“To be able to walk a tightrope isn’t a curse placed upon your shoulders. Nor is it a blessing. It is just another way of walking. Something that not everyone understands. Something that some find risky, while others find it magical.
And for the one who walks it - ordinary.”
Most of you who read this would be from India. If so, I can boldly claim that at least the ones from the south of India would definitely know what string hoppers are. In response, you will assure me that you have no idea what string hoppers are. The truth is that we’re both right. You know and don’t know what string hoppers are.
Let me clear your confusion. Those of you who feel hurt by my accusations. Do you know what an idiyappam is? Then you know and don’t know what string hoppers are. An idiyappam, also known as indiappa, noolputtu, noolappam, ottu shavige, putu mayam, putu mayang, and sometimes as a string hopper, is a dish originating from Tamilakam. It is basically steamed rice noodles, usually paired with some stew.
Usually.
Not for me though. The way I have always had it is with freshly prepared coconut milk and sugar.
Yet, none of this is the point. What I need you to know is that, somewhere between the 1st century and the 21st century, some English man decided to call an appe (pronounced aapper in Sinhalese) a hopper.
A hopper is a word that already had multiple meanings before being considered a food by the British in the 19th century. The original one being ‘one who hops’.
Now when I first heard the term ‘string hoppers’, the five-year-old that I am thought,
“Are string hoppers those who walk tight ropes, but hop from one tight rope to another?”
Now that I’m older, I understand that there were no string hoppers on any tightrope. Only idiyappam in a steamer.
Now how does the idiyappam reach the steamer? Just as how I have reached a point in my life, writing stories about idiyappam, they too reach their destination with the help of my amma.
Amma, also known as mother, mummy, ma, ammi, ai, tayi, and sometimes as Subhadra, is a person originating from Ker- ala. She is basically my mother. My amma.
Now please sit back, so I can explain to you the journey of idiyappam from my amma to me.
Idiyappam is made from rice flour. Amma used to make it from regular rice flour but somewhere in between almost dying and trying to stay alive, she decided to start using red rice flour. Normally I would ask you to stop me if anything seemed too confusing, but since you can’t, I’ll pause and ex- plain everything I can. Now, normal rice flour is white as it is made from white rice. Therefore red rice flour is obviously made from red rice. But out of all the different types of rice, you can find in India, white rice is the most commonly consumed and probably the worst. It is basically stripped of everything that is good. Red rice on the other hand is amazing. It’s got everything you need to maintain a healthy diet. But not everyone knows about it. Now that I think about it, I wonder if amma switched to red rice for reasons related to her health. For example, it is said that red rice helps reduce inflammation within the body. Since amma suffers from lupus, an autoimmune disease, inflammations are more present in her daily life than even her own family.
Although none of that really matters. Personally, I prefer red rice. It tastes better. That’s all you need to know.
So the first step is to take the red rice flour and add some salt to it. Once mixed well, amma adds boiling water to it and mixes it in. Then she kneads the dough with her hands until it is soft.
Now this is where things start getting difficult. Not for me. Writing about making idiyappam is very easy. Kneading is also easy when compared to what comes next, but amma isn’t as strong as she used to be. Although that statement too could be contested by someone. For it wouldn’t be fair to use the term strength just to describe a person’s physical capabilities. If anything, amma is stronger now than ever before. Although, all this could only be said if there was anyone who would contest my statement from before. Amma wouldn’t contest it. She would rather just knead the dough.
After she’s done kneading the dough, she coats the idiyappam press and the plates of the steamer with some ghee. Once this is done, I don’t really know what happens. They say you have to fill the press with the dough and rotate the handle on the press. But I wouldn’t know since I usually don’t stay to watch this part. In case you have any confusion, let me ex- plain. An idiyappam press is a cylindrical device with a disc placed into a nozzle at one end and a handle at the other. The disc usually has many tiny holes through which the dough when pressed, comes out as strings. The handle when turned is what causes the dough to be pressed through the disc.
The difficulty of this task depends on how the dough is prepared. The tougher the dough, the harder it is to rotate the handle. And I have tried to rotate this handle a couple of times but only to be failed before I can budge the handle. Only for amma to decide that I can’t do it. She has failed me on multiple occasions. Why? Because I too am not strong enough. But what I don’t understand is, if I can’t do it, then how can she do it? As I mentioned earlier, amma isn’t as strong as she used to be. Yet, she doesn’t contest the statement. She just rotates the handle however she can.
Now while this and the rest happens. I try my best to stay away from the kitchen and from amma. So, I pace around the house. Up and down the stairs. Spinning about in my chair as I stare at the ceiling and the walls of my room. Looking out the window, the smell of freshly steamed idiyappam and sweetened coconut milk fills the air, while I tiptoe between longing and distress. The longing I feel for the idiyappam, and the concern I feel for my amma.
Confused? Again? Let me clear things out one last time.
Usually, it takes around twenty to thirty minutes to prepare idiyappam. That isn’t how long I have been waiting. I have been waiting for days. Closer to months. Concerned. Counting days and watching amma as she moves around the house. Watching the subtle twitches and winces. Thinking to myself,
“How many days has it been since I asked her to make idiyappam for me? Have there been enough days for her to rest? Has she recovered from the last time she made it? Has her health gotten any better? Will I be able to ask her anytime soon? Will she be able to make another plate of idiyappam for me? Or will this be the last?”
Back and forth I go. Walking the thin line. As thin as the strings of the idiyappam now on my plate. Back and forth, between my desire to eat her cooking, and my worries about her well-being. Hopping away as the strings of the idiyappam break one by one with every bite I take. Hopping away, hold- ing onto my desires and worries, from one string to another. Hoping that before this string that I stand on breaks, I will find one more string to hop to. Hoping that it won’t be the last. Praying that I am not pushing my chances. All while making sure to enjoy every single bite of the idiyappam.
Now that I think about it, maybe the British weren’t wrong in naming the dish. But that isn’t what’s important. What matters is that now you know of string hoppers.