Pazham Pori Purana

Recipe
Few ripe or near ripe bananas peeled–
Not any banana- but Nendhrapazham, to be specific- a typical Kerala plantain, ceremonial fruit for Onam and Vishu, Kerala’s prominent festivals, king of plantains.
Cut lengthwise -I know that sounds stupid- can a banana be cut lengthwise? Isn’t it meant to be cut in to small round pieces and fried in oil and eaten as Kerala banana chips, famously sold in every nook and corner of the country? Now come on, I haven’t even begun my recipe, don’t interrupt.
Mix white flour with water, a bit of milk, and salt and make a paste, not too thick.
Now put the cut pieces of bananas into the paste.
Heat coconut oil-enough to sink the banana pieces one or two at a time- in a pan
Take the pieces and fry them
Wait until each piece turns golden brown
Drain oil and serve hot.
The above is a clumsily attempted recipe of Pazham Pori, thus called in North Kerala (where I belong) , also known as Vazhakka Appam in South.
The stuff made at home is good. But the stuff sold in Railway Stations is great. Don’t know how they get it right. It must be the unhygienic surroundings, the sweat dribbling down the bare shoulders of the cook, the dust that flies as trains pass by and the tiny insects that fall in the heated oil. They look bigger, thicker and they dribble in oil… (Just as the Golgappas aka Pani Puris sold at the roadside stall is infinitely tastier than the one made at home or sold in the sterilized surroundings of a star hotel)
Unfortunately, the pazham pori is nowadays rarely available in hotels and restaurants in Kerala. Unless you happen to visit an infra-dig village eating joint and partake in snacking with the rural class. It is also not so easy to find in Railway stations in Kerala nowadays. They are sold between say 7.00 AM and 8.30 AM in mornings and 3.30 PM to 4.30 PM evenings. The entire freshly-made stock is sold off before you get panting, huffing and puffing there.
I remember an old visit to my village in Kerala. I arrived at Shornur Junction near my home by train from Goa, with the Missus, Chathu and loads of luggage. It was around 7 AM in the morning. The station had come to life. Vendors selling tea, newspapers and breakfast were yelling loudly,announcing their wares as they walk along the platform. My friend Hari had promised to send his car with a driver. The driver called up to say that he will take another ten minutes to get there.
I told the Missus, wait here, I will get some newspaper and come. My village doesn’t get the daily supply of English newspapers; only Malayalam ones are sold. I rushed to the canteen, bought a parcel of 5 steaming hot pazham poris and went back. I forgot all about newspapers. Missus is fuming; the driver has already arrived. Porters and taxi touts are pestering them. Chathu gets impatient. He has been maintaining that look... Why did you drag me away from my multiple screens, the TV screen, the play station console and the computer screen? Why did you take me away from my football gang in my colony in Delhi…Why do I have to meet strange relatives and chat with them?; All in all, our man never passes up the opportunity to make me feel guilty.
We dump the entire luggage in the car and soon we are winding our way through country roads towards my village a few kilometers away. I open the parcel and start eating ravenously. I remembered that I haven’t brushed. Never mind. Anybody want a bite? No. Thank you. Conversation stops and I am busy eating. A mouth full of Pazham Poris can still make a man forget niceties and civil behaviour. It is hot, sweet, and tangy.
Ought to make it global cuisine. Wait for the day it is sold like pizzas, hamburgers, Danish Pastries and noodles in every corner of the globe.