A chance lunch stop delivers a memorable meal
‘Ker means coconut, la is land,’ says the ever-pedagogic Ajosh, our driver, ‘so Kerala; land of coconuts.’ Well that makes sense, but he could have said mangoes, betel nuts, cocoa pods, coffee, tea, pepper, spices etc. Anything will grow in this rich soil with bucketfuls of wet and temperatures of 30 degrees.
When he says Kerala he rolls the r, which I struggle to do. I can roll rs at the beginning of words, but I can’t get that glottal reverb which is so characteristic of native Malayalam. It is a lovely language to hear, bubbling like a cross between a gargle and draining bath. Rather like that old joke about the hot water bottle. Written it is even more remarkable; only fifteen vowels and forty-two consonants to worry about, most of which are complex and very similar. Courtesy of google translate the latter part of that sentence looks like: അവയിൽ മിക്കതും സങ്കീർണ്ണവും വളരെ സമാനവുമാണ്
How extraordinary then that Kerala has a 95% literacy rate the highest in the world, compared with, say, 75% in Karnataka the next-door state. But if you read a bit – or have such an excellent driver/educator as Ajosh – you soon begin to realise that Kerala is near top of the class in almost everything. Economically it thrives, Cochin is the largest port in southern India, with a large naval base, (and they make warships there, ever aware of the Chinese threat from footholds in Sri Lanka and the Maldives) they grow things and have a vibrant tourist industry.
But I don’t think that this is the interesting bit; for me it is the social and political angle. We have often expressed surprise on previous visits, that Kerala functions and yet is communist. Perhaps we fall back on Eastern Block stereotypes or Cuba. But Kerala has been communist since the 1950’s, arguably before that. And since then, The Party has set in train educational, agrarian and discriminatory reforms that have seen the educational rights of women set in statute years before the rest of India had thought of it. But what emerges is something more peculiar, at some level it came from the top down. The Varma family had been Maharajahs of Cochin since the 17th century but there was something funny afoot:
Marumakkattayam (marumakan = nephew; dayam = inheritance/gift) is a matrilineal system of inheritance which was followed by certain castes of Kerala like Royal Families. It was one of the few traditional systems that gave women some liberty, and the right to property.
In the matrilinear system, the family lived together in a Tharavadu or the family house, which comprised of a mother, her brothers and younger sisters, and her children. The oidest male member was known as the Karanavar and was the head of the household and managed the family estate. Lineage was traced through the mother, and the children "belonged" to the mother's family. All family property was jointly owned.
Not only were the Royal Varma daughters encouraged to get properly educated, but by the 1950s most were obtaining degrees and many became teachers. The last of the ruling Varmas, Chithira Thirunal achieved major social reforms, oversaw Kerala becoming the first state to join the Union and then stepped down from power. All round good egg I should say. These two strands ( the populace voting in socialists with a mandate for universal free education, women’s rights, land ownership, and religious freedom, on the one hand, and an egalitarian leader who agreed with the above, on the other), paved the way for a State that is one of the most successful in India. In addition, higher education standards have meant that environmental and green policies have been much easier to establish, resulting in less rubbish, less use of plastic, better water management and Cochin airport is carbon neutral, powered by a huge solar array. Kerala is special for the people who live there and for us who visit.
‘Not backward but forward’ says Ajosh, ‘not like Malayalam, same, same, backwards and forwards.’ Then I realise what he means; Malayalam is a palindrome.
Sorry I digress.
But by now we are getting hungry on our way to the Wayanad, a forest region in the Western Ghats, that hill range that runs north south down the western side of southern India. Ajosh won’t stop at the roadside ‘veg’ restaurants thinking, erroneously, that we deserve something better. He took us to a dismal business hotel in Kozhikode, impersonal and empty, and we sat down. But then he suddenly announced, sotto voce, that he had another idea. He whisked us out, offering bubbling Malayalam apologies to the confused staff.
‘How could I forget Paragon. Very good place,’ he assured us. We drove half a mile and parked under a flyover next to a bike repair shop. The place was absolutely heaving. And sadly, our pale skin made no difference to the booking process. The fierce door keeper had a black belt in solemn ‘don’t mess with me’ looks and conferred no favours to anyone as he wrote our names down in a Victorian ledger.
It was hot as hell and the throng were all as hungry as we were, and rather more adroit at pushing and shoving. I immediately suggested we go elsewhere but Ajosh would have none of it. ‘Special place’ he kept saying.
He was right – the food was fab. Carolyn took one spoonful of the vegetable masala before declaring it was the best veg dish she had ever tasted. Ajosh had insisted we have a biryani, and it was indeed memorable, cooked in the traditional dum way, with the meat hidden at the bottom, tender mutton with super tasty rice on top. A winning desert followed, a perfect Marie Antoinette bosom of jellified coconut something, a creamy onyx of fragrant scrumminess.
The point was we had no expectations, no hype or bloody Trip-Advisor scores. The setting was totally unremarkable, the building unprepossessing; the corner of a busy street under an overpass, but the food was so impressive that after I had to look it up. The first thing I found was this:
Paragon Restaurant in Kozhikode has maintained its 5th position in the list of the 100 most legendary restaurants in the world for 2024-25, as compiled by Croatia-based online food guide Taste Atlas.
Well . . . Even if we remain sceptical about Croatian gastronomic judgment, the accidental biryani was truly exceptional.
I have since found that dum is from the Persian word dum pukht, meaning slow cooking over a low heat in a sealed earthenware pot. There is delightful video of how they make the Paragon biryani here:
What a labour of love, but worth it.
We journey on towards our forest hotel, perched 3000ft up in the coffee growing Ghats. It is 4km up a terrible dirt road for which we must transfer to a jeep, but the hotel doesn’t serve alcohol, so first we must buy some beer. This isn’t easy as we need to find a government licenced outlet. Ajosh has to stop and ask several Tuk Tuk drivers who gargle incomprehensibly in Kannada, the language of Karnataka where we now are, but I am not sure he understands the answers. Eventually we find a dingy hotel bar, empty save for two losers glued to their iphones. Indian bars are always like this, they just don’t get social drinking.
Finally, beer on board, we arrive at the eco-friendly collection of cabins that make up Wayanad Wild. We hope to see some of the miraculous birds of the Ghats and a few other wild things too, but with the brace of Kingfishers in the bag we know we will see at least two.
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