Feeding Musicians: Middle-of-the-Night Mulligatawny Soup

The retreat center where I once lived and worked occupied the last of a 19th-century estate, with three buildings, including the main house, that hadn't been modernized. This was a good thing, because it meant the buildings remained pretty accurate historically. It also meant that plugging in a coffeepot on a night when visiting musicians had brought their sound systems had the potential to create an immediate blackout. This did happen.

While the estate was old, the retreat center was new. The staff was skeletal (not skinny -- I was the cook -- but rather few; three women worked 83 acres). Indian musicians of very high caliber, on tour in the U.S., discovered us, and offered concerts. But we had never done anything like this before, and there were lots of details to be worked out. The shrine held thirty, and so, while appropriate, was impractical. We converted the classroom. Volunteers built a movable stage (which eventually came to rest in place, of course) and we covered it with rugs from the bookstore and sheets from the linen closet. The sound system was borrowed; the seating was ad hoc. Fifty new folding chairs showed up. Volunteers directed traffic and took donations.

But what to feed the musicians? I had to come up with something that could be made ahead of time (the kitchen could be heard from the performance space); that would be ready to serve right away after the performance; that was simple and fresh.

I found a recipe for mulligatawny soup in an old Fannie Farmer cookbook, part of the estate’s collection of vintage cookbooks. I had never had mulligatawny soup, but it sounded like an appropriate blend of East and West, a recipe from the Raj. The Fannie Farmer recipe called for chicken, though, so I looked online for vegetarian versions. Among the results I Googled was a vegetarian mulligatawny with Southeast Asian overtones, using coconut milk, cilantro and lemon juice, which I replaced with lime juice. With printouts of both recipes on the counter as I cooked, I combined at whim and came up with the following recipe. Luckily, someone asked me to write it down right away, so here it is. All measurements are approximate; feel free to adjust.

We fed the musicians after the concert, late at night. The mulligatawny soup was a hit, and when the company finally dispersed, at two in the morning, everyone was satisfied: those (musicians) who went on to sing and talk elsewhere into the night, and those (retreatants) who went to sleep for an hour before rising to meditate.

Middle-of-the-Night Mulligatawny Soup

In a deep, heavy pot, heat

¼ cup butter or oil

and add

½ cup diced onion
½ cup diced carrot
½ cup diced celery
2 bell peppers, chopped fine
2 apples, peeled, cored and chopped

Saute slowly until brown, stirring frequently. Stir in

1/3 cup flour

and saute briefly. Add:

2 tsp. West Indian curry (at least)
½ tsp. nutmeg
¼ tsp. ground cloves
1 (15-oz.) can diced tomatoes
bay leaf
8 cups vegetable stock

Simmer ½ hour. Add:

1 (19-oz.) can chickpeas (optional)
1 (15-oz.) can coconut milk (unsweetened)
½ cup dried coconut

Cook 10 minutes or so. Puree some or all of the soup. Return to pot. Add:

2 Tbsp. lime juice (or more)
2 tsp. fresh cilantro, finely chopped (or more)

The balance of coconut milk and lime juice is crucial. Salt and pepper to taste.

Since the recipe calls for letting the soup sit for several hours to let the flavors come out, it's perfect for an after-event meal. A vegetarian entree with a coconut curry/lime juice base, it doesn't resemble anyone's idea of actual mulligatawny soup, but the name remains.

Chai II: Events and Notes

I have made chai for one of the woman saints from India that tour North America every summer. The chai was for her crew, actually. This was the Ma's first visit to Woodstock, and the organizers wanted everything to be perfect. So, out of some personal delusion regarding perfection, I decided to make Woodstock tea. This I took to be caffeine-free, mellow, gently but interestingly spiced. I thought the chai came out pretty well; it was rich, creamy -- probably I used a milk substitute -- and soothing. Local volunteers drank it and thanked me.

At the end of the day, one of the crew came up to me, smiling but holding some great distress in his eyes. "Thank you for your tea," he began. "But --" he surged ahead -- "but we're on the road all the time. We really need the caffeine and sugar. I hate to impose, but could you make regular chai for tomorrow?"

I assured him I could. I have stuck to regular chai ever since.



When Celestial Seasonings first came out in the 1970s, the tea was loose. I remember trying to stir up red zinger from the bottom, where all the rosehips had settled. But inevitably, the tea I made grew increasingly astringent as the box emptied.

Tea bags became the standard. Flavor mixes began to change. Mandarin Orange Spice, which sustained me, disappeared completely. I wrote Celestial Seasonings an outraged, desperate letter. They responded with coupons. Mandarin Orange Spice has since returned, less tart. Bengal Spice is sweeter, with added dates. Not all changes are for the worse.

Chai Black is Yogi Tea's souped-up version of their first yogi tea, which sprang from Yogi Bhajan's original five-spice recipe: cardamom seed, cinnamon bark, clove bud, ginger root and black pepper with black tea. The original version, as I recall, was meant to be steeped for some time, and was too peppery for me. The company's new Chai Black, bitter to some, has a different mix of spices and extra added flavor oils. I picked up a packet recently and found it to be perfectly spiced, if the teabag is brewed only briefly and the tea is drunk with milk and honey. Not too peppery. A soupcon too long in brewing and that peppery overbite comes back, and perhaps the bitterness others lament.
Tell us your favorite readymade chai combo! Please post in the comments below.



“I provide two or three 40-gallon batches for Ecstatic Chant,” says Alison Lopez of her chai. Ali, who is the executive chef at the Omega Institute, stopped by at our table at Omega during lunch recently. The dining hall was very busy, and she was very busy, but I managed, through repeated questions and succinct responses, to get her recipe.

Ali boils the water with the spices. Remembering how long it used to take me to bring 12 quarts to a boil on top of a conventional stove, I asked her the timing on 40 gallons.

“Oh, it takes no time at all. We use a steam ring. It’s very fast -- and costs thousands of dollars.” So there you go, chai wallahs: don’t necessarily try this at home.

Add the tea, let it steep. Pour the tea out and add milk. As I recall from under the tent at Ecstatic Chant’s all-night kirtan, it’s served in stadium-sized vacuum urns, such as you might rent at a party store.

Last question. Spices, Ali?

“Cinnamon for sure -- I use sticks. Cardamom -- yes, I throw in the pods. That’s it -- no, and ginger.” And off she strode, briskly.

Ali's Ecstatic Chai: black tea, milk, evaporated cane juice, cinnamon, cardamom, ginger and love