Kootu, Not Sambar! A Love Story with Chow Chow

Chow chow kootu.
Even the name makes me smile — like a secret code between my taste buds and Amma’s kitchen.

First things first — it’s not a brinjal. I don’t know why it’s sometimes called Bangalore brinjal, but this pale green veggie has nothing to do with baingan. It’s chow chow — soft, simple, and oh-so-wholesome. And kootu? Think of it like a creamy dal-hugging stew. That’s the best way I can describe it without using emojis.

At home, we had a rhythm with food. Dal, curry, rasam or sambar — and curd by default. On special days, sambar would make a grand entry. On others, there’d be something like a roti pachadi with vegetables. So, when Amma made kootu and rasam on the same day, I asked, “Why rasam when there’s sambar?”

She laughed. “This isn’t sambar! It’s kootu!”

I stared at my plate. One veggie. Thick dal. Curry leaves floating like green commas. A subtle whiff of coconut and cumin. It looked like sambar... but tasted like comfort.

Truth be told, I’m not the biggest fan of vegetables in my sambar. I try to smile and eat it, but my brain’s already plotting an escape. Sometimes I even (quietly) slide them off my plate when no one’s watching. If my husband reads this, I’ll probably hear about it for days. He’s a proud member of the “veggies-in-sambar” club. Me? I sit on the fence and hope no one notices.

But with kootu, there was no pretending.
I didn’t have to like it. I loved it.

Amma made a special masala paste just for it. No shortcuts. No store-bought packs. Only love, coconut, and her magic. I once watched her grind the paste, stir the pot, taste it with the tip of a spoon and say, “Just two more minutes.” I tried it myself one day — followed her rhythm, her method, her little hum as she cooked — and I was stunned. The taste matched the memory.

Even now, I don’t make it often. Not because I don’t love it. But because some dishes deserve to stay special. The kind you make on a quiet evening, when your heart misses home in the softest way.

And every time I take a bite, it feels like Amma is right there beside me — adjusting the salt, checking if the chow chow is soft enough, and smiling that gentle smile only she has.

Ingredients:

• 1 medium chow chow (chayote), peeled and chopped into small cubes

• ½ cup Toor dal

• ¼ tsp turmeric

• Salt to taste

• Water as needed

To grind into a paste:

• 2 tbsp fresh grated coconut

• 1 tsp cumin seeds

• 3-4 red chilis

• 1 tsp roasted chana dal 

Tempering:

• 1 tsp mustard seeds

• A pinch of hing

• Few curry leaves

• 1 tsp oil or ghee

Instructions:

1. Wash moong dal and cook with turmeric until soft but not mushy.

2. In another pot, boil chopped chow chow with a pinch of salt until tender.

3. Grind coconut, green chili, cumin, and chana dal into a smooth paste.

4. Add the cooked dal and ground paste to the chow chow. Mix and simmer for 5–7 minutes. Adjust salt.

5. Heat oil or ghee in a small pan. Add mustard seeds, let them splutter. Add hing and curry leaves.

6. Pour this tempering into the kootu. Mix gently.

7. Serve hot with rice and a touch of ghee.

Srishti’s Secret Tip for the Perfect Plate:

Add a spoon of ghee on hot rice before serving kootu. It’s simple, but it brings out the coziness of this dish like nothing else. And always, always make the masala paste fresh — it’s the heart of the dish.

Srishti’s Healing Tip for the Perfect Plate:

Whenever you make this kootu, make it slowly — with music playing, with heart stirring, with your Amma (or her memory) by your side. Let it remind you of love that’s not loud, but lasting.

Why You’ll Love This:

Because it’s not loud — it’s loving.
Because it doesn’t need 100 ingredients to feel rich.
Because it's humble, homely, and heartwarming.
And because some dishes aren’t just cooked — they’re remembered.