Going Dutch

 

Sarah Lisa, from Holland, runs the Zera Noya bakery in Kochi. She talks about the reasons behind its success

By Shevlin Sebastian

On a Monday afternoon, the rain is pelting down. Outside the Zera Noya bakery in Kochi, in a cemented courtyard, a two-and-a-half-year-old girl is playing in the rain. She lets out a shriek of joy as she looks at her mother, Sarah Lisa, 32, who is sitting at a glass-topped table and working on a laptop.

Her mother smiles to see the joy on her daughter’s face. To a visitor, she said, “Many people are shocked that I have allowed Adayah to play in the rain.”

Sarah has been running the bakery for the past one-and-a-half years.

Zera is a Hebrew word, which means seeds sprouting. This indicated a new beginning, while Noya means beautiful in Hebrew. The word can be connected to Naya in Hindi, which also means new.

“I like the Hebrew language, and hence I chose these words,” said Sarah. Initially, because of Covid, she was baking from home and selling to customers.

The physical bakery began on February 14, 2023, on Valentine’s Day.

The items that can be found in Zera Noya include Bokkenpootje (Goat’s Feet), so named because the pastry looks like a goat’s feet. It is a meringue with apricot buttercream dipped in chocolate and almonds.

Then there are stroopwafels, which is a caramel waffle and famous all over the world. You can also have the Strawberry Slof. This contains almond paste, vanilla buttercream and strawberries.

The Marzipan Mergpijp is a cake with a layer of cream and strawberry jam, while the boterkoek comprises a butter cake with almonds. Speculaas is a type of biscuit. Other items include caramel tarts, muffins, truffles, apple pie and tarts, rondo, cupcakes, cinnamon braids and brownies.

They also make freshly baked bread, as well as savouries like sausage rolls and chicken puffs.

Sarah said that the most popular item is the Strawberry Slof. Asked why, she said. “It is the combination of the cookie, which is nutty and has fudge, sweet but not too sweet, and there is buttercream on top. But the cream is not so sweet, and there are fresh strawberries. It has a nice balance.”

Asked about the composition of her customers, Sarah said, “There are all kinds of people, from different backgrounds and ages.”

The prices range from Rs 30 and can go all the way to Rs 400. “Some items are expensive because we use authentic Belgian chocolate, French butter and German cream. The croissants, dipped in chocolate and cream, are at the higher end.”

Asked about the difference with Kerala bakery items, Sarah said, “Bakers in Kochi use margarine and poor quality vegetable oil. But I use butter only. It is creamy and pricey too. And I always buy Callebaut Chocolate from Belgium, which is one of the best premium chocolates in the world. In Kochi, they use compound chocolate.”

Compound chocolate is a mix of cocoa powder and vegetable fat.

The store is open from 10 am to 10 pm.

The bakery is doing well.

Denise Anne from Nairobi wrote on Trip Advisor: ‘This is a great bakery filled with tasty treats and a warm and welcoming staff. The coffee is delicious and so are the baked goods.’

Adds customer Lijo Joseph: ‘Classic and authentic.’

Sarah has a staff of 19 people who work in shifts.

The Love Story

Sarah Lisa met Vibin Varghese for the first time in July, 2013. This was in Hongkong. They were sailing on the ship, ‘Logos Hope’, and were on their way to the Philippines.

While Sarah worked as a chief baker on the ship, Vibin, a marine engineer, worked in the engine room. Both were volunteers on the ship, which is regarded as the world’s largest floating book fair. Over 10 lakh people from all over the world access the ships every year.

Sarah liked Vibin when she saw him for the first time while they were coming from opposite ends of a corridor of the ship. But she felt too shy to approach him although both said, “good morning” to each other.

“Vibin had a charming smile,” said Sarah. “He worked hard and also had many friends.”

They became Instagram friends.

When the MV Logos ship was being dry docked in Hongkong, Sarah flew to China. While there, she met some people who needed help to set up a bakery. And that was how she ended up in Kangding on the China-Tibet border. It is 2000 kms from the capital, Beijing. She stayed for a brief while. But over the years, she kept going back.

In 2017, when she was in Kangding, she began chatting with Vibin on Instagram. Vibin was on a ship that had docked in Mexico. “He felt excited to connect with me,” said Sarah.

Sometime later, Vibin went to Kangding. After spending five days with Sarah, Vibin said, “I love you. I want to marry you.”

Sarah also felt a connection to Vibin.

