The Roving Foodie
Lakshmi Nagappan

One of the inconsequential, yet luscious losses of urbanisation, globalisation and ‘husband and wife working families’ is the ideal idli. Even in households that awake to the strains of MS’s Suprabhatham, breakfast is a toast to a bowl of Kellogg’s that is fortified with iron and internationalism. The cumbersome-to-cook idli that modern day health gurus prescribe as the right combination of carbohydrate and protein, surfaces only during weekends.

Chennai may have been consumed by universally acclaimed fettuccini and hummus, but only when one spots the cues beside a nondescript two storey on G.N Chetty road does one understand that despite globalisation, even the yuppie lot is yearning for homebread(!) cuisine. The ultimate in jasmine in the South is the Madurai mallipoo. Madurai is also from where these mallipoo idlis that are having Chennai in a tizz originate. We urbanites are condescending about the mofusil areas, and always crow about how we enlighten the towns with pizzas and pizzazz. Well here is a case to reconsider our narcissism – The Murugan Idli Shop.

The eatery that started in Goddess Meenakshi’s domain, on the pavement, thirty-five years ago has grown into a chain of restaurants in Madurai and has Chennai waiting on the platform. Our jammy luck ensured seating space in the ac hall. Ofcourse the non-ac might have been less crowded but we required the AC to add that extra ounce of sublimeness to the soodana idli. We shared our table with two other men and attempted to be oblivious of their presence. However, we were baffled when one of them got up to interrupt us with,”If you will excuse us, we have to leave!” “Hello, but I did not come with you guys to the restaurant in the first place,” I was about to retort, but was tickled by their GOSH! WHAT A NOSH! camaraderie and my puzzled visage broke out into a smile. Their place was occupied in a jiffy by a North Indian brother sister pair, who could not get enough of the idli and dosa.

There were a variety of rice dishes on the menu, but that is not why we had come to this idli kadai. Our idlis arrived, super soft. We racked our brains as to what gave them a cushiony feel, and even cheekily conjectured whether the cheating ingredient was soda bi carb! The idlis melted in our mouths, accompanied by the four chutneys and a paruppu podi doused with gingelly oil. The masala and the medu vada were yummy too. The Uthappam, topped with sautéed shallots, was good tasting despite being slightly thick; it was compensated for by the parchment thin ghee roast.

But what took even the mooncake was the ven pongal. When we were kids, we were lured to the Perumal koil because of our devoted folks who swore that the Perumal koil prasadam was heavenly. This pongal was distinctively grainy and not squishy, the freshly crushed pepper and cumin teasing our taste buds. We would peg it a notch higher than even the ambrosia offered to our neighbourhood Perumal. The scrummy sakkarai pongal was our dessert and the filter coffee, the antidote that got us back to the grind.

This joint sure transported our epicurean senses to our grandma’s hearth and home where like here, she would fuss over our meals served on plantain leaves. The reality that pinched us to arouse to the contemporary was the plastic disposable tumbler held by a steel holder.

With idlis that come to you at just Rs4.50 apiece, our estimate is that for fifty bucks you could have whooping time.