Maasi Karuvadu & Dried Fish in the South Asian Diaspora
Gutted, quartered, smoked and then sun-dried — Maasi is a dried fish or shrimp condiment across Tamilian, Sri Lankan and Maldivian cuisine, that holds a beloved spot in the heart of diaspora communities, but hasn’t been commodified in the zeitgeist's trendy food culture just yet.
The Indian Ocean is the second-largest tuna production zone in the world, accounting for about one-fifth of the world’s tuna catch. From bottom-shelf canned tuna to medium-grade maguro sashimi, and pseudo top drawer frozen ‘ahi’ tuna steaks, a wide variety of globalized tuna products originate here. Huge commercial trawlers roam the region, the gigantic above-surface metallic blue whales leave little for independent fishermen to take back to shore. One relatively niche, although local commercially produced product is the Maldive Fish — yellowfin tuna that has been gutted, quartered, smoked and then sun-dried before being blitzed into tic-tac sized shrapnel resembling the look and texture of woodchips. Maldive Fish is enjoyed as Umbalakada in Sri Lanka, and Maasi Karuvadu in Tamil Nadu. It also makes occasional appearances in the diets of Kerala and Lakshwadeep natives.
If the story of the entire world’s cuisines could be told through certain food items — tea, fried chicken, flatbreads, natives and their relationship to rice, preserved seafood certainly weaves a compelling narrative. Fish sauce, XO sauce, katsuobushi, bacalhau, belacan, dried fish maw, bottarga — all, umami-laden and provocative ingredients. I’ve always been feverishly attached to that sui generis dried fish taste, it leaves a particularly powerful aftertaste in my memory. I adore mehyawa, a fermented fish sauce originating somewhere between Iran and the Gulf, found sneakily drizzled inside rigaag, or ‘Arabi Dosa’ as I knew it for about 18 years. The days I spent living in Singapore generated an addiction to Cantonese dried fish, frequently seen in claypot chicken fried rice, and sprinkled on stir-fried vegetables like beansprouts or kangkung (kangkung ‘keerai’ as it’s known in my house). Dried fish can be an overwhelmingly savoury component of any dish, maybe because it makes you salivate so much, each ingredient tastes more like itself — think anchovies tossed into a pot of ragu. I don’t go wild for maasi karuvadu, to be perfectly honest, but I value the position it holds as a pantry staple, and as an object of nostalgia.
Maasi Karuvadu
The skipjack tuna, with its firm flesh, deep red colour and rich taste, is the most valued item in Maldivian gastronomy, says Xavier Romero-Frias, a researcher in the anthropology of the Maldives. Because it preserves particularly well, it is often transformed into the Maldive Fish, an essential trade item, and reserve for periods of austerity. As the item was brought to India and Sri Lanka, it became an instant classic, especially among the Ceylonese. Umbalakada is beloved in a caramelized seeni sambol, maasi karuvadu poriyal, or fried up with some curry leaves and spices and sold out of a jar, as perfected by artisanal condiment producer ‘SM Spicy’ — a household name among Tamil Muslims. In my house, some maasi preparation of sorts has a residency alongside appam and mooru (whipped buttermilk), or idiyappam and puliyaanam (a coconut milk-based rasam).
Unlike, say, furikake, an umbrella term for Japanese condiments made out of things like sesame seeds, seaweed, and dried fish, the Maldive Fish has so far resisted both globalised commercialisation, as well as ‘indie’ hipster-ification. Probably because little Maldivian food is served in Maalefushi resorts, catering to a crowd that only wants its tuna raw and served on a wooden slab. Even within Sri Lankan and Tamil cuisines, maasi is a relatively discreet ingredient, maintaining an ‘if you know you know’ status, but not in a pretentious way; this is the everyman’s food. But, food trends and preferences change within the blink of an eye, yesteryear’s scraps become today’s prized catch, just think of the character arcs of sea-urchins, lobsters, octopus, and scallops. At ‘Paradise’, a Geoffrey Bawa-accented tropical modernist restaurant in the heart of London’s Soho, there is a lamb-fat infused roti, served with a smoked seeni-sambol cultured butter — although, how many diners know of the Maldive Fish’s role in the dish is a different matter. Then again, seeing maasi in a Sri Lankan restaurant is not that exciting, whether that restaurant is in Vancouver or Auckland, or anywhere in between is a bit immaterial.
The Maldive Fish was originally created as a way to preserve and transport fish, but from the mid-20th century onwards, it became a way for various diasporic communities to preserve and transport their culture wherever they go. An easily accessible product, available across the Sri Lankan and Tamil corner shops and supermarkets of the world, maasi is probably the easiest way to inject a flavour of home for those short on time and indigenous cooking knowledge. At the very least, shaking the contents of a box of maasi poriyal onto a plate and scooping it up with yesterday’s rice, and you feel satiated — the thirst for something salty, spicy, and homely, briefly stayed. A foolproof gift to send a haggard student or relative’s family living an inaccessible number of miles away from home is a box of maasi, with its indefinite shelf life and culinary fungibility.
Recipe for a Classic Tamil-Muslim Maasi Kari
Ingredients
225g grated coconut
200g diced banana shallots (for a milder onion taste)
100g pounded Maldive Fish
2 small diced chillies
1 small bunch of curry leaves
1 stick of cinnamon
A few tablespoons of a neutral oil
Lime juice, to be used according to your preference, although the dish should not become sour
Coriander, fennel, chilli and turmeric powders - to be used according to your preference as this varies widely from recipe to recipe
Salt to taste
Method
Combine the grated coconut, diced shallots, Maldive fish, and diced chillies in a large mixing bowl.
Add the various spice powders to your bowl and mix well
Heat a medium-sized saucepan and add your neutral flavoured oil
Temper cinnamon and curry leaves in the hot oil
Add the coconut, Maldive fish and spice mixture to the saucepan
Stir fry for a few minutes until fragrant
Reduce the flame and add your lime juice
Stir fry briefly to combine and serve
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