Bhindi (Okra)

This recipe has lived in the 'recipe' folder in a word document on my computer for the best part of last year. Whenever I planned to post the recipe, the images didn't work out as 'aesthetically appetising' as I would prefer (or Instagram would prefer), which I know is no reason not to post a recipe. Still, my neurosis says otherwise. Then towards the end of 2021, I read Yemisí Aríbisálà's Longthroat Memoirs (Soup, Sex and Nigerian Taste Buds). She dedicates an entire chapter to okra, aka ladyfinger, and aka bhindi. She references Siddhartha Mitter's essay, 'Free Okra: rescuing the vegetable from its slimy stereotype'. Mitter's words are a love letter to this vegetable beloved by a considerable proportion of the world. I like Aríbisálà read Mitter's words again and again. With each reading, my craving intensifies, and I proceed to cook every time I walk by a shop that sells it, making it a key component of Christmas Eve dinner. 

Despite growing up eating variations that weren't slimy at all, I like many other immigrant children before me, have been guilty of judging okra by its unaesthetic texture and reputation. I guess it is a consequence of growing up as an outsider in an ex-coloniser country. 

My memories of bhindi are smoky, crispy and full of flavour. Bhindi was a rare treat my mother cooked after a trip to the South Asian grocery store every once in a while. In fact, during the first 5 years of my childhood in Ireland, it was only cooked after a trip to London where our car crossed the North Sea ferry filled with Pakistani vegetables from South Hall or Ilford Lane. Outside trips to London, I ate it during our annual trip to Pakistan, where cooking bhindi was a ritualistic journey. It was bought fresh in season, washed and lovingly laid out to dry out in the sun while the women of the house got together to chat and chop it for cooking. It was either as a dry, spicy stir-fry situation or as a stew with meat when it was cooked. I have even eaten them stuffed.  

My food curiosity is insatiable in that as well as eating different types of cuisines, I love learning how ingredients are prepared in different parts of the world. This is why Aríbisálà's okra essay stayed with me longer than other's. Her book was an education into the richly diverse culture of Nigerian foods unfamiliar to my palate, where okra was a familiar friendly anchor.    

Suppose I take the example of the UK alone and apply to okra. They will be cooked by migrants from the ex- colonies and recently from war-torn conflict zones in the Middle East. They may feature in forward-thinking English homes as an exotic ingredient, a tool of open-mindedness, or a form of re-education. 

They may even be featured on the menus of trendier contemporary restaurants where the cuisine type is fluid, and the price tag is spendy. 

Krishnendu Roy writes in 'You and I Eat the Same' that eating cuisines from different cultures won't necessarily make the consumer open-minded in their acceptance of other people in their countries. Still, it may become a starting point of dialogue. When people eat the tastes of different cultures, it opens up the door to understanding them better. It brings people closer. However, Roy reports a lack of academic discussion on the taste preferences of migrants because they 'can only teach us about poverty, suffering, hierarchy and symbolic violence but never about taste'. Until recently, the foods of 'foreign lands' did not enter the British cuisine chat, although with the advent of social media making the world a smaller place, there has been a growing trend to learn about the ingredients of others. One of social media's positive attributes on 21st-century life. Another is connecting with these people to conversations. 

That is precisely what happened when a detour back took me to Bethnal Green after a trip to Colombia Road market on a sunny Sunday morning a couple of weeks ago. I walked past a Sabzi (vegetable) shop flushed with fresh produce from all over South East Asia. My lunch planned itself. I walked in, bought half a kilo and cooked it in my favourite way, with a dry onion and tomato rendition tempered with generous amounts of spaces, all the while sharing the above journey of produce shop to the plate on my Instagram stories. As I shared the process, my dm slides flooded with friends ( from Pakistan, India, Nigeria, South Africa, Egypt, Libya, USA) heart reacting or sharing my sentiments for its deliciousness. Some requested recipes, and others shared their own ways of cooking. I rejoiced, but on closer inspection, these people fell into two categories; those who grew up with okra's familiarity and those native English with a sophisticatedly adventurous palate ( see above). Okra still has a long way to reach before it is accepted into the mainstream, like once foreign 'halloumi' or 'aubergine' currently enjoy or celebrated in its nutritional value the way once underappreciated beans have come to enjoy. 

While we are here, let us chat about its nutritional value. High in vitamins C (an antioxidant), K ( for effective blood clotting), and A ( good for skin, hair, gums and nails), okra is also an excellent source of magnesium ( for energy, sleep, muscle contraction and relaxation) and folate ( for red blood cell formation and function). In addition to the micronutrients, it is an excellent source of fibre ( good for gut bacteria fuel, cholesterol and constipation). Overall, okra exhibits superfood qualities but centuries of colonial marketing let it down by denoting it 'unappealing food of natives or foreigners '. 

Our meals at their core are for nourishment, but they mean many things to us. They form memory, represent our heritage, and frequently indicate our social standing.

Much like people, language and customs, ingredients travel and when they travel, they become assimilated into their new home or become an anchor to bind with the home that was left behind. Arriving on this small island in the Atlantic from far-flung places, aubergine, tomatoes, peppers, spices, and more recently, avocados, halloumi and chickpeas have been given celebrity status. 

Here's to 2022 being the year when ladyfingers become the hot girls they deserve to be in the kitchen and restaurant menus. But unlike avocado, coconuts, aubergine, chickpeas, lentils may they be treated with respect and with recognition paid to the poor, marginalised communities worldwide, who have been cooking and enjoying them for centuries. 

Bhindi

  • Prep time: 10 mins
  • Cook time: 30 minutes
  • Serves 2-4

INGREDIENTS

  • 1/5 kg of fresh okra
  • 1 large onion thinly sliced
  • 1 tomato quartered
  • 1 Tsp tomato puree
  • ½ tsp turmeric powder
  • ½ tsp ground cumin
  • ½ tsp ground coriander
  • 1 tsp chilli crushed or powder
  • Salt to taste
  • 3 -4 Tbs olive oil
  • Chopped fresh chillies to finish


method

  1. Washed, dried and cut (whichever way you like).
  2. Heat a frying pan over medium heat.
  3. Once the pan is hot, pour half the oil and the okra over two portions. Cook till they begin to crispy (2-3 minutes). Drain and set aside.
  4. Heat the remaining oil in the same pan and add the onions and puree. Cook till onions become translucent and slightly golden.
  5. Now cook the tomatoes in with the onions till the reduce all their juice and the skin starts to come off.
  6. Add the spices and salt. Stir to mix.
  7. Add the okra and mix to coat with the onion, tomato spice combo.
  8. Cook for 5 minutes with the lid on.
  9. Stir in the fresh chillies and serve.
 
 
RecipesMehlaqa Khan