Wild Edible Wonders: Tambuli in Koppa Preserves a Unique Culinary Tradition

‘Future foods’ are often the unassuming greens growing in our backyards. In the Koppa region of Karnataka, Mahika Mor and Shreya R find wild edible plants that carry within them a wealth of information and are the star of dishes like tambuli.

It looks like buttermilk, but it carries a story tradition, survival, and the wild flavours of the land.

Deeply rooted in the culinary traditions of Karnataka’s Malenadu region—poetically known as the land of rain—tambuli is a staple, often prepared several times a week. Its key ingredient is soppu, a term for leafy greens, which can range from cultivated varieties to wild edible plants like shatavari, foraged from the land surrounding homes. Though it is enjoyed year-round, tambuli is becoming increasingly popular in summer as people seek respite from rising temperatures brought on by climate change.

Our exploration into the origins of tambuli led us to the verdant landscapes of Koppa, a small town in Malenadu. During an interview with a woman from the Karada Brahmin community, she handed us a few freshly plucked stalks of shatavari (Asparagus racemosus) from outside her house. We carefully washed the leaves, separating them from the stalks, and prepared a tambuli using this wild herb. When we offered her a serving, she smiled and said, “Oh good, it saves me from foraging for tambuli today.”

For us, making tambuli with shatavari felt like a rare discovery. For her, it was simply part of everyday life.

The preparation of Tambuli informs the cultural fabric of the Karada Brahmin community of Koppa. It is an unassuming dish, served at the beginning of the meal in small quantities, but it carries within it generational knowledge of both its making, and the wisdom of an entire ecosystem. Almost everybody told us, “Don’t fry the Ondelga (Centella asiatica) leaves—blend them raw. Frying takes away their nutrients.”

When children accompany their parents and grandparents to collect these wild plants from around homes and agricultural fields, knowledge is passed down through the very names of these plants. In Kannada, plant names often hold clues to their geography, shape, uses, or methods of gathering and cooking. Unlike the English term ‘wild,’ which implies separation from cultivated life, the Karada Brahmins recognise no such divide. They distinguish only between kudi tambuli—made from the tender leaves of wild edible plants—and its more domesticated counterparts.

Tambuli is not exclusive to the Karada Brahmin community; it is a dish prepared across households in Karnataka. However, during our fieldwork in Koppa, we found that while non-Brahmin communities also gather wild edible plants, they do not prepare tambuli, but instead make dishes like bassaru, and their methods of selection, harvesting, and preparation differ.

Wild edible plants have been a part of discourses surrounding food security, nutrition, sustainability, and ecology (Hanazaki et al 2023, 6–8, Ray et al 2020, 2, Pavithra and Sridhar 2016, 780). These are plants that are not part of industrial agriculture. They are uncultivated, unattended, and unintended (Nyman 2019, 171). Even as scholarship continues to make a sharp distinction between wild edible plants and those that are more commonly available in the market, what makes tambuli interesting to the Karada Brahmin community of Koppa is their refusal to make such a distinction.[1] In fact, there does not seem to be a specific nomenclature for wild edible plants in Kannada at all. They may be called berake soppu (a bunch of mixed greens) or holadu soppu (greens from the field), but none of these categories carry the same connotations as ‘wild’.

What’s In a Name?

Language is not neutral — it shapes the way we see the world (Inglis 2006, 3). To categorize Kaki Kudi (Solanum nigrum), Nela Nalli (Phyllanthus amarus), or Doddapatre (Coleus amboinicus) as ‘wild’ is to impose a separation from the cultivated, domestic sphere. But for the Karada Brahmins of Malenadu, these plants are not outside daily life; they are embedded within it. The absence of a rigid nomenclature for ‘wild’ reflects a worldview in which these plants are not exceptions but essentials—woven seamlessly into the rhythms of home, food, and tradition.

Kaki Kudi (Solanum nigrum) plant

Doddapatre (Coleus amboinicus) Tambuli

Kudi means tender leaves in Kannada. Often it is the tender leaves of these wild edible plants that are used in the preparation of tambuli, which has given it the name Kudi Tambuli. The name itself encodes knowledge—how to pluck, which parts to select, and how much to harvest. In Koppa, we were shown how to identify the kudi at the tips of the plant stalks and how to pluck them. These tender leaves are less fibrous and more palatable than the grown leaves. The use of the tender leaves also means that the leaves do not need to be roasted for too long while preparing the Tambuli. More than just a dish, Kudi Tambuli represents a worldview—one that integrates the knowledge of wild edible plants with the rhythms of everyday cooking.

