Field notes: the best meals in northern Kerala – and where to find them

Kerala has water for blood.

From the tea-wreathed hills to the fishing communities studded along its glimmering coastline, Kerala teems with all manner of produce – fruits, spices, fish, and fragrant rice varieties that go towards one of the subcontinent’s finest and most distinct cuisines. Here are some of the best spots to try it for yourself.

Tea for two

Parisons Farm Stay lies in the mist-wreathed hills of Wayanad – a forested, northerly district where the towering Western Ghats give rise to all but a few of Kerala’s life-giving rivers. It has a history stretching back some 200 years, with the original estate opening in 1892 following the introduction of tea to Assam and Darjeeling by the British. Its palatial bungalows, built in 1911, survive to this day and look out over acres of tea gardens. On my first morning, I wake early to find the world beyond my bedroom window obliterated by a blanket of fog. By the time I’ve made myself a cup of homegrown tea, the rising sun – fat and orange as a clementine – has already burnt off the mist, revealing a blanket of emerald hills broken only by the odd butea mornosperma, or flame of the forest tree.

I’ve always loved trees, and these are my absolute favourite – great hulking behemoths whose bushy canopies are studded with ruby-red flowers that look and behave not unlike Chinese lanterns, gliding away on the faintest of mountain breezes. I keep my eyes fixed on those delicate flowers throughout breakfast, which is served with a flourish by hotel manager Binoy Gopi just as the morning’s call to prayer rises from the valley below. It’s the perfect soundtrack to a lavish meal of eggs, fruit and plates of gloriously puffy puri – served with a potato curry gently spiced with turmeric and ginger.

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Searching for Sadya

The following day, my guide Pradeep and I drive south to explore the Kuruva Islands, a riverine ecosystem home to the Indigenous Kuruma tribal community. After a hike through perfumed rice paddies and elephant-filled forests, we find ourselves at a river crossing where we buy uppilittathu from a small wooden stall overlooking the water. “I love this stuff,” Pradeep says. “It basically translates as ‘things in salt’”. We lump for thick segments of pineapple – punchy from their soaking brine – and giant gooseberries soaked in honey for so long the crystallised flesh has gone translucent. Rubbing my hands on my trousers, I follow Pradeep onto a wooden raft and float up-river towards the day’s lunch spot – Aswathy Bhevan, a small family restaurant whose tables are scattered about the owner’s own garden. “You can’t get more local than this,” Pradeep says, sipping from a cup of pink-hued water brewed over an open hearth. “Pink, smoky water – I’m thinking of packaging it and selling it to Californians,” he chuckles.

Five minutes after sitting down, a great shoal of hungry school children arrives. Like us, they’re here for the meal Aswathy Bhevan is famous for: sadya, a feast of curries served on banana leaves and eaten by hand. Suddenly, everyone who isn’t cooking or eating is circling the dining area with silver bowls filled with some delicious, richly spiced dish. Slowly but surely, each one is painted onto the leaf set before me, until at last, I’m faced with a vibrant archipelago of curries, curds and chutneys. Pradeep, however, has decided to eat each new dish on arrival, leaving him with nothing but a small mound of rice. “I like to be left with a few select dishes,” he says with a giggle.

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Lotus land

People say that hunger is the best sauce, but I’m inclined to believe that there’s no better seasoning than a good view. Proof comes during my overnight stay on the Lotus Houseboat, one of the traditional kettuvallam barges that once plied Kerala’s backwaters, ferrying rice and spices from the highlands down to the ports along the coast. Today, it carries passengers along the Valiyaparamba backwater – part of that evergreen border of palm-framed lakes that girdles the state’s interior from the silver expanse of the Arabian Sea.

From afar, the Lotus seems to be made entirely of wicker, its body held together with twine made from coconut husks. Stepping inside, however, is to walk onto the set of an Agatha Christie drama – its teak floors thrown with patterned rugs, the ceilings hung with art deco lamps. My evening meal is held at sunset on the upper deck, where I find a table laid with tempura prawns, steaming rice and an aromatic curry made with the white-fleshed fish I’d seen our captain buying from a local fisherman just an hour before. It’s followed by something milky and honey-sweet: a cardamon-infused rice pudding bejewelled with raisins. It’s so good I eat two servings, then wash the whole thing down a cup of warming chai. Unsurprisingly, I hardly sleep a wink the whole night. Not that I’d have wanted to miss the site of the constellations arcing over the silent water.

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Sam Kemp is an award winning travel writer and assistant editor at National Geographic Traveller UK.

You can read more about Sam Kemp’s trip through Northern Kerala on National Geographic Traveller.

He travelled with us on Northern Kerala Explorer .

Photography: Karolina Wiercigroch