Kozikatta

On summer evenings tensile as gold, on evenings when the celestial sovereign continued to glint long after the sky had died, Amma made kozhikattas.

The happiest memories of those childhood summers linger on my tongue like the nectarious slick of jaggery syrup with its secret twist of cardamom and dry ginger. They linger in the taste of the moist coconut that tumbled into my mouth. As the steamy first bite into the pearl-pink softness of the rice casing that caused your teeth to throb and as the syrup… as the golden syrup that welled up from each bite like a smile, then dripped over lips and fingers, slid down chin and wrists.

Those evenings, I'd scramble up the black granite kitchen platform to watch Amma knead her precious reserve of ground brown rice for the kozhikatta shells. With strong black fingers dipped in creamy coconut milk, she'd press and fold, slap and pound the rice flour into a pink lump that'd lie at the centre of the gleaming stainless steel bowl, just begging to be played with.

Grated coconut, like a plateful of snow, would wait as Amma carefully measured out dry ginger powder and crushed cardamom to scatter over it. The jaggery would bubble lazily in a heavy black pot, the ladle caught upright in its viscous grip. Amma'd wait like a practised hunter, one watchful eye on the pot, till the jaggery loosened its hold on the wooden ladle. Then seeing her chance, she'd quickly pour it in a thick rope of gold into the coconut snowheap and stir it into submission.

Creaming her hands with coconut milk once more, Amma would roll the rice dough into small balls, then flatten them against her now red palms. Placing some of the golden coconut mixture in the middle, she'd bury it into the dough with two fingers, then seal it into a ball, rolling it gently, yet firmly between her palms, till it was smooth and round as an egg. She'd glaze it with coconut milk, smoothing it over, like one would oil over a baby's skin. The perfect kozhikatta would finally be placed in the steamer with the rest of the batch and the lid of the steamer lowered.

For the next twenty minutes (the longest of the day), I'd impatiently hover around the steamer, listening to its deep rumbling sounds telling of the wonderful alchemies within its belly. Amma, quietly wiping off any trace of rice powder from her shiny black granite platform, any smudge of coconut grease from her stainless steel bowl, would entirely ignore me.

After what would seem like two decades, she'd crack open the lid of the steamer. And behind a curtain of steam would lie neat row after row of soft white mounds, their skins translucent and glistening, as if emerging from a sauna; some puffed up just right, some, their sides cracked, bleeding the golden syrup.

I simply had to bite into the first one and have the roof of my mouth and tongue skinned by the furious rush of steam. Amma'd just laugh and shake her head and leave us alone—me with my precious gold.

Kozhikatta roughly translates as 'egg'. The name derives from the gold heart sheathed in a white casing

For the dough

Slightly roasted rice flour – 1 cup
Boiling water – 2 cups
A pinch of salt

For the filling

Grated coconut – 1 cup
Melted/ grated jaggery – 100 gms
Powdered cumin seeds – ½ tsp
Powdered dry ginger – ½ tsp
Powdered cardamom seeds – ¼ tsp
Coconut milk – ½ cup



Make a soft dough with the rice flour, salt and hot water.

Mix the jaggery, spices and grated coconut.

Take a small portion of the dough and roll into a medium-sized ball. Using thumbs, press it into a hollow cup, and fill with 1-2 teaspoons of the coconut mixture. Seal the mouth and roll into a ball. Glaze with coconut milk to prevent it from cracking during steaming. Do the same with the rest of the dough.

Steam for 10-12 minutes.

Makes 7 kozhikattas.

-- Aparna Jacob