The taste of mutton in Madurai
The love of the meat in the temple town makes Madurai an exception among south Indian religious centres

Meat being prepared on the occasion of Diwali might be unheard of in many parts of India. But not in the temple city of Madurai and its neighbouring towns, where butchers open their shops before the crack of dawn on this auspicious day. I have fond memories of biting into the juicy pieces of suvarotti (goat spleen), rich in iron, roasted and smeared with nothing but salt and pepper, prepared by my grandmother. It was here that I mastered the art of tapping the bones and sucking the mushy marrow out from them. She would regularly prepare karikuzhambu (mutton curry) doused with coconut paste, and the kothukarikuzhambu (mutton keema curry), which was the perfect accompaniment for idlis, dosas, parottas and pooris. But try as I might, I could never gather myself to savour the rathaporiyal (goat’s blood stir fry), a delicacy that would be prepared every Diwali.
In most religious centres of Southern India, such as Udupi in Karnataka, Tirupati in Andhra Pradesh and Guruvayur in Kerala, the culture of eating meat isn’t popular. But Madurai is home to a long list of roadside eateries and restaurants that serve varied non-vegetarian dishes. Every part of the goat is savoured: The brain, shank, trotters, head, kidneys, intestines, liver… you name it. “Besides being a temple city, Madurai has for centuries been a commercial hub for trade and commerce,” says Shanmughapriya Thyagarajan, who manages Mystical Palmyra, a heritage tours company. “This distinguishes Madurai from other temple cities, which are primarily pilgrimage centres.”
On my biannual visits to the city of my childhood, a walk along the concentric streets surrounding the temple is a feast for the senses: The woody, creamy fragrance of sandalwood paste as you pass by a sandalwood vendor, the waft from the seductive Madurai malli (jasmine) as you cross women wearing flowers in their hair, the noise of traffic, the towering, colourful gopurams (spires) of the temple, the aroma of fresh, soft idlis from roadside corner shops.
The city has many names, each referring to its many legends and attributes: The name Koodal refers to the congregation of scholars during the Tamil Sangam, while the name Madhura refers to the legend that ‘madhura’ or nectar flowed from the matted locks of Lord Shiva into this region and the people from far and near who visit the city for commercial purposes have given it the sobriquet Thoonga Nagaram, or the city that never sleeps. The vegetable market, fruit market, flower market and fish market function through the night, with cargo being unloaded, packaged, distributed and sold.
Madurai is also home to numerous joints called ‘mess’. They have their origins in the rustic, makeshift roadside stalls that locals set up to sell home-made food. These soon flourished and moved into permanent, but no-frills, set-ups. Amma Mess, Kumar Mess and Chandran Mess are some of the big names that serve a few vegetarian dishes, and focus more on meat dishes that are pocket-friendly and have a home-made taste. Mutton brain roast, kola urundai (meat balls), liver roast, kaadai (quail) roast, turkey biryani, crab pepper fry, mutton egg parotta, and mutton curry dosa are some of the dishes that typically appear on the menus of these joints. “The region has an abundance of karuvelam trees or Prosopis juliflora, which the goats feed on. Hence the easy availability of mutton,” says Shanmughapriya.
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Every year in the scorching heat of May, a motley crowd that was my family would bundle into a state-run bus, which would move at a snail’s pace to my maternal grandfather’s village Lakshminarayanapuram, 60 km from Madurai. The purpose of this trip was to celebrate the kedavettu Pongal, a festival celebrated with goat sacrifices at the Kali Amman village temple. A fun-filled week-long affair, it involved folk dance performances, women carrying mulaipari (nine grains germinated in clay pots) on their heads, preparation of Pongal (sweet rice) by the women, and the sacrifice of goats and chicken to the village deity.
The slaughtered goat would be taken back to the courtyard of its owner’s house to be butchered. Some of the meat would be used to make biryani, mutton curry and varattukari (mutton fry), the rest would be salted and dried to make uppukandam, or jerked meat, which has a long shelf life. These would be consumed either as a curry to be had with rice, or fried in oil as a side dish in a traditional South Indian meal. I would always persuade my grandmother to pack large quantities of uppukandam for me while leaving my hometown. A lover of mutton, on her death anniversary her children continue to prepare different mutton delicacies in her remembrance every year.
In recent years there has been an influx of Western fast food in the city. “But Madurai residents still go back to their traditional food as their go-to food. However rich they might be, they have no qualms about waiting at a roadside stall for their favourite local delicacy,” says Praveena.
Also called Patnulkarar, or silk weavers, the Saurashtrian community has contributed immensely to the city’s cuisine and culture. On my visits to the city, I often drop in on my father’s friend, a Saurashtrian. Their puliyodharai, or tamarind rice, is the calling card of my sojourns. I have had this simple dish in many homes across the state, but nothing beats the preparation of a Patnulkarar.
As you stroll down its streets you are bound to notice many cycle carts mounted with a brass pot containing hot paruthipaal or cotton-seed milk. Mixed with palm jaggery and laced with dried ginger, grated coconut and cardamom, it is said to improve digestion and blood circulation and ensures good functioning of the nervous system. Another highly irresistible drink is the jigarthanda, made with almond resin, china grass, sarsaparilla syrup, basundi, chilled milk, lots of sugar and topped with a scoop of ice cream. This decadent dessert is the perfect antidote for Madurai’s heat. The best place to down a glass of this would be one of the numerous outlets of Famous Jigarthanda that dot the city.
About 4 km from the Meenakshi Amman temple is the teppakulam, or the temple tank of the city. Every evening you will find a couple making and selling hot puttu, or steamed rice cakes, from a pushcart beside the tank. This healthy snack is best had by sprinkling sugar or jaggery and grated coconut on it.
I stop by Janakiram, a non-vegetarian restaurant, to relish some of the city’s specialities. I order Ayira Meen Kulambu, a fish curry made with the tiny spiny loach that is indigenous to this region and is found in the marshy beds of its dams, lakes and rivers. I know it cannot rival my maternal grandmother’s preparation, but I take the plunge nonetheless. The flavours of the dish transport me to her home: I see her, clad in a sari, a towering figure, as she stood at the gate talking to the fishmonger, checking the day’s catch mounted on his bicycle with an adept eye.
Madurai continues to be my favourite food playground for life.
First Published: Apr 25, 2020, 10:10
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