Fruits Of The Sea — An Introduction To The Seafood-Crazy Cuisines of the Konkan

Text by Satarupa Mitra Datta

India’s pristine Konkan coast is home to several seafood-loving communities. Photo: Subhas Nayak, CC BY-SA 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

India’s spectacular Konkan coast — a swathe of swirling blue — extends over 530 kilometres. Pristine, pollution-free beaches, bays, creeks and floating mangrove forests shape the landscape of the region. The smaller coastal towns of Raigad, Ratnagiri and Sindhudurg, and the larger cities of Thane and Mumbai define the Konkan belt of Maharashtra. 

Crisscrossed by rivers and ringed by the sea, the cuisines of the region celebrate seafood in all its diversity. Several hyperlocal iterations of seafood are cooked all along the coast by pescatarian communities, using ground spices and masalas that are considered heirlooms. As Annapoorna Nayak and Maya Shenoi note in the Gowd Saraswat Brahmin’s Cookbook, the Saraswat Brahmins, a Konkani-speaking community who trace their lineage to this region, look at fish not as non-vegetarian but as fruits of the sea. 

In her book Pangat A Feast — Food and Lore from Marathi Kitchens, food researcher and author Saee Koranne-Khandekar documents Konkani cuisine by profiling the communities who helped shape it. For instance, Saraswat Brahmins were originally Kashmiri Pandits who settled on the banks of the river Saraswati, and followed its course. When the river dried up, they migrated downwards from Kashmir and settled in coastal Maharashtra, Karnataka and Goa. A subgroup of Saraswat Brahmins that stayed along the western coast of India became known as Goud Saraswat Brahmins (GSB). Around the 1500s, the Portuguese conquest of Goa led to another group migrating further south to Karnataka — they came to be known as the Chitrapur Saraswat Brahmins. 

Another fish-loving community in the region are the Marathas, who claim to be descendants of the Aryan race who arrived hundreds of years ago. They were the warrior-kings who once ruled the state of Maharashtra and are said to have 96 clans. 

Seafood occupies a special place for the Pathare Prabhu community. Considered the original settlers in Mumbai, they are said to have come from Nepal via Gujarat. The influence of Gujarati cuisine and culture is apparent in several of the community’s customs. A speciality is Pathar Prabhu ghada, a close cousin of the Gujarati undhiyu or medley of root vegetables in terms of cooking style and spicing, but with the addition of seafood or meat.

Fresh seafood prepared using community-specific spice blends, rice and coconut forms the heart of the Konkani thali. Photo by Satarupa Mitra Datta

Another Konkani community known for their deep love for seafood and fresh fish are Chandraseniya Kayastha Prabhus (CKPs). They are believed to have made their way to Maharashtra from Ayodhya in northern India, by way of Malwa in central India and Gujarat. According to Khandekar, given their migratory routes, the CKPs share food preferences with the Pathare Prabhus. Yet, they retain a distinct personality. Using a variety of fresh fish and shellfish, they make an array of kaalvans or curries that range from zesty green to fiery red with mild spiciness.

Like in all coastal communities, fish, coconut and rice occupy centre stage in these cuisines. What makes the food in the region distinct is key pantry ingredients like smoky, dried Byadgi chillies, and tirphal, a cousin of the Sichuan peppercorn that lends a trademark fragrance and tartness to fish curries. According to Khandekar, each community has its own spice blends, comprising a carefully selected medley of spices and grains, which form the flavour base of every Konkani meal. For instance, there is the fiery Malvani masala (from the Malvan region), golden-brown goda masala (used by Konkani Brahmins) and Koli masala (used by the Koli community of native fisherfolk), all of which are used in fried fish and seafood recipes. The Marathas make a unique spice blend made of flame-roasted onion and dried coconut, which is widely used. 

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I got a first-hand introduction to the nuances of Konkani cuisine and the rare varieties of shellfish that thrive in the region thanks to Dr Swapnaja Mohite, a professor at the College of Fisheries in Ratnagiri who is gifted with a maternal fondness for feeding people. A jumbo-size stuffed lobster arrived on a plate to kickstart our lunch, which I will not forget in a hurry.

The lobster stuffed with its own meat was cut into cubes and seasoned with a hand-pounded masala which included ginger-garlic, coriander, ground green chilies, turmeric, tamarind pulp, a little Konkani masala and finely ground coconut. Some of the masala also goes inside the head portion. To form an outer crust, the lobster meat is coated in rice flour before being lightly fried in oil. The whole stuffed lobster, including the head, is shallow fried in a deep vessel until the shell turns red. The rice flour brings a firm crumb and crunchy outer crust to the lobster meat. Loaded with flavours in each bite, this is not the generic lobster in a buttery sauce we eat in restaurants.

Rock lobsters stuffed with lobster meat flavoured with a hand-pounded masala. Photo by Satarupa Mitra Datta

Dr Mohite filled me in on the variety of lobster we were eating. Spiny lobsters or rock lobsters, which move in shallow coastal waters at depths between 1 and 65 metres, are found offshore among rocks, often in the surf zones and turbid waters. These crustaceans prefer rocky shorelines and sandy bottoms, so they can hide well among submerged rocks.

The second, finger-friendly appetisers we ate were golden fried green mussels. These classic fritters had been spiced with green coriander, turmeric, green chillies and hints of ginger, garlic and tamarind. Dr. Mohite seasoned the rice flour crumb with soda water and a pinch of chilli powder. One bite and the buttery brine of the mussels oozed out. 

