My First Love in the Payasam World
For me, payasam has always meant just one thing — Kadala Payasam (Bengal gram kheer). I don’t know why, but in my house my gharwalas were always stingy about making it. In Kerala, there are so many varieties — pradhaman, rice payasam, green moong payasam, semiya (vermicelli) payasam, paal payasam, and even pineapple payasam — but nothing comes close to this one in my heart. I do like rice payasam too, but only the jaggery one, never the white version.
Because Kadala Payasam was made so rarely, it usually appeared only on Onam or Vishu. My obsession was so strong that while other kids wished for fancy cakes on their birthdays, I would plead with my mom to make this payasam. Sometimes I got lucky and she actually listened.
On Onam or Vishu, tradition meant cooking a mountain of dishes — from sambhar to avial, from various kinds of thoran to ginger chutney and countless other sides. But honestly, I was only waiting for the payasam. It was always the last thing my mom cooked, often after taking a break because she was exhausted from preparing everything else. That break used to drive me mad — I wasn’t interested in anything except that payasam!
When my mom made it, it was always in a pressure cooker. But when my grandma cooked it back in Kerala, she would make it in a heavy copper uruli. And I could always tell the difference — I don’t know if it was my grandma’s hands or the magic of that vessel, but the taste was on another level, richer and somehow more alive.
After I got married, I tried many times to recreate my mom’s exact taste, and now that I have control over my kitchen, this is the payasam I make regularly — whenever there’s a special occasion or guests at home. Because for me, no celebration is truly complete without this golden, coconut-rich payasam simmering on the stove. Every time I stir it, I feel like my amma is right beside me, and somewhere, my grandma too — both pouring their love into the spoonful that still makes me as happy as it did when I was a little girl.
Ingredients (Serves 4–5)
- Bengal gram dal (Chana dal / Kadala parippu) – 1 cup
- Sabudana (Sago/Tapioca pearls) – ¼ cup
- Jaggery – 1 to 1½ cups (adjust to taste)
- Thick coconut milk – 1 cup
- Thin coconut milk – 2 cups
- Ghee – 3 tbsp
- Cashew nuts – 8–10
- Raisins (Kishmish) – 2 tbsp
- Coconut pieces (small bits) – 2 tbsp (optional)
- Cardamom powder – ½ tsp
- Water – about 4 cups
Method
- Cook the Dal
- Lightly dry roast Bengal gram dal for 2–3 minutes until aromatic.
- Wash and pressure cook with 2 cups water for 3–4 whistles (soft but not mushy).
- Prepare Sabudana
- Wash and soak sabudana for 30 minutes.
- Boil in 1 cup water until pearls turn translucent. Drain and set aside.
- Make Jaggery Syrup
- Heat jaggery with ½ cup water until melted.
- Strain to remove impurities.
- Simmer the Base
- In a thick-bottomed vessel, combine cooked dal, sabudana, jaggery syrup, and thin coconut milk.
- Simmer on low flame for 8–10 minutes, stirring occasionally.
- Add Thick Coconut Milk
- Reduce heat to low and add thick coconut milk.
- Heat gently for 1–2 minutes (do not boil after adding thick coconut milk).
- Tempering
- Heat ghee, fry cashews until golden, remove.
- In the same ghee, fry raisins until they puff up. Remove.
- Fry coconut bits until crisp (optional).
- Add all fried items and cardamom powder to the kheer.
- Serve
- Serve warm or at room temperature. Tastes richer after resting for a while.
💡 Tip: If you ever get the chance, try making this in a heavy copper uruli. Maybe it’s just nostalgia, or maybe it’s magic — but the taste truly reaches another level.