The couple got married in Bangalore on May 5, 2018. Vibin grew up in Dubai but he chose Bangalore as the venue for his wedding because he is close to a pastor based there.

Soon after the wedding, they came to Kochi, where Vibin’s parents had an apartment and settled down. Both had stopped their careers and were thinking of forging a fresh path.

“Vibin gave up his career because he did not want to be away from me for nine months at a time,” said Sarah.

It was in March, 2023, that Vibin got sick. In April, doctors diagnosed him with Stage 4 Linitis Plastica, a rare form of gastric cancer.

Unfortunately, on December 21, 2023, Vibin, 36, passed away.

When asked whether she planned to settle down in Kochi or return to Holland, Sarah said, “Many people thought that when Vibin passed away, I would go back. But at this moment, I can’t. I feel very settled here. I have imagined what it would be like if I closed down the bakery and went back. Where would I go? But then I realised Kochi is home.”

Sarah was born in Den Helder, which is 84 kms from Amsterdam. The country’s main naval base is located there. Adhaya knows how to speak in Dutch, and is learning Malayalam and English.

When asked to compare the character of Malayalis with the Dutch people, Sarah said, “The people in the Netherlands are direct and honest. They are private and less curious. Many aunties in Kochi ask me nosey questions. This is fine. I have got used to it. I am embracing it.”

Nobody says hi or good morning when they see each other, even if they are strangers. Sarah said that in Holland everybody greets each other.

“Malayalis are very reserved people,” she said. “In Kerala, dining rooms are always closed. You don’t want other people to see you eat. But in Holland, the dining rooms have large windows that open out to the street. The curtains are parted. A passer-by can wave to you when he is walking past and you are having a meal. And you wave back.”

On October 15, Sarah held a fundraiser to help the families of cancer victims. To her surprise, more than a thousand people turned up. There were people who had come from Thrissur and Kottayam to support the cause.

To Sarah’s surprise, many people came to chat with her because they were going through a similar situation where a family member was suffering or had died from cancer.

Sarah met Rosamma Chacko (name changed). Rosamma, a woman in her forties, told Sarah her husband had shared the same hospital room with Vibin when they had to undergo a chemotherapy session. Both had the same type of cancer.

The two men had chatted with each other. Sarah remembered seeing Rosamma, but they did not talk to each other. At the bakery, Rosamma told Sarah her husband died a few months later. The two women hugged.

“It made me realise I was not the only one who had suffered this tragedy,” said Sarah.

The proceeds went to families who had mounting hospital bills because one of the family members had cancer. And they did not have the financial resources.

At the bakery, even though it is raining, a steady stream of people come in. There has been darkness in Sarah’s life but inside the bakery it is all sunny and bright.

(A shorter version was published in The Sunday Magazine, The New Indian Express, South India and Delhi)

The 2006 bomb blasts on the Railway network in Mumbai: A Flashback

 

Captions: The bomb blast on the railway network at Mumbai in 2006. Meeta (centre) with her daughter Esha and husband Tushit 

A few days ago, I had put a review of a Subhash Ghai book on LinkedIn. Meeta Tushit Shah, an Ex Senior Psychologist at the Narsee Monjee Institute of Management Studies, Mumbai, said, ‘So well explained and expressed. Shall surely read the book.’

·         When I expressed my thanks, Meeta, in a message said, ‘I won’t ever forget how you covered our story in 2006. Thank you.’ 

So I went to my blog, Shevlin’s World, to read the story again.

This was published in the July 16, 2006 issue of the Hindustan Times, Mumbai.

“My life has been shattered”

Student counsellor Meeta Shah struggles to cope with the brutal death of her husband

By Shevlin Sebastian

In the drawing room of the sixth floor flat of Meeta Shah, 44, at Dahisar, there are quite a few people, mostly women. Meeta is sitting on a dhurrie, beside a low windowsill, which has a garlanded portrait of her late husband Tushit, 44.

Meeta’s body is stiff with sorrow and her eyes have become red from too much crying. She sees me at the door and beckons with her hand. But in front of so many women, I prefer to stay where I am. Then one by one, they hug her, these colleagues of hers from the Oxford Public School at Charkop, where Meeta works as a student counsellor and they leave.

“Be strong,” says one, in an orange saree.

It is a small drawing room, with a sofa at one side and a bookcase on the other, on which are placed a television set and a music system, while a guitar, encased in a cloth cover, is propped up against one corner.

