Three Generations, One Recipe for Dukra Maas

Shilpa Noronha shares her family recipe for dukra maas, an integral part of life in the Mangalore Catholic community.

The Portuguese colonisation of Mangalore, a strip of coast along the Arabian Sea, uniquely determined our religion and influenced our cuisine. It is now historical culinary fact that the Portuguese love for pork was passed on to us; dukra maas is almost a gene in the Mangalorean Catholic DNA. And then there is sorpotel (which uses all sorts of offal), and indad (a sweet-savoury combination).

In the old days, passing on recipes to your daughters was an inherent part of grooming, preparing them for a life outside the home. Dukra maas was one of the first recipes my grandmother taught my mother. Over time, she became the go-to person in our family for dukra maas. At every holiday or celebration, guests would furtively scan the room for the large steel vat of tell-tale orange-red gravy, in anticipation of flavours that would transport them back to younger days in the Mangalorean villages of south India. If, for any reason, dukra maas was not on the menu that day, groans and grumbling was sure to follow, with serious enquires on dates for the next family gathering where it could be expected to make an appearance.

Dukra maas remains our signature dish. A carnivore’s delight, it is typically cooked in large batch format – I’m talking twenty pounds plus! Stories of my grandfather slaughtering a pig and bringing it home for the women to cook, are legendary. As kids, we were mortified at the thought of killing a pig, and grossed out at the prospect of cleaning it. None of this was enough to deter us from actually eating the pork, of course. The key ingredients in dukra maas are pork, pork belly, spices, garlic, tamarind and bafat pito. The bafat powder was traditionally prepared fresh, but in a pinch, store-bought was acceptable (from a Mangalorean store, of course). However, the secret, irreplaceable ingredient is the local dried chilli, byadgi, which gives the powder, and in turn the dish, its vibrant red hue. As with any homemade roasted spice mix, it takes some practice to master.

Recipe instructions can seem straightforward, but the trickiest aspect to perfecting this recipe is its consistency. My family prefers a slightly heavier consistency, and the beauty of this, is that with each reheating of dukra maas, the curry thickens, the flavours deepen, and it transforms into a stew. Two things to watch closely are the amount of water added (begin with less, add more as you go), and the kind of onions used (some varieties release more water than others).

Dukra maas caused a lot of anxiety in the family when we immigrated to the USA. My mother fretted over bafat powder and accessibility to ingredients in America. The only reasonable solution was to pack dozens of vacuum sealed packets of bafat powder, and carry with us to the other side of the world, until a relative visited and we could replenish our stock.

Later, as a newly minted American family, our first family trip was not to the zoo or a museum; it was to a meat factory. The old Chicago stockyards welcomed us with open arms, and my mom breathed a sigh of relief, overjoyed to find a meat producer who lived up to her standards.  

When my parents were young, dukra maas was a treasured, fatty delicacy savoured only a couple of times a year, on religious feast days. My mom enjoyed it more frequently than my father, because she grew up in lush Chikmagalur, and her father would often bring back wild boar from hunting trips, and her mother would painstakingly cook dukra maas for their family of seven.

Accessibility to pork has since widened, and the popularity of the dish has only grown. But it remains inextricably linked to religion, popular as a post-church Sunday staple, and mandatory for sacramental celebrations such as baptisms or weddings. Perhaps what makes it so special is its two-fold origin in scarcity and religion. And we must, of course, acknowledge its position (alongside sorpotel) as the richest dish in our food culture, thereby sealing its status as the antithesis of humdrum or quotidian.

One of the loveliest things about this recipe is how beautifully it pairs with all kinds of rice-based dishes. Typically, it is served with sannas, a pillowy rice cake that sops up the gravy. Bhakri, a flatbread made of coconut and white rice is another great accompaniment. And of course, plain steamed rice always works well.

This is my mother’s (and mother’s mother’s) recipe for Dukra Maas. As we say in Konkani, Bhari kan jevya!

RECIPE FOR SHILPA NORONHA’S DUKRA MAAS

Ingredients
4 kg pork, with belly
1 tbsp salt
15 medium onions
5 bulbs garlic
12 green chillies
4 inch knob of ginger
5 dry bay leaves
Tamarind,  2 golf ball-size rounds

For Bafat powder
5 tsp coriander seeds
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp cloves
3-4 inch pc cinnamon
1 tsp mustard seeds
1 tsp cumin
½ tsp turmeric powder
51 dry Byadgi red chilis

Method
Bafat masala
Individually roast each ingredient and then grind.
Store in an airtight container and in the fridge, to retain freshness

Now, wash and cut the pork into half inch pieces
Dice the onions, garlic, green chilis, and ginger into fine pieces
Mix the meat, bafat powder, and remaining ingredients in a pot.
Add enough water to submerge half the meat. Be careful to not add too much water as the onions will release water too.
Cook until tender.
Add more water if you prefer a thinner consistency for the gravy. (I prefer a thicker one!)

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