Sheikh Abdul Qader is not an easy man to miss. For one, he runs the most famous jigarthanda store in Madurai, the rather immodestly (if obviously) named Famous Jigarthanda. Secondly, when this affable 50-year-old smiles, as he is wont to whenever he speaks, he reveals a mouth only partially filled with teeth, which are all on the left side. “I am a sugar patient,” he says, trying to explain away the gaping hole on the right. But listen to his story, and you may arrive at a different conclusion. Qader was 10 when he joined the family business, which was run from a pushcart. (This store, which is really just a stand backing into a small one-room by the side of the corridor leading to the Madanagopalaswamy temple, came into existence five years ago.) His mother’s brother taught him the ropes. “And when he was not looking, I used to drink countless glasses of jigarthanda.” Could that be why Qader is a walking-talking cautionary tale today, which mothers can tell their chocolate-bound children? “Now,” Qader says somewhat ruefully, “I limit myself to two glasses a day.”
Little girls in school uniforms hand Qader steel dabbas to be filled with jigarthanda, which is Madurai’s most favourite roadside drink. But chef Jacob Sahaya Kumar Aruni, over the course of a telephonic conversation, locates the origin of jigarthanda to regions more northwards. “Just look at the name,” he says. “Those are Hindi words – jigar thanda is something that cools the heart. The drink was invented to cool the hearts of Muslim settlers in India. It is thought that the Mughals brought it in.” Aruni points to its mention in the Ain-i-Akbari, that administrative record of Akbar’s reign. “It is called something different there,” Aruni says. “But that drink too is made with almond pisin [gum].” The pisin is the thing that separates jigarthanda from its northern cousin, the falooda, which uses vermicelli and is therefore scooped up and eaten; jigarthanda, on the other hand, is stirred and drunk.
Falooda is also a more innocent preparation, its truck solely with the gustatory. Jigarthanda, though, was a fixture at wedding nights. Almond is an aphrodisiac, and milk a soporific. “The almond pisin would give them strength, and the milk would later help them sleep,” says Aruni, seemingly unaware that the drink has just made the leap from cooling the heart to warming the loins. He guesses that jigarthanda must have come to the Pandian kingdom along with Mughal cuisine, possibly through a marriage alliance. “Also, the Muslim population of Madurai, who were originally from Hyderabad, must have brought it with them, as people had the habit of bringing along their own kitchen staff.” Now, of course, jigarthanda is associated more with Madurai than with Lucknow or Hyderabad.
R Venkatraman, Professor of Art History (Retd.), Madurai Kamaraj University, subscribes to a different view. Sitting in his living room in his vest and lungi, and clearly relishing the opportunity to deliver another lecture, he maintains that jigar stands for spirit or courage, while thanda comes from the Arabic word thandal, which stands for the captain of a ship and also the rower of a boat. (Hence the Tamil word thandalkaaran.) Such a person would need physical and mental strength, and kadal paasi [sea algae], rich in nutrition, was a staple food of seafarers. “The Arabs made the drink popular,” he says, before taking a detour into a dizzyingly free-associative history of Madurai. “The city, at one point, was under the control of Sultans. And later, the Nayak viceroys of the Vijayanagara empire came here. At some point, jigarthanda became jigar–danda – where danda stands for stick or club, the king’s sceptre. It could also stand for the mace, which is associated with Hanuman and Bheema. All of Madurai’s Hanuman temples came after the Vijayanagara empire – earlier it was only Rama, Lakshmana, and Sita. Even today, pushcarts selling jigarthanda will have, on the side, an illustration of Bheema.”
No such illustration adorns the pushcart of Amanullah, where a painted sign screams: “Rosemilk, Badam Kheer, Sharbat, Jil Jil Jigarthanda.” This is the only cart on this roadside. He says we will find more in places where there are plenty of pedestrians, rather than this big road with its incessant vehicular traffic. How, then, does he make a sale? “I am near this children’s park,” he says, pointing ahead. “The customers come from there.” Amanullah’s jigarthanda, at the standard rate of Rs. 15 per glass, is watery, with lots of ice, and not very sugary – and there’s a residual taste of vanilla. Like most makers of jigarthanda, he buys kadal paasi and soaks it overnight, till it becomes loose and stringy. Then he adds milk, sugar syrup, vanilla essence, and a signature splash of orange colour.
