Wild Wild Western Ghats

Kumm, cleaned, cut and already in the pan! 

Most Indian agricultural societies lead culinary lives based on the seasons. That can be said about agricultural societies world over I guess. And hence it is true for Coorg as well. One afternoon my maternal uncle walked in with a bunch of long stalks / leaves wrapped in a kannada newspaper - announcing the arrival of "kembu" and our estate manager or "writer" as they call them in Coorg, followed close behind also cupping in his hands a newspaper, wrapping "kumm" or wild mushrooms. Kembu or wild colocasia is this plant with a huge leaf and long stems, and is also called elephant-ear, because the leaves are HUGE. More about Kembu in another post, today I shall limit my words to the other treasure the writer was carrying in his hands. But before that I shall speak about the squeals of excitement these announcements brought forth fro my mom and grand-mom. And it's only then that I realised the word I used in the earlier sentence for them :treasures: were actually what they are. I can't remember if that was the first time I saw mushrooms. But I'm sure it was love at first sight.

Even today when I see mushrooms sitting so easily on a shelf in the grocery marts, I feel a bit scornful. How sweetly they occupy this place of pride. I'm being dramatic now, but really, growing up we only used to get mushrooms this way - you had to rummage for it. And in most places we were posted in with my father, my mom would find a way to go hunting or find people who would go hunting on her behalf for these! So very rarely we bought mushrooms from a store - they were mostly wild. Now, the next few words I'm going to say might seem absurd, all these wild mushrooms never tasted as good at the ones in coorg. There I said it! There was always this flavour which immediately said Coorg and rains and my mom would make the curry a little gravy-ish and that gravy would have all the flavour of these gorgeous mushrooms. There were times when i would go into the estates with my grandfather or my uncle and they would suddenly stop in their tracks and hush me and then lightly tread towards what they were looking at, kneel down and start picking up wild mushrooms. I'd wonder why I should be quiet during these sessions - but well sometimes there are jungle and estate stories that require you to respect them and be silent  - maybe it was one of those things. At least I hope there were. So on these wet rainy earth, I'd kneel down on one knee too, watching folks pick these mushrooms from trees or nip and pinch them away from mother earth. I know there are many varieties of mushrooms an one of my favourite bloggers and experts on all things coorg  - Kaveri Ponappa - speaks about a few kinds of mushrooms. As does this article, however not in beautiful prose like Kaveri! I should really ask my mom to one day explain all the differences to me. The ones I have heard about are mara kumm (tree mushrooms or mushrooms that grow on trees and are huge) or nucche kumm (tiny tiny ones with umbrella tops growing on the moist ground) and those are the kinds I would be entrusted with every time we found them in our estate walks. 

And walking back home with those in my cupped hands if a piece of cloth or a bigger leaf or newspaper wasn't available - was a sacred duty. Dare you drop one or a couple - that means so much less to eat for lunch or dinner that day. We'd bring them home and I would watch peering over the kitchen sink as my mom dusted off the wet mud sticking to the stems, with a running commentary of how eating just about any wild mushroom you find in the estates can be dangerous because they can be poisonous and unless you know exactly what you are looking for and recognise the different varieties, mushroom hunting is not for you. I have sadly not learnt the art, and what's sadder is now when I go back home to my grandmom's place, we don't find these beauties anymore. I don't know why - but it's sad. Maybe the next time I am in Coorg, I'm going to bug my uncle to take me with him on his estate walks and teach me this art that might be lost unless folks like me actively keep it alive. 

When I was at home a couple of weeks back, my mom's maid called one evening and said she had found wild mushrooms and wanted to share some of that bounty with us (she knows my love for them) and was sending someone home with kumm. My mom walks up to me with this "You won't believe what I have" look and I said "what ma", and she told me, Malamma had found kumm and was sending us some. In an instant, the taste was in my mouth - i could feel the velvety bits of mushoom on my tongue, but the flavour - a little bit of rain, a little bit of earth, a little bit of the forest - all of it was in my head and hence on my taste-buds which were causing my mouth to water a little - a lot actually. She was so excited that I was getting to eat them on my monsoon trip home, she called her mother and I overheard her say "Ammi, we got kumm, I am making some for Putti" tonight. Yes, Putti is my pet-name. But the sheer joy in her voice was so lovely to hear and I am so sure that my grandmother would have had a wide smile on her face on the other side of phone. And if my grandfather were alive, he would have told my mom to parcel him some all the way to Coorg. how can I ever write about food without speaking about my thatha! 

So mom proceeded to make the most wonderful kumm curry for dinner that night - my favourite curry is the one with coconut and a lot of spices, but there is a dry roast kumm fry that I love as well. But that night we had the coconut curry. That with hot rice and a little bit of ghee and my mother and I were in wild heaven - my father was chuckling away watching us. 

For someone who has relished the taste of wild mushroom, store brought and commercially grown button mushrooms just will never be the same - but god knows I have cooked them a  million times trying to replicate the divine flavour of the wild you find in coorg's kumm.

While I do have too many of my own memories of hunting for mushrooms or learning the names of all the kinds or knowing looking at one, which ones could be eaten and which one not, or how to delicately prise them away from the earth which wants to hold onto it's treasures - my mom has so many of hers, it's delightful to hear her narrate them. About how she and her brothers or all her cousins during summer vacations would go into the estates and fields looking for these and the one with the most bounty would be rewarded by their grandmother, I feel a sense of loss. A loss for these days and nights i will never have and also a sense of loss for how rarely we find these gems even in coorg these days, but I'm thankful that I still have her stories.