Since starting at Northwestern nearly two years ago, my grandparents and I have developed a tradition. Every two weeks, I drive an hour out to their cozy suburban townhouse and we catch up over a meal.
[NatSnd: driving]
Alone in D.C., I found myself craving my grandpa’s Indian food — and his company. So I decided to call him and see if I could recreate a bit of our tradition 700 miles away.
REPORTER: Hi Grandpa!
VENKATARAMANI: Hi! Hi!
I missed more than just his food — I missed his stories from India and the connection the meal provided. So I asked him to share a recipe with me that reminded him of his childhood.
VENKATARAMANI: The dish is called coconut burfi. B-U-R-F-I.
My grandpa, Kattalacheri Venkataramani, grew up in Coimbatore, a city in South India where good coconut burfi is a cause for celebration. Street vendors sell it during festival season, mothers make it for a special Sunday snack — one bite and you’ll see why it’s so popular. It’s a fudgy treat made with just a few ingredients: coconut, sugar, cashews, and one essential spice — cardamom.
VENKATARAMANI: It gives you a very delicious flavor that’s used mostly in Indian, in South Indian cooking.
Growing up, his mother would make a tiffan every Sunday — a snack in between meals. Depending on her mood and what she had on hand, she might fry up some banana chips, some pakora or whip together some halvah. And when she was really feeling it, she might make some burfi.
VENKATARAMANI: My sister and I knew my mother was very happy when she made this. So, it was a very special thing for us.
My great grandmother made this all from scratch — she clarified the butter into ghee, cracked and shaved the fresh coconut, and cooked the burfi over a charcoal stove.
VENKATARAMANI: This was not an easy kind of, okay I’ll do this in a half an hour and you can come here. So she put some effort into it. And more than that, it was a matter of pride.
Her cooking process seemed daunting, but my grandpa assured me — with modern technology, kitchen shortcuts and a 20-minute recipe he found online — making this recipe would be quick and easy. Plus, the recipe just used pantry staples.
VENKATARAMANI: It’s made with sugar and water. And coconut. That’s it.
(Well, almost. He forgot a thing or two.)
First up: the cashews.
[NatSnd: chopping cashews]
[NatSnd: “That’s good — it’s like ASMR — that’s a good sound.”]
Then, the cardamom.
[NatSnd: grinding cardamom pods, rustling, spoon against cutting board]
Freshly crushed, to help create that rich, deep flavor.
Onto the coconut. Unlike my great-grandmother, I didn’t have the tools — or the bravery — to crack a coconut myself. So I took the easy way out and grabbed a bag of unsweetened coconut from my pantry.
VENKATARAMANI: What you do is you sautee it for a minute or so and set it aside.
Carefully, though, or the burfi would turn out brown.
[NatSnd: burner starting]
I poured a cup of shredded coconut into my pan and started stirring.
REPORTER: It’s definitely not looking white.
But I pressed on — slightly browned burfi still sounded delicious to me.
Next: the sugar syrup. Three-fourths cup of sugar, half a cup of water. Seemed simple enough.
[NatSnd: spoon scraping in a circle]
The goal was to wait for it to thicken to a sticky, gluey texture — the kind where you can pull a little sugar string between your fingers.
VENKATARAMANI: I’m looking at the recipe and she says getti kumvi pagam. Pagam is a syrup-like consistency, right? Kumvi means wire. Getti means strong. Getti kumvi pagam.
Unfortunately, patience is not my strong suit. Every few seconds, I checked to see if my sugar had thickened.
[NatSnd: spoon banging pan]
But 30 minutes into what was supposed to be a 15- to 20-minute process, the best I had gotten from my sugar mixture was slightly sticky goop.
REPORTER: I think this lady was lying about how long this recipe takes
After another 20 minutes, three laps around the kitchen, and one embarrassing song session
[NatSnd: singing “still not ready”]
I gave up and just added in the coconut, cashews and cardamom
REPORTER: Okay, I’m just going to pour it in and see what happens
[NatSnd: coconut shaking, banging pan, scraping
Soon, the mixture was bubbling and ready to eat, but…
REPORTER: something… seems wrong. I mean, it’s good, but it’s basically just sugar. And coconut.
Instead of soft, fudgy burfi, I had dry, slightly crunchy candy.
Defeated by a 20-minute recipe? That stung. I picked up the phone and called my grandpa.
I braced for a lecture, but instead, he asked:
VENKATARAMANI: Did it taste good? Did you like it?
REPORTER: It did taste good, and I did like it.
VENKATARAMANI: That’s it then. Doesn’t matter what it’s supposed to be. The way I look at it, you’re comparing yourself to an ideal which nobody knows what it is, right?
That’s when he told me this story about his mother and her burfi.
One Sunday, his father had a coworker over — and asked her to make her famous burfi. She agreed, of course. After the coworker arrived, she set it out and left the men alone, expecting compliments.
VENKATARAMANI: She just stuck her head in and said, how’s everything – is it good?
Instead of praise? The guy shrugged and said, “It’s good, but it would be better with raisins.”
Not the right move.
VENKATARAMANI: She talked to my father and she said if that guy steps foot in our house, I will not feed him, I will not even give him a cup of coffee *laughs* and he never came to our house! I don’t know how my father arranged it that he never showed up.
VENKATARAMANI: The moral of the story, for us, was that you don’t cross my mother. … We knew better than to criticize. It was always good.
And for me, the moral is that a good chef is proud of her creations — even when it’s raisin-less or overly crunchy. I can almost see great grandma now — a glint in her eye — daring anyone to say otherwise.