The owner of the store opposite the old Imperial Cinema says that he makes his jigarthanda with milk, kadal paasi and nannari [sarsaparilla] sharbat. Attesting to the popularity of this recipe, he boasts that he sells 3000 to 5000 glasses a day, during the summer months. Elsewhere, at the Murugan Idli Store, the recipe (like Amanullah’s) switches nannari sharbat with sugar syrup, and the glass is garnished with a dollop of ice cream and even basundhi (if you request a “special jigarthanda,” which costs Rs. 26, six rupees more than what Famous Jigarthanda charges for its special). The drink at Murugan Idli Store is a little sweeter, the paasi a little chewier in texture than in the earlier stores – but it comes in the same shade, more or less, which is the colour of a malt beverage. Another shop named Famous Jigarthanda on East Marret Street – they claim to have “no branches,” despite being run by relations of Sheikh Abdul Qader – uses a pre-mixed recipe.
Is jigarthanda made of almond pisin, as Aruni claims, or kadal paasi, as everyone else seems to refer to the gelatinous substance that dissolves into noodle-like extrusions? The confusion is resolved by Qader, as he discloses his recipe. (See sidebar.) “The almond pisin looks like kadal paasi, so everyone calls it that. It’s the same thing.” (I wonder what the Professor, with his seafaring theories, would have to say to this.) Qader’s day begins at 6 a.m., when the milk is boiled and cooled. Cream is set aside. Ice-cream is made by hand. The pisin, left to soak overnight, is stripped of impurities like tree bark. The root of nannari is boiled and mixed with sugar to make sharbat. The store opens around noon and closes at 11 p.m. Jostling crowds notwithstanding, Qader says that what we’re having is not really the jigarthanda he used to have as a kid, for five or ten paise. “The milk was so pure then,” he says. “Now they use injections and all sorts of chemicals. Also, earlier, it was cow’s milk, which was more fragrant. Now it’s a mix of cow’s milk and buffalo’s milk. That’s why that old taste is not there anymore.”
An edited version of this piece can be found here.
Copyright ©2012 The Hindu. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
vijay
September 15, 2012
jigarthandavukku pazhaya paalgova padame potrukeengale?
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vijay
September 15, 2012
BR, not sure if this is something that you have noticed before, but how come our makers latch on to some bizarre concept like conjoined twins, all at the same time? You have Maatran, the priyamani film Charulata and one more film, all having this twin business. In 2005, in the same year you had Anniyan, Ghajini, chandramukhi all based on some form of schizophrenia/mental illness or other. ellarum pakkathu pakkathu roomla okkandhu yosipaangalo?
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B.H.Harsh
September 15, 2012
I am not sure whether or not to expect your take on Barfi this weekend.. Any clarifications?
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brangan
September 15, 2012
vijay: Changed pic 🙂 About the other thing, it happens in Hollywood too. Within months of each other, there were two volcano movies (“Volcano” and “Dante’s Peak”), two asteroid-hitting-earth movies (“Deep Impact” and “Armageddon”)… you can make quite a list.
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Govardhan Giridass
September 16, 2012
Hotel Prakash, opp. Mandeveli bus stand has a superb jigarthanda in Chennai. Perfect to wash down the six-rices meal there, which at Rs 40 is much tastier and half the price of Sangeethas and Saravanas.
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Njoy
September 16, 2012
I don’t know how much of a foodie you are , but you genuine ‘love’ for films that is so evident in your movie pieces, is not quite there in your food ones. At least not yet. May be just a feeling, just saying.
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Shankar
September 16, 2012
Jigarthanda, fruit mixture, 2 AM idli and kothu porotta, Mappilai Vinayakar mutta bonda, mama kadai paneer soda, unlimited meals at Shankwala…sollikitte pogalam!! 🙂
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Priya Sreeram (@priyasreeram)
September 16, 2012
lovely read; nice knowing about the history behind my fav drink ! I often call it as a south indian falooda but jut got to know that it is sans vermicelli- gotta make it at home sometime
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venkatesh
September 16, 2012
a fellow Marudaikaaran i see – mind you i havent been to India for 10+ years now – so don’t know if any of the above actually stiil exists.