Dr Mohite informed me that the variety of green mussels common in the estuarine habitats of the Konkan coast are usually found in groups of up to 35,000 per square metres, lying submerged on marine objects. They anchor themselves to submerged stones, cement pillars and mangrove roots with their byssus threads, strong, silky filaments which they secrete, allowing them to cling on to surfaces. They develop an aqua-green shell, different to other species of mussels. Dr Mohite added that they grow fastest two metres below the surface of the ocean, in waters with high salinity and a greater concentration of phytoplankton. These green mussels can be buoyant in turbid waters as well. They grow in abundance around Ratnagiri, especially in the Bhatya, Karla, Juve and Sakrinate creeks. 

 Dr Mohite is also Head of Department at the College of Fisheries in Ratnagiri. She informs me that the college has trained local women’s self-help groups in the production of cultured mussels employing ropes. Green mussels spawn from June to September, and February to March. Mussel larvae are collected by hand, placed on a piece of net and tied to a rope. The seeded ropes hang over the creeks on bamboo sticks. Over the next few months, young mussels gradually grow and attach to the rope by means of their byssus threads. The net is cut to allow their growth; eventually, the rope sinks below the surface of the water. 

“These cultured mussels taste the same [as naturally harvested ones] as they are cultured in the open creek waters where mussels naturally grow without any manual intervention,” she added. 

Rock oysters growing along the shores in the Konkan. Photo by Satarupa Mitra Datta

In the Konkan belt, oysters grow naturally along rocky shores. However, they are still considered a treat, because it involves going out to the rocky shores and prying them loose. For ages, the Konkanis have been eating meaty, briny oysters that thrive around the coastal waters. The beach shacks fire up pits of driftwood, grass and stones to create a hot grill plate over which fresh oysters, still in their shells, are cooked in their own brine. They come out smoky, with hints of woody and herbaceous flavours. If lucky, one may chance upon these smoky oyster shacks along the rocky beaches. In these establishments, the molluscs don’t cost an arm and a leg.  

Come summer, locals crowd along the beaches armed with buckets and shovels looking for fresh clams. The most common species of clams found on the beaches are locally called tasarye mulye, lali mulye, vati mulye and the highly seasonal Chinese mulye. Most widely consumed, tasarye mulye are pale yellow and grey-hued, triangular to oval in shape with rounded edges and marked with concentric circular textures on the outer shell. Chinese mulye are a deep, purplish-grey colour, with inverted V-shaped markings on the outer shell. However vivid they may look, “The real stuff inside is the fleshy meat like no other,” affirmed Dr Mohite. 

Spicy crab curry was one of the highlights of the author’s meal. Photo by Satarupa Mitra Datta

Having the natural habitat for clams has encouraged locals to experiment with its flavours. Next in our lunch, we tried ekshipi kalvan, a regional clam curry that contains both clam meat and shells, flavoured with a sauteed ginger-garlic-green coriander paste, turmeric, red chili powder and clam stock. In this version, some roasted dried coconut and onions are also added to amp up the textures and flavours. A handful of kokam lends a mild tang and cuts away the heat of the semi-runny curry. The curry is best served with amboli, a staple fermented rice flatbread textured like a thick, soft pancake and a specialty of Konkani cuisine. 

The sumptuous clam curry and amboli alone were enough for lunch, I thought, when a gorgeous crab masala arrived. The thick, masala-coated crab carrying masses of roe inside, was among the many regional specialties we tucked into with feigned restraint. The hand-pounded curry ingredients and other staples like chilli powder, turmeric, coriander, garam masala and kokum juice spice up the gravy. The surprise ingredient is spiced gram flour batter that is smeared  inside the crab shells, which adds extra flavour to the meat as the curry boils. Another spice paste made of fried onions, cloves, bay leaf, cinnamon, green cardamom, desiccated coconut and a few peppercorns completes the sauce. I mopped up this creamy crab curry with rice bhakris — flatbreads that are faintly reminiscent of flour tortillas.

Khekde, chimbori and kurlya are what the Konkanis call their crabs. Mud crabs are the common type that home on the estuaries and the vast mangrove along Konkan. They find room within rocky crevices during high tides and crawl out in low tides. Most are caught within their molting and reproductive windows. Egg-filled crabs are rare but preferred for this recipe. The crab legs are also pounded in the mortar to extract the juice and later added when the curry boils. 

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All seafood loving communities in Konkan treat their produce with great love but the Kolis treat their fish with reverence. The vibrant, hard-working Koli fisherfolk are the original inhabitants of Mumbai, when the megacity was nothing more than a cluster of seven swampy islands. During the monsoon when the fish breed, Kolis refrain from fishing. During this embargo, dried fishes and crustaceans are both sold and eaten. You can find dried prawns of various sizes and bombil or Bombay duck sun-drying outside in Koli neighbourhoods. Thanks to the Kolis, sun dried and preserved fish has become an integral part of Konkani cuisine.

Understanding the origins of communities and where they came from, the historical background of each group’s migratory patterns, the dietary rules prescribed by faith or occupation and how geography becomes a unifying force between the sub-cuisines despite their diversity, helped me better understand the intricacies of Konkani cuisine. 

These unique recipes are passed on orally and don't make it to restaurants. Unlike Goa, the rest of Konkan is not a traveler's regular haunt. Some community-specific culinary knowledge has likely been lost. In the recent past, food blogger Jyotsna Shahane rediscovered a printed copy of Narayani Nayak’s 1952 cookbook, a treasure trove of regional recipes spanning the entire Konkani-speaking diaspora. In 2020, Shahane’s book titled The Classic Konkan Cookbook was published, featuring Nayak’s lost recipes alongside her own. Chroniclers like Khandekar are also attempting to capture the vivid diversity of these cuisines. 

For me, though, a day-long conversation with Dr. Mohite on the unique shellfish delicacies was equal to reiterating the story of the terroir, in which lies the origin of seafood-heavy Konkan cuisine.