/elle-gourmet-india/media/agency_attachments/2025/03/08/2025-03-08t065857820z-elle-gourmet-logo.png){kind=logo}
/elle-gourmet-india/media/media_files/2025/03/27/v9V6N16G6jqGJsFlNoJR.png)
Italians have the white sauce pasta, we have our famed yakhni preparation. Our answer to arrabbiata? The countless red gravies that stand valiantly with numerous vegetables and meat variations to complement them. Kashmiri cuisine particularly, is a self-reliant healer, honed with years of humble conservation as a response to conflict. Be it Wazwan-style cooking (a multi-course meal within Kashmiri Muslim cuisine) or the manner employed by the Pandits, one vegetable that hits the spot right is the nadru, aka the lotus stem. It is also known as kamal kakdi or bhae in the subcontinent—Sindhis will know best.
Reluctant at first, half of my childhood was a tussle to embrace the welcomingly crunchy but slightly nutty flavour. A first for me—kids are fussy, I was too. The hair strands certainly didn’t help. If you tasted a meal in a Kashmiri household where chunks of this vegetable are bigger than your pinky, you’d know. The crispy, honey-glazed fanatics won’t find an ounce of relatability here. For better or for worse, I guess? The point is, you either like it, or you don’t.
/elle-gourmet-india/media/media_files/2025/03/27/NyN7uHu6JhYkW1yKn4gL.jpeg)
Whatever the style of chopping the darling nadru, the varied preparations are the real goldmine here. Numero uno is the nadru yakhni—a yoghurt preparation, vaguely similar to the mutton yakhni devoured as a gravy and also in the form of biryani. Sourness and a velvety aftertaste reign heavily, and spice is out of the equation when this dish is concerned. Rice, always pair it with rice. Some also prefer garnishing it with dried fenugreek, which adds a tinge of earthiness to the dish as a whole.
Another favourite and surprisingly less talked-about dish is the palak nadru. A palak paneer recipe, but less blended and slightly a notch spicier. It’s cooked especially during the winter months and is a staple in plenty of households during the eve of Mahashivratri. My mum has fond memories of eagerly waiting for the long puja to end, only to be served the dish with blistering hot rice—one she now lovingly looks back on, with her seated next to the window sill amidst the snowy landscape outside. Beware of cloves here, there are plenty and they lie hidden like Bermuda, only to be met with an unfavourable eye roll upon an encounter.
Let’s talk about the nadru aloo - the dark horse, the middle child. A simple, watery red gravy with big chunks of fried potato and sliced lotus stem. It’s our answer to the regular matar aloo, only with more sass and flavour. Ahem. Then comes the nadru churma, which is easily the most loved rendition of the vegetable. It’s not a ‘sabzi’ per se, more like a starter slash moral support player when the menu at night isn’t what you’d like to hear about. Long chunks, deep fried in oil, mustard preferable. Seasoning with salt is recommended, chilli powder optional. A step-sibling of the middle child exists too—coated in rice flour and a red coloring agent for a fiery look, though not as fiery in taste. Not as fiery on the spice meter though. Devoured as a tea-time snack with a cuppa kahwa. Heaven.
Your classic haakh (collard greens) and monj (kohlrabi) nadru are regional dishes frequented by those in the valley and maybe Delhi since the climate there is slightly more favourable for the vegetable than in Mumbai. These preparations are a no-nonsense proponent, utilising ample oil, dried red chillies and asafoetida. I can smell it as I write this. The result is a glistening transparent curry, with splotches of green and white elements floating aboard. Might take time for people to get used to though, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s fine, too.