While classifying wild edible plants may seem restrictive, it also fosters recognition. Often when indigenous plant knowledge systems are lost in the backdrop of industrial agriculture, a separate classification of wild edible plants allows for a renewed attention and appreciation for these plants. Events such as wild food walks where people are guided by an expert to identify and acknowledge these wild edible plants, exemplify efforts to bridge knowledge systems. A recently established eatery in Bangalore, Tambuli Mane, furthers this movement, offering 30-40 varieties of Tambuli. When we asked the proprietors how they source these plants, they spoke about growing and transporting them from around Shimoga. They highlighted that these plants are not a part of industrial agriculture. By integrating them into the market economy, they see their work as a way to preserve and facilitate plant knowledge.

Yet, taking Tambuli from its domestic roots into a commercial space also intersects with the politics of nomenclature and classification. Tambuli Mane does not call these plants wild. Instead, they are termed native, framing them as indigenous to Malenadu. This shift in language carries deeper implications. Nativity is tied to identity. Tambuli Mane brands itself with the tagline ‘my grandmother’s recipe,’ an assertion of ownership over both the recipes of Tambuli and the knowledge of wild edible plants. In doing so, they redefine the role of these plants—not as relics of the wild but as living traditions, integral to the cultural and culinary heritage of the region.

RECIPE FOR SHATAVARI TAMBULI

Ingredients
8-10 Shatavari (Asperagus racemosus) stalks
250 ml buttermilk
A handful of grated coconut
½ tsp cumin seeds
6-7 peppercorns
½ tbsp ghee
Salt to taste

For the tempering:
½ tsp mustard seeds
4-5 curry leaves
1 dried red chilli
½ tsp cumin seeds

Method
Heat the ghee in a pan. Add the peppercorns and cumin seeds and sauté them. Add the separated shatavari leaves to the same pan and lightly fry them until the leaves slightly change colour.
Grind the fried shatavari leaves, peppercorns, and cumin seeds, with the grated coconut and salt.
Add the blended mixture to the buttermilk and mix well.
Temper the curry leaves, mustard seeds, and cumin seeds in a small pan using ghee.
Add the tempering to the tambuli and mix.
Serve in small quantities along with cooked rice at the beginning of the meal.

Mahika Mor is a researcher and an aspiring food writer. She has a penchant for slow travel and all things wild. She is often found lost in a fantasy novel and dreaming of faraway lands.

Shreya R is an editorial assistant at the Llids journal. In her free time, Shreya likes to read to occupy her mind and crochet to occupy her hands.

References
- Hanazaki, N et al. 2023. “People’s Migrations and Plants for Food: a Review for Fostering Sustainability,” Sustainable Earth Reviews, Vol 6, no. 9. https://doi.org/10.1186/s42055-023-00058-3.
- Inglis, Ian. 2006. “The Politics of Nomenclature,” Journal of Popular Music Studies, Vol 18, no. 1: pp 3-17. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1524-2226.2006.00073.x.
- Nyman, M. 2019. “Food, Meaning-Making and Ontological Uncertainty: Exploring ‘Urban Foraging’ and Productive Landscapes in London,” Geoforum, Vol 99: pp 170-180. 10.1016/j.geoforum.2018.10.009.
- Pavithra, M et al. 2016. “Traditional Nutritional Attributes of Native Flora of the Southwest Coast of India,” Journal of Agricultural Technology, 12, no. 4: pp 777-796.
- Ray, A., Ray, R., & Sreevidya, E. A. 2020. “How Many Wild Edible Plants Do We Eat—Their Diversity, Use, and Implications for Sustainable Food System: An Exploratory Analysis in India,” Frontiers in Sustainable Food Systems, 4. https://doi.org/10.3389/fsufs.2020.00056.

ALSO ON GOYA

[1] Tambuli is not just consumed by the Karada Brahmin community, but also consumed by other Brahmin communities in Karnataka. During our fieldwork in Koppa, we found that non-Brahmin communities also gather wild edible plants but they do not make Tambuli—they make other dishes, such as Bassaru. Here, what part of the plant is plucked, and how it is plucked and prepared, may also differ. In Koppa, Tambuli was a dish specifically prepared within the households of the Brahmin families.