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Bala
September 16, 2012
Thandai – cold drink. try the thandai available in Shivaji nagar, Bangalore. It reminds me of Madurai’s jigar thanda without the ice cream and the condensed milk on top. It is definitely a north indian drink which has been modified to suit our southern tastes.
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Shankar
September 16, 2012
@venkatesh, this is all from the 80s memory vault. I haven’t been to Madurai in 16 years now…
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venkatesh
September 16, 2012
@Shankar : damn – i sort of just assume that rosy world of Marudai still exists – would be a shame if it all goes and not only for nostalgic reasons .
BR : Why can’t replies be nested more than 2 deep ?
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Anu Warrier
September 17, 2012
The confusion is resolved by Qader, as he discloses his recipe. (See sidebar.)
Rangan, where is the recipe? And why, in all my time travelling around much of TN, haven’t I come across this?? 😦
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Muthuvel
September 17, 2012
Guess they all subscribe to the same DVD supplier!
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brangan
September 17, 2012
Anu Warrier: Sorry, that sidebar bit was for the article in the paper. It should be there if you click on the link below the piece.
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vijay
September 17, 2012
BR, just curious on how do you gather the basic info here. Do you fix a town first and then try to find out what’s special there and where is it made? Or do you have a list of these special delicacies and go about searching for the best shop in that town to find them?
Iam warming up to this foodalogue. And in a way feel good that some thing like this could remind (or even inform)our makkals about what they have here, and what they cannot always find in a mall. I hope this progresses into also looking for restaurants by the Hindu that still stick to their authentic traditional local recipes, that are fast getting lost.
The next generation might have to look in the net to find out how even a murukku is made,when they are bored of their lays chips and kurkures. Sad, really.
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KayKay
September 17, 2012
Let’s not forget 2010 saw THREE movies from H’Wood about an elite team of mercenaries…The Losers, The A-Team and The Expendables:-)
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meera
September 18, 2012
I was royally escorted to a jigarthanda peddler by my mother in law… It did nothing to my taste buds but the sugarcane juice with nanari ver was something else…
While you are on the foodie trail, how about some chettinadu reminiscing?
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brangan
September 18, 2012
vijay: We draw up a list of food items associated with a particular place, and then we either assign writers to go there or take it up ourselves, depending on the time we have and how close we are to the place.
meera: Sorry, not much of a Chettinad food person 🙂 But is there something specific you recommend, something unique to the place? I can pass on the idea…
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raj
September 18, 2012
“We” as in the royal We? I saw someone covered the Dharwad Peda or something and manapparai murukku. This whole series is good, anyway. And it seems to me most of these food items trace back to some Singh or other North Indian. (I think except for manapparai murukku, all other ones done so far trace back to a Singh or some other North Indian origin).
And I am glad it is not someone else doing this series, so far at least. They have the tendency to babble on about irrelevant stuff in food articles.
Vijay – You DONT want to check out the articles in the the restaurant beat.
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raj
September 18, 2012
When you guys do Thirunelveli Halwa, I hope you do it. Madurai and surroundsings seem to be “closer” to you than Dharwad, maNapparai etc so I guess there’s a fair chance of that.
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vijay
September 18, 2012
“Vijay – You DONT want to check out the articles in the the restaurant beat.”
I had already told BR what I felt about those regular restaurant series 🙂 But there seems to be an audience for that, looks like
I am hoping this evolves into some kind of a search for locally famous traditional joints serving authentic food. Like some Chettinad mansion in Karaikudi or some Kongu joint in Coimbatore/Pollachi. But before all that, the iruttu kadai in Tirunelveli
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vijay
September 19, 2012
BR, add Ooty “Varkey” to the list in case you haven’t already. Want to know what the big deal about it is.
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munimma
September 19, 2012
so is this a promise of a book on local food favorites? That would be wonderful!
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brangan
September 20, 2012
munimma: No book on food, unfortunately. I do have one coming out on a Tamil filmmaker. You may have heard his name 🙂
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munimma
September 21, 2012
yes, waiting for that. But why do you say no? The future is uncertain and unwritten. No?
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meera
September 28, 2012
I was thinking more in terms of how a particular dish evolves from a region.. Like how chettinadu dishes lean more towards pepper garlic etc… Something unique to the region, climate, resources… Why do certain people in certain parts eat in a certain way? Do I make sense? Like how Anthony bourdain researches in no reservations!
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