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GOURMET FILES

Cool cukes

Universal appeal: Crunchy wholesomeness.

Boswell quotes Samuel Johnson: “It has been a common saying of physicians in England, that a cucumber should be well sliced, and dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out, as good for nothing.” Thrown out? And he was not alone in having this opinion; about a hundred years before him, the English believed that raw vegetables were the source of summer diseases and should be completely avoided, especially by children. And that the name, then “cowcumber”, was most appropriate: it was fit only for cattle. Samuel Pepys recorded in his diary on September 22, 1663: “…this day Sir W. Batten tells me that Mr. Newhouse is dead of eating cowcumbers, of which the other day I heard of another, I think”.

So that’s one view. But, ever since the cucumber originated — in India — it spread all over the world. From here to Greece, then Italy, and from there to China. Today, there’s probably no place where it’s not popular. The Bible mentions it twice, and a reference in the Book of Numbers shows that even the enslaved Israelites in Egypt had access:

We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely

The cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlic.

The cucumber, Cucumis sativus, of the gourd family cucurbitaceae, is to us a summer vegetable, like the musk melon and squash. But the Roman emperor Tiberius had cucumbers daily on his table, summer or winter. And, later, Charlemagne had them grown in his gardens in France.

Today the cucumber is used as a natural diuretic by bodybuilders and people wanting to lose weight. But the ancient Romans are reported to have used cucumbers to treat many other things: scorpion bites, bad eyesight, and to scare away mice! Wives wishing for children wore them around their waists.

Whatever. What we do know today is that they provide fibre, and, probably because they grow abundantly in summer, coolness. One explanation given for the phrase “as cool as a cucumber” is that the inside is about 20 degrees cooler than the ambient temperature. That’s not quite believable, although cukes are cool to the touch. But it’s certainly true that they contain about 90 per cent water, so, as the mercury rises, so does their appeal.

But according to Swift, Gulliver’s mad scientist was searching for the opposite property: “He had been eight years upon a project for extracting sun-beams out of cucumbers, which were to be put into vials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw inclement summers.”

The association of cucumbers with summer is so strong that even Pimm’s, one of the staple drinks served at Wimbledon — and at Henley’s Royal Regatta and the Glyndebourne opera festival — is served with slices of cucumbers or twists of its peel.

In Delhi now we get cucumber throughout the year, but the best variety, the juiciest, the sweetest, comes early on from the hills, and the locally grown one comes later, in high summer. The rest of the year it’s a different variety with darker, thicker skin and denser, less juicy flesh. Cucumbers from the hills are tender despite their size and the best way to eat them is with the peel on, just cut into halves. An unnecessary yet delicious add-on — if you can take the heat — is what we call nimki, a coarse paste of fresh green chillies pounded with salt.

Some parts of the country call a kheera, a cucumber, kakri. But here a kakri is a different vegetable, probably the same family, but only, only, available when the loo blows. Immortalised by Nazir Akbarabadi in Agra Bazaar, where he likens it to Laila’s fingers and Majnu’s ribs, its tender sweetness lends itself to no recipes: it’s just eaten, as it were, in the raw.

After papad, cucumber raita is probably the most popular accompaniment to Indian food in restaurants everywhere (except right here in India). And it’s so simple, the “recipe” so obvious, that I cannot understand why every book on Indian food must describe in detail how it’s put together. Because that’s all there is to it: putting together.

But there’s a fresh take on it that needs elaboration, a chilled cucumber and yoghurt salad. Instead of relying on gelatin to get firmness, yoghurt is hung to get rid of the water, and then used to bind the cucumber slices, which have also been drained of water.

Vasundhara Chauhan is based in Delhi and works with Pratham’s ASER (Annual Status of Education Report).

Makes about 2 cups

4 cucumbers, about 500g

2 cups dahi, yoghurt

Salt

Pepper

1 tsp powdered sugar

1 tsp onions, chopped fine

2 tsp chopped mint or dill leaves, optional

Wash cucumbers thoroughly. Slice into thin discs. Sprinkle with about a teaspoon of salt and mix well. Cover and refrigerate. Hang yoghurt in muslin or fine meshed sieve for about an hour or two, until whey is removed. Place in a large bowl and add pepper, sugar, onions and herbs, if using. Mix well. Place sliced, salted cucumbers in a strainer, then wrap in a clean towel, squeezing hard to remove all water. Stir into hung yoghurt mixture. Transfer to a small bowl, cover and refrigerate until “set”. When ready to serve, run knife around edge of bowl, taking care to loosen salad away from bowl. Upturn on serving dish and tap hard on bowl until yoghurt-cucumber mixture slips onto serving dish. Serve chilled.

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