that happens during festivals.

Many foods in Karnataka come wrapped in leaves. Blessed with abundant rains and an even more abundant variety of soppu or greens, it’s no wonder they are used as wrappings. Bottle gourd leaves are a favourite for wrapping and cooking fish. Turmeric and banana leaves are used to make gatti (steamed parcels of rice paste with all sorts of sweet and savoury stuffings), and one of the most iconic dishes of Mangaluru is pathrode, where several colocasia leaves are smeared with spicy rice paste, rolled and steamed.

It is 6 am and the tables at Taj Mahal Hotel are filling up with regulars. A harried waiter balancing many dishes, skilfully plonks my order before me. A dark green cylinder rolls across the plate. I start to unravel the long leaf. Aromatic steam escapes and I can see that the moode is infused with the heady smell of screwpine, and a light green tint from the leaf has rubbed off onto the white surface.

After a long spell in the steamer, it now rests on my plate, gently releasing little tendrils of steam. The texture is dense and grainy, thanks to the rice rava, but as soon as I bite into it, it seems to magically disappear in my mouth. The moode comes with a little bowl of coconut chutney, one of sambar and another of scalding hot dal. While munching on my moode, Mangaluru slowly wakes up.