On the walls, there are three oil paintings of Lord Krishna, done in a deep hue of blue. She would tell me later that painting is a hobby. Besides Meeta, there is her brother, Hasit, her father and mother, two brother in laws with family, childhood friend Mayur Desai, and daughter, Esha, 16, wearing square black spectacles, and a white T-shirt with ‘Germany’ written across it.

I ask Meeta about how she heard the news and she says, “I was at a friend’s place when he mentioned the television was announcing bomb blasts on the local trains. I rushed home because that was the exact time when Tushit was usually on a train.”

On July 11, 2006, seven bomb blasts on the suburban rail network in Mumbai resulted in 189 deaths and over 700 injured. It was orchestrated by the terror outfit Lashkar-e-Taiba and Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence

Meeta tried several times to call his mobile, but could not get through. “I told my daughter Esha, ‘Keep on trying, keep on trying,’ she says. “All the lines were jammed. No calls were going through.”

In the end, it was a girl who was travelling in the compartment next to the first class compartment, which blew up at Jogeshwari, who got through to an uncle who called up Hasit. She had found the wallet and mobile phone.

“I assume it must have fallen from his pocket,” says Meeta. “She told the uncle, Tushit was being sent to one of the hospitals but she could not say which one because she was not allowed to get into the ambulance.”

So Meeta and Esha, along with a neighbour and his wife, rushed to Goregaon, where they checked the municipal hospital there. But the hospital authorities directed them to go to Cooper Hospital in Vile Parle. From South Mumbai, Hasit and his parents, an uncle and a cousin had also set out for Coopers while Mayur set out from Dahisar.

When they reached Cooper’s, it was a complete chaos. “It seemed like a slaughter house,” says Meeta. “The bodies were all piled up, one on top of the other. We had to trample over different bodies to check.”

Says Hasit: “The hospital manpower and the management were grossly inadequate. The hygienic conditions were the worst that one could see. These government hospitals are a disaster.”

Finally, the authorities stationed the bodies in a streamlined manner and Tushit’s body was discovered by Mayur. After that, there was the hassle of getting the permission to take it away.

“Initially, there was talk that all bodies would be released only after a post mortem,” says Hasit. “Naturally, this did not go down well with the people. Then a new order came which stated that the post mortem would be done on those bodies which had not been identified.”

There were more hassles: The police and the railway police had panchnamas to be filled. There were three copies to each but since there was a shortage of carbon paper and no photocopying machine, each copy had to be filled in individually or photocopied later.

“There was a long queue,” says Meeta. But, thankfully, several Juhu Vikas Pradarshan Yojana volunteers were around to provide coffee, water, bananas and biscuits; people in the neighbourhood rushed to get forms photocopied. In the end, the Shahs were able to take Tushit’s body out at 3.30 am.

Meeta is shaking with sobs now. Mother and daughter cling to each other. Esha does not cry: tears just flow down her face silently. It is too painful to see. I look outside. There are plants placed on pots just outside the window on an iron grille. I can hear the chirping of sparrows. At a distance, there is a wide expanse of mangroves. When she recovers, I ask her of the last time she saw her husband alive.

“I saw him last when he left for his Worli office at 7.15 a.m.,” says Meeta. (Tushit worked as an equity dealer with Brics Securities Limited). “We had tea, he had toast and butter and he was very happy.”

Esha, who had finished her Class Ten exams, had just got her admission confirmed in nearby Patkar College with great difficulty. “I had to formally get Esha’s admission that day,” continues Meeta. “So he told me, ‘Go fast and get everything done, we will go out for a celebratory dinner.’”

Tushit was wearing black trousers and a white shirt with thin, red lines. “It gives a tinge of pink from a distance,” says Meeta. “I had selected it and it was one of my favourite shirts. My husband loved light colours.”

When I ask her whether he had any hobby, she says, “He always wanted to learn to play the guitar, because when he was younger, he could not afford to buy one.” Wife and daughter presented him with a guitar on his birthday, three years ago.

How was your marriage, I ask.

“Tushit means heaven in Sanskrit, what else can I say,” she says. “I had a most beautiful marriage. On December 11, we would have completed 20 years. He said that on our 25th wedding anniversary, our daughter would be celebrating her 21st birthday and we should have a big party.” Meeta bursts into tears but recovers quickly and says, “Tushit had a lot of dreams for us.”

He had wanted to take a loan and buy a larger flat, so that Esha would have a room of her own. He also wanted to buy some property in his hometown of Baroda. And he had dreams for Esha. His daughter had secured 88 percent and a family friend, Vivek Mahajan, a professor of physics at National College had suggested that Esha should try to get admission for IIT.

“Aim for the sky,” the professor had said, and Tushit had seconded it.

Asked about her husband’s qualities, she says, “He was very quiet, loving, affectionate and caring. He would never get scared, no matter how hard the challenge. He would say, ‘Difficult days will come but we should never run away.’ He went out of his way to help people. My husband taught me to be strong. Now I will see how much he has taught me.”

The silence hangs heavy in the room as I say my goodbye. Downstairs, when I step out of the elevator, I see that the Shah’s post box has a few letters in it but it has not been collected.

At the housing society office, I meet retired administrator G.M. Mehta, who used to work in Mafatlal. He tells me Tushit was the secretary of the society. “He was a gentleman, who co-operated with everybody,” he says.

At the gate, Brij Mohan, the guard who works for the Shivam Security Services, says simply, “He was a very nice man.”

I spot Mayur, who is rushing back to his TV repairing shop, and I ask him to describe the body when he saw it first.

It is too heart-rending to put it in words.

Upcoming post: Meeta talks about life since that fateful day that changed her life. 

A bit of Tamil Nadu in New York

 

Photos: Chef Vijaya Kumar; with customer Vishwanathan Anand; Valiya Chemmeen Moilee - lobster tail. Photo by Paul McDonough

Chef Vijaya Kumar, who won his third Michelin Award recently, talks about the reasons behind the popularity of the South Indian restaurant ‘Semma’ in New York

By Shevlin Sebastian

When Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence came into the South Indian restaurant ‘Semma’ (awesome in Tamil) in New York, chef Vijaya Kumar’s eyes widened. Because this was the second time she was coming. Jennifer’s husband, Cooke Maroney, an art gallery director, accompanied her.

They ordered a wide variety of dishes. At the end of the dinner, Jennifer told Vijaya, “This is one of the best meals I have had.”

On another night, he saw a woman in her late thirties shedding tears. Vijaya thought the food was too hot for her. So he walked up to her and said, “Can I offer you sweet yoghurt?”

She shook her head and said, “These are happy tears. I have not had my mother’s food for a long time. The food I ate took me back to my childhood and the memory of my mother. It seemed to me she made this food. I miss home.”

She told Vijaya she grew up in Tamil Nadu.

Another native of Tamil Nadu did not shed happy tears. Instead he smiled. On Instagram, former world chess champion Viswanathan Anand wrote: ‘Chef Vijaya Kumar put out a spread that was summa dhool! Thanks for the generous hospitality. I had a lovely meal.’

‘Wow,’ thought Vijaya. ‘Food can create emotions and connections with people.’

Vijaya was in the news recently after having retained the Michelin award for the third year.

Asked whether he felt stressed about getting it, Vijaya said, “It is a responsibility to uphold our culture. So, it is not a pressure.”

The Michelin company website states that the criteria for the awards are five: ‘The quality of the ingredients, the harmony of flavours, the mastery of techniques, the personality of the chef as expressed through their cuisine and, just as importantly, consistency both across the entire menu and over time.’

Throughout the year, Michelin inspectors came many times, but they were anonymous. So, the chef does not know who the inspectors are. But Vijaya said that he ensures that every dish that comes out of the kitchen is as perfect as it can be.

“I always cook from my heart,” he said. “You have to pay attention to the smallest details.” He has a 10-member team of Asians and non-Asians, but his backbone is his college mate Suresh.

‘Semma’ started in October 2021. At the entrance, there is an upside-down kettuvallam, a traditional boat. “This was inspired by the houseboats in Alleppey,” said Vijaya. A local architect, Wid Chapman, imported the materials and designed it. There are coir mats on the ceilings and hanging bamboo lamps and chairs.

People make reservations online. You can book two weeks in advance.

On the day Chef Vijaya spoke to rediff.com, he mentioned that there were 1450 people on the notification list. That means, if anybody cancels, the restaurant would notify those on the list. On weekdays, it is about 1000 people. That gave a sign of the popularity of the 75-seater restaurant. The restaurant works from 5 p.m. to 10 p.m. from Monday to Saturday. Every day, they do over 200 covers.

The food is from Tamil Nadu. Vijaya is trying to replicate the food that he enjoyed in his childhood in the village of Natham, near Madurai, (419 kms from Chennai).

‘Semma’ imports all the spices, including black pepper, cardamom, and cinnamon, from India.

“We make everything from scratch,” said Vijaya. “Just like the way our mothers did at home. We provide home-cooked food in an elevated way.” The staff begin their preparations in the morning.

Asked whether he tempers the masala if the patron is non-Asian, Vijaya smiled and said, “Our company motto is ‘Unapologetically Indian’. So we don’t turn down the spices. Most of the patrons have travelled all over the world. They have eaten even spicier food on their travels. And in New York, there are cuisines from all over the world.”

The most popular on the menu is the gunpowder dosa, which is now a signature dish. The menu lists it as a rice and lentil crepe served with potato masala and sambar. It costs $21 (Rs 1797). “It is nothing but podi dosa,” he said. Semma sells about 150 dosas a day.

Another popular dish is the ‘Valiya Chemmeen Moilee’, which comprises lobster tail, mustard, turmeric and coconut milk. The restaurant prices it at $55 (Rs 4703). A favourite is the ‘Dindigul Biriyani’, which consists of goat, seeraga samba rice (aromatic rice from South India), garam masala, and mint. That costs $42.

The New York Times food critic Pete Wells called the ‘kudal varuval’, ‘the most eyebrow-raising dish at Semma’. It is a dry curry of goat intestines.

Vijaya was asked to replicate this food at the Gold Gala dinner on May 11, 2024, for 600 people in Los Angeles on May 11, 2024. It is a show that honours Asian American excellence in all fields. Vijaya collaborated with noted TV host Padma Lakshmi, the former wife of the novelist Salman Rushdie. “Padma had respect for the type of food we make,” said Vijaya. “She has been a friend and mentor.”

Early Life

Farming ran in the family. His grandfather was a farmer. Since his father was in government service, Vijaya’s mother looked after their farm.

During the school vacation, Vijaya spent time at his grandparents’ farm, which is close to Natham. In his grandparents’ village, the residents had no electricity in their houses, and neither were there roads. There were no grocery stores. So the people had to make everything on their farms, including rice and vegetables. They also grew millet and ragi.

Years later, at ‘Semma’, he has a dish called ‘Thinai Khichdi’, which comprises foxtail millet, taro root, pickled onion and appalam. “This dish is a tribute to my grandparents,” said Vijaya.

For lunch, his grandparents would forage for snails. Then his grandmother set up a wood fire in the middle of the paddy field, placed a mud pot on it, and put in spices and snails. “The taste was delicious,” said Vijaya. His classmates mocked him when he said he had snails.

But when Vijaya went to culinary school, his teachers told him there was a French culinary delicacy called escargot. “This is the French word for snails,” said Vijaya. “I had to chuckle. Back to my childhood, I thought.”

Vijaya said it was the time of pre-processed food. “My grandparents lived to 90 years with no health issues,” he said. “They did sustainable cooking. Now it is called natural organic cooking. They used natural fertilisers like leaves, the waste of the cows and goats. None of the farmers used chemicals.”

The animals did not have processed food. They ate whatever they found in the fields. The cattle remained uncaged. They could move around freely. The animals enjoyed the sunlight and the open fields. When the people ate those animals, it was healthy and had no side effects. “Now there are so many chemicals in the food,” said Vijay. “People give many medicines to the animals. And when we eat this food, we get many diseases.”

Right from a young age, Vijaya would help his mother and grandmother in the kitchen. His original dream was to become an engineer. He got admission to an engineering college, but his parents did not have the money to fund his education.

So Vijaya focused on being a chef. He joined the State Institute of Hotel Management and Culinary Technology in Trichy. After completion of the three-year diploma course, he joined the coffee shop at the Taj Connemara in Chennai. He worked there from 2001-3.

His friend Muthu invited him to join the ‘Dosa’ restaurant in San Francisco. So Vijaya took the plunge. Vijay worked there for six years. Sadly, ‘Dosa’ closed after a run of 15 years, in September 2019, during the Covid pandemic. Thereafter, in 2014, Vijay opened ‘Rasa’ in Burlingame, a suburb of San Francisco. There for five years in a row, he won the Michelin Award. He provided contemporary South Indian food, which included vegetables from California.

But he had a dream of wanting to make authentic South Indian food. He met Roni Mazumdar and Chintan Pandya, the owners of ‘Unapologetic Foods’, who were industry friends. They had a few conversations and realised they had the same vision. And finally, they took the plunge with ‘Semma’.

Asked whether he feels his life is like a dream, Vijaya said, “My life is a huge blessing. I have put in a lot of hard work. Since my childhood, I have done nothing half-heartedly. That is why I have always been a class topper. But in the end, I have to admit it is destiny.”

(A shorter version was published in rediff.com)

+6