From Milk Street:
With one hand clutching their billowing white robes to their faces—shielding the gods from their breath—the teenagers used their other to tenderly, methodically dip and wipe, dip and wipe, dip and wipe, a meticulous wash and repeat in which they carefully dab milk on, then off the stone deities they knelt before.Share
Such is the pace of life at Lodha Dham Temple, an open-air Jain monastery where stacked stone spires, towering pillars and marble floors glow under a blinding white sun. Tucked off a dusty stretch of Ahmedabad Highway just 90 minutes north of Mumbai, life here is lived pared. No vehicles. No electricity. No money. Simplicity.
Which is why I’d come to learn one of India’s simplest dishes, dal tarka. What I didn’t realize is that I was about to learn something that would change my entire understanding of Indian cooking.
As so many in the West do, I thought of dal as little more than a bland porridge of yellow lentils. But as with Lodha Dham Temple, there are deep nuances and textures if you are willing to see them.
The public is welcome to join the monks for their vegetarian meals. And for less than $1, I was given a stainless steel tray, which cooks quickly heaped with rice, vegetable curries, roti and a bowl of soupy, yellow dal tarka.
Truthfully, the dal tarka was not much to look at. But it tasted nothing like it looks. The lentils themselves were creamy and sweet. Topping it was a drizzle of richness and toasted spices. The flavor was astounding, with pops of coriander, chili and cumin, all of it grounded by earthy turmeric. That drizzle took something so basic and plain and completely transformed it. (Read more